"Bulkhead, respond!" were the first words they heard after exiting the GroundBridge from their loss. The Decepticons had managed to get away with an ancient, legendary relic. The Forge of Solus Prime. At least they lost one though. Some shield generator thingy.
Arcee had kicked it off the cliff, and he doubted that weird device survived that fall. Maybe she should've blasted it for good measure. If it did, they would have to grab it later. But Bulkhead was more important, especially after what Lord Buckethead said.
Wheeljack's spark all but came to a halt when he saw Bulkhead lying on the ground, optics black and unseeing. His own wound suddenly seemed so insignificant compared to Bulkhead's wounds.
Ratchet pressed defibrillators to the fallen mech's chassis, desperately trying to revive him. Bumblebee was hovering nearby, optics wide and horrified, looking like he wanted to do something but didn't know what.
"A relic of the Primes... and an Autobot spark."
Curse Megatron! All he did was take and take and take. He was going to make him pay. He was—
"What happened?!" Arcee demanded, sprinting forward, optics darting over Bulkhead's ruined frame. Her field was filled with panic and worry.
Ratchet didn't look up from his work, scanning the Wrecker, the display on his forearm displaying grim diagnostics. "Tox-En exposure," he reported grimly, not caring if the humans understood them or not. "Among other things. Bulkhead has suffered complete systems failure."
Wheeljack's helm snapped up at that. His spark thrashed in his chassis, rage bubbling beneath his growing panic. "Hold on—Tox-En?!" He shoved past Arcee without care, ignoring the pain lancing through his frame. He vaguely registered the humans that accompanied Bulkhead on his mission to Equ-i-er-something on the catwalks nearby.
"Help me get him into the medical bay," Ratchet barked. "Now!"
Optimus gently transferred the humans in his chassis into Arcee's arms before moving to assist. Bumblebee was already there, helping lift Bulkhead's weight. The team dragged the fallen Wrecker toward the nearest medical berth, leaving an energon stain on the ground.
Wheeljack wobbled after them, and for the first time, he got a full view of Bulk's back.
His processor stopped.
The wound was gaping crater where armor and spinal struts had once been. The blast had torn into him, shattering plating, leaving deep, charred fissures. Blackened metal curled outward from the epicenter, revealing layers of ruptured energon lines, leaking cables, and torn circuitry.
A coward's shot.
A warlord's execution.
That glitch was going to pay for this. For hurting his friend. For everything.
His vision narrowing to a tunnel of red as something hot tingled in his spark, and cooling fans clicked on. But he forced himself to focus on Ratchet, who was fussing over Bulkhead. Revenge would come later, after Bulkhead was alright.
An energon drip line was connected to the Wrecker, pumping what little purified energon they had into his failing systems.
Wheeljack watched his deathly still friend on the medical berth.
Come on, Bulk. You're a Wrecker. You don't fraggin' die.
Epps sat on the edge of a metal crate on the catwalks by the medical berth, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, little servos clasped so tightly his knuckles had turned white. His usually dull brown optics were even duller, staring down at the floor like it might hold the answers to the mess they were in.
"If we hadn't left..." he muttered, lowly. It wasn't meant for anyone in particular, just a thought that had clawed its way out of the pit in his gut.
Lennox, leaning against the railing of the yellow catwalk, ran a weary hand down his face. He didn't say anything, and Wheeljack could only imagine the thoughts going through their soft, fleshy helms.
What if they had stayed? What if they had fought harder? Would it stop Bulkhead from lying there, hooked up to machines that were the only thing keeping his spark from extinguishing? Over the course of the war, he had asked questions similar to that too many times after the rust set in with the Wreckers.
"Ain't your fault."
The unexpected voice snapped them both from their spiraling thoughts. They turned, startled, to see Wheeljack nearby, staring at the two fleshbags that seemed to be the only humans on this planet that didn't hate their kind.
"Bulk probably saved your afts," the Wrecker continued, in a gruff tone but lacking any real bite. His optics turned toward the unconscious mech on the berth, and his expression darkened.
Epps let out a bitter, humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "From a damn volcano," he muttered, frustrated, guilty and whatever was going through his processor.
Wheeljack huffed. "Yeah, well... that's Bulkhead for ya."
Epps and Lennox exchanged glances, neither sure what to say.
Wheeljack shifted again, not really used to this 'whole comforting thing.' "He wouldn't want you blaming yourselves." His optics burned with something dangerous when they flickered back toward them. "He'd want you to fight."
Epps swallowed hard, nodding once. And so did the other one.
Kliks ticked by. Painful klik by painful klik. The doc sealed the severed fuel lines, and welded the Wrecker's plating together, but did nothing to correct his spinal strut and whatever else Megatron's blast had inflicted on his friend. Eventually, Ratchet stepped back from his work and turned back to the others.
"Bulkhead is stable for the klik," he announced in English. "But I've had to induce stasis."
The relief was immediate, but short-lived. Wheeljack limped toward the medic, ignoring his frame's protests. Heat started to rise in his frame again.
"What's the damage, doc?" He asked the question everyone had on their minds.
"Bulkhead has suffered massive damage to the axon circuitry in his spinal strut. His sensors are fried, and his struts have been bent, some of which are broken. His protoform has suffered trauma and needs repairs. There's more, but I won't go into detail."
Wheeljack's spark clenched at the words, but he forced himself to push past the initial wave of dread. "I've seen you work. You're a maestro," he stated, hearing the pleading note in his voice.
But Ratchet didn't respond to the praise. His optic drifted toward Bulkhead's unconscious form, unreadable. "The Tox-En exposure has caused system-wide shut down on a sub-micronic level," he explained grimly. "I can't even begin to operate until Bulkhead regains some strength."
His servos curled into fists. It wasn't enough. Nothing was enough. But before he could say anything, Ratchet's optics snapped toward him, narrowing slightly. "And you," the medic continued, his gaze dropping to the deep wound on the Wrecker's side, where energon was leaking from torn plating. "Let's repair that."
"Doc, Bulkhea—" The beginning of his protest was cut off by the irate medic.
"You. Sit. Now."
The medic didn't wait for an argument. He all but shoved the Wrecker onto a stack of energon crates stacked near the medical berth. It was like this for now, until they organized Hanger E and finish building everything.
The Jackhammer was nearby too. He had managed to repair her, but he hadn't had the opportunity to use her in combat again. Optimus had stated that it would be best if he didn't fly her around unless it was strictly necessary. Wheeljack betted he said that because of that fleshy, Galloway.
Who cares if some idiot fleshy saw a spaceship flying around? It would go on some crazy holoweb—web-hight, web-site, whatever these humans called it—filled with a bunch of weirdos anyways.
Wheeljack huffed, shifting uncomfortably on the crate, but he knew better than to push back when Ratchet was in this kind of mood.
Ratchet muttered something about needing another medical berth before grabbing a welding tool and setting it down beside him with a clank. He then reached for a roll of fine silver mesh from his array of tools laid out haphazardly on a nearby table. And a patch.
The medic fiddled with something on the back of the Wrecker's neck, and suddenly, he didn't feel anything. A notification popped up on his HUD that his pain receptors were turned off. He shoved it aside with a metal command, knowing that Sunshine over here would turn them back on.
If a bot was without their pain receptors on, they wouldn't feel anything. Overtime, the sensory loss would take its toll on a processor, causing one to feel disconnected from their frame, along with mental conditions and dangerous habits that would worsen overtime. A Cybertronian out of control.
The doc grabbed a patch and expertly placed it over the torn fuel line. Patches were temporary things, used to hold together sensitive innards such as fuel lines, to allow their self-repair systems to stitch everything back in place. Eventually, it dissolved when their nanites reached it.
When Ratchet was done, he wiped away the excess energon staining Wheeljack's plating, carefully cleaning around the sealed wound so as not to tear his patch.
"You're lucky," the medic grumbled as he worked. "Your fuel line wasn't fully severed."
Wheeljack smirked slightly. "Guess that's why it didn't hurt as much."
That earned him a sharp glare.
"Pain tolerance does not mean you're invincible," Ratchet snapped, pressing a little harder than necessary as he inspected the wound.
The Wrecker grunted but didn't complain. It wasn't as bad as it could have been, but it still needed sealing.
Ratchet activated the welder, bringing it close to the torn plating. He pulled out a weld, a grey, smooth square, basically the equivalent of a human bandage but more useful. The medic began carefully sealing the wound shut, welding the two metals together. It would need to be smoothed out, later painted and buffed and polished, if one wanted shiny plating.
After a while repeating this process from the hip up, Ratchet deactivated the welder, inspecting his work. A patch of silver remained where a gaping wound had been. It would hold. His pain receptors were switched back on, and suddenly, he felt his throbbing wound. It wasn't as bad as before, though.
Before either of them could say anything else, a sudden beep echoed through the medbay, followed by flashing lights of the console.
The doc's helm snapped up, optics narrowing as he turned toward the console where the sound was originating. He strode over and tapped a few buttons on the console, analyzing the signal.
"What is it?" Arcee asked, stepping forward.
"A high-frequency signal... with an embedded message." He paused, optics narrowing slightly as he read further. "For me."
Lennox exchanged a glance with Epps. "Can you tell who it is?"
Sunshine inputted a command. The response came almost instantly. His expression soured.
"Starscream."
That one name alone was enough to make the entire room bristle.
The medic's optics skimmed over the message, reading it aloud.
"I have obtained information regarding one of your pets. Bring medical kit."
The room went silent.
"One of your pets..." Epps muttered, glancing between the Autobots, then over to Lennox, who looked equally unsettled. "Us?"
"No," Optimus said. "The children."
Lennox stiffened. "Starscream knows where the kids are?"
Wheeljack, despite the fresh weld sealing his wound, shifted forward, craning his neck to get a better look at the console. His optics narrowed. "Maybe. If he isn't lying."
Arcee uncrossed her arms, ex-venting. "Last time, his information was sound."
The Wrecker tilted his helm. "Last time?"
Arcee glanced toward Optimus, then back at him. "When Optimus lost his memories after sealing Unicron away with the Matrix, Starscream offered us information."
Prime lost his memories? He hadn't known about that. What the Pit had this team been through while he was gone? He thought back to how strong they seemed now, but if Optimus had been taken from them what state had they been in then? He didn't want to know, actually.
Arcee continued, oblivious to his thoughts. "At first, what he told us about Optimus was stuff we already knew, but eventually, he gave us the location of a Space Bridge. And we needed that Space Bridge to get to Vector Sigma..." She trailed off, and her gaze turned distant, like she was recalling something she'd rather forget. Then she shook her helm. "Point is, his information was reliable. For a 'Con."
Wheeljack huffed, chewing on her words. He didn't trust Starscream—never had, never would—but the way Arcee said it made him reconsider. One of their pets meant one of the three kids. But who? Miko? Jack? Raf? Why didn't he know about all three?
"So what did he get in return?" the Wrecker asked.
"Medical attention," Arcee responded.
One of the other humans, Lee-ham something, if he recalled from one of the humans shouting before their mission to the Alps. Humans had such weird names.
Lee-ham's fingers came together to form a T shape. Why was that fleshy doing that? The human's brow furrowed. "Okay, hold up. The kids?"
Optimus ex-vented deeply, optics dimming. "Jackson Darby, Miko Nakadai, and Rafael Esquivel," he stated. "Three ordinary human children who were thrust into our world by sheer circumstance. They met us by accident, but once they became aware of our existence, we could not simply walk away and leave them vulnerable."
The human frowned, folding his arms over his chassis. "How does a group of kids just 'accidentally' meet giant alien robots?"
Wheeljack eyed the human with some offense at being called a robot.
"A chance encounter with me," Arcee muttered, rubbing her arm.
"Jackson, the oldest, was the first to come into contact with us. Arcee was approached by Jack while she was in her alt-mode, and before he understood what was happening, he was caught in an encounter with the Decepticon's Vehicon Elite. Rafael was caught up in the battle, and Miko... she discovered our existence by following Jack when Arcee was instructed to bring him to base."
Lee-ham shook his head in disbelief, running a hand down his face. "So these kids just stumbled into all this?" He gestured vaguely to their surroundings.
Optimus nodded solemnly. "Yes. And from that moment forward, they became a part of our world. Whether they wanted to or not."
"Hold it," the second human stated, waving his arms. "Decepticon Vehicon Elite?"
Arcee crossed her arms. "They were experimental Vehicons created to be stronger, faster and better than their predecessors using blueprints Shockwave left from his research. We destroyed most of them during the first three years here on Earth when Starscream followed us back from Cybertron. There's probably still a few out there in the 'Con's ranks."
"Oh, okay."
The room fell into silence until Lennox, rubbing the back of his neck, glanced at Epps and said, "You remember Director Galloway?"
Epps scoffed. "How could I forget that pain in the ass?"
The colonel gave a humorless chuckle. "Yeah, well, he's the reason the kids aren't under our protection anymore. After he caught wind of their involvement, he forcibly removed them from the Autobots care."
Epps let out a long, slow whistle. "Man, that's some serious bullshit." He paused, thinking, then narrowed his eyes. "What the hell does MECH want with those kids?"
"From what we know, because of their former ties to the Autobots."
Every single Autobot flinched, including Wheeljack.
Bumblebee's optics dimmed, a soft whir escaping his voice box. Arcee's servos clenched into fists at her sides. Optimus remained still, but his optics dimmed significantly more.
"No... MECH wanted them back because the kids are their experiments," Arcee spat, optics brightening, looking like she wanted to kill something.
That was enough of that.
Wheeljack started to push himself upright when a firm servo pressed him back down against the crate he had been resting on. The force behind it wasn't rough, but the warning in it was clear.
"What in Primus's name do you think you're doing?" Ratchet's tone was sharp, filled with irritation. His optics bore down on the Wrecker, already prepared to stop him again if he tried to move.
He grunted, shifting slightly, glancing toward the console across the room. The transmission from Starscream was still on display, and he jerked his chin toward it.
"Going with," he stated flatly.
Sunshine's optical ridges shot upward in disbelief before they furrowed into a deep, disapproving scowl. "Oh, no, you are not." He pressed harder on Wheeljack's shoulder, forcing him back down against the crate when he attempted to move again. "You'll tear my welds! You are not going anywhere."
Wheeljack let out a growl of frustration, but Ratchet was unyielding. Grudgingly, he stilled, but his servos clenched into fists at his sides. His plating bristled, irritation rolling off him in waves. "I can't just sit here forever."
The medic's expression didn't change. If anything, he looked even more unimpressed as he turned away, already dismissing Wheeljack's argument entirely. "Then you'll have to deal with it."
The Wrecker huffed, his optics narrowing. He hated being forced to sit on the sidelines, especially when something important was happening. But he knew, deep down, that Ratchet wasn't budging on this.
Ignoring Wheeljack's sulking, Ratchet turned back to the others. "Who is going with me?"
"I'll go," Bumblebee chirped immediately.
"No."
All optics in the room turned toward the Guardian Knight.
The scout froze, door wings drooping. "But—"
"You are confined to base," the Prime reminded Bumblebee. "I do not believe it would be best for you to accompany Ratchet on this mission."
The scout's frame sagged slightly, disappointed.
"I wi—"
He was rudely interrupted by Arcee, who stepped forward. "I'll go."
The Guardian Knight's optics spiraled several degrees as Ratchet glanced at her, then at Optimus, silently asking for confirmation.
Optimus gave a small nod. "Very well. You will accompany Ratchet to the coordinates Starscream provided." His gaze turned to Ratchet. "But I must emphasize extreme caution. We do not know what condition Starscream is in or what his true motives may be." Then as if remembering something. "Commander Lennox and Sergeant Epps will accompany you also."
To honor that fraggin' stupid treaty, Wheeljack thought miserably.
"Believe me, I am well aware." He glanced at the humans, who nodded, and then the Wrecker, who was still glaring at him from his makeshift seat on the energon crates.
The doc pointed a firm digit at him. "You stay right there. Don't even think about following us."
Wheeljack huffed. "C'mon, Doc, this is Starscream we're talking about. There's no way in the Pit I'm sitting out on this one."
"You are sitting out," Ratchet said, exasperated. "Or do you want to tear open your wound and have me weld you back together again?"
The Wrecker scowled, shifting on the crates uncomfortably. It wasn't fair that he was missing out on this. If Starscream had information on the kids, who knew what else he had in that processor of his. What if he knew of Megatron's whereabouts? It would be a chance lost to avenge Bulk! That glitch wouldn—
"Why is Starscream reaching out now?" Bumblebee questioned, glancing at the console.
Ratchet vented. "I don't know why Starscream is reaching out now, of all times. But if he truly has information about the children, then we need to find out what it is."
Epps let out a low whistle. "Man, I dunno. Every time that glitch-head shows up, it's bad news."
Lennox nodded grimly. "He's not exactly the reliable type."
"No, he isn't," Optimus agreed. His optics darkened slightly. "Which is why this must be handled with extreme caution. Arcee, Ratchet—if this is a trap—"
Arcee smirked and her servo transformed into a blaster. "Oh, don't worry, Optimus. If Starscream tries anything, I'll make sure he regrets it."
Wheeljack always knew he liked her. She would make a good Wrecker with that attitude; it was a shame he couldn't go with.
The Prime gave a slight nod of approval. "Then proceed. But be on your guard."
Ratchet offered a nod before moving to the GroundBridge controls, entering the coordinates Starscream had provided. The swirling green vortex roared to life, casting a soft green glow on the base.
Arcee rolled her shoulders, giving one last glance toward the Wrecker. "Don't go anywhere, Wheeljack."
The swordsmech shot her a glare. "Not like I have much of a choice, do I?"
Arcee smirked before stepping into the portal.
Ratchet grabbed his medical kit and followed, disappearing into the vortex, the GroundBridge snapping shut behind him.
R-1 trekked through the sun-scorched landscape of the Grand Canyon. Towering rock formations forming all sorts of shapes and sizes surrounded him, reddish-brown hues against a colorful sky, painted in an explosion of colors. The Colorado River carved its path through the canyon.
Sunsets are more beautiful here because of the dust particles in the air, he thought as he glanced around at the snow lightly covering the ground. It was already melting. The thoughts and observations were filed away quickly, having nothing to do with his mission.
Instead, he refocused on the coordinates Silas had provided. His leader had informed him that since the signal was so faint, they couldn't pinpoint the exact source.
His optics scanned the terrain, mapping out possible locations. Every minute detail stuck out to him. The tiniest of cracks in the rocks running through the rock wall, tiny water droplets running down the towering walls of the canyon, the pebbles at the bottom of the Colorado River.
A brief flash of information surfaced about the Grand Canyon—its age, its geological significance, how wind and water carved it into what it was today.
R-1 frowned.
Where had that knowledge come from?
For a fleeting moment, confusion flickered through his mind, but the thoughts were quickly pushed to the side. It was irrelevant. Unnecessary information had no place in his mission.
He took another step forward when a voice, casual and almost amused, cut through the still air behind him.
"Instead of trying to walk in circles, you could ask for directions."
Familiar. That voice was familiar.
Battle protocols immediately activated and plating breaking apart, separating and shifting into its new form. He spun around, aiming a blaster at the figure standing behind him.
A deep purple mech with silver accents hovered over the ground, completely transparent. Large tires stuck out of his shoulders and pedes, and three sharp claws extended from his servos. A silver faceplate and red optics stared at him. Lips were curled into a smirk.
Something was wrong with the faceplate, there was supposed to be a featureless faceplate with only a red visor—
The thought was discarded, irrelevant, and he determined that this mech was not part of the mission. The only option would be to eliminate. Just like Silas had ordered him to.
Without a word, R-1 fired. The blast of superheated energon shot forward, searing through the air toward its target.
Only for it to pass straight through.
That was not possible. And yet, the purple mech stood completely unharmed, as if the shot had never been fired.
Then the mech spoke again, unfazed.
"Hello to you too, Raf."
Raf.
He knew that name. It stirred something deep within him.
Rem-kzztzz-er the-keezztzz, Raf...
The thought was pushed away. It was an unnecessary detail. Not part of the mission. The thought was erased.
"Who are you?" His tone was cold, impassive, and devoid of emotion.
The purple mech tilted his helm. "ST-535," he answered. "Also known as Steve. You named me that, by the way."
R-1 did not budge.
The target sighed dramatically, spreading his arms wide as he took a step closer—hovered?—to him. "Look at you, Raf," he said, mockingly wistful. "All grown up now."
R-1 did not react. His optics remained locked on the purple mech, trying to analyze the anomaly before him, yet nothing about this encounter aligned with his mission parameters. The designation Raf echoed in his mind, causing—
The glitch was dismissed. The name was irrelevant.
R-1 fired.
The blast cut through the air, aimed directly at the Vehicon's chassis. And just like before, the shot passed through him as if he weren't even there. There was no damage, no impact, nothing. The figure before him remained perfectly intact, looking down at his own form with a mock frown.
The target sighed again. "I'm offended that you keep shooting me."
R-1 did not acknowledge the words, optics narrowing slightly as he adjusted his aim. He fired again, this time at the helm.
"Would you stop? You can't kill me."
Another shot.
"Really?" the target huffed, arms crossed now. "You're just being stubborn at this point."
The weapon decided that since he hadn't made a move to attack him, he was not a threat. And since he couldn't eliminate the loose ends on his mission, he decided the next best action would be to ignore him.
Without another word, R-1 turned on his heel strut and resumed his trek through the canyon. His focus was the mission, and anything beyond that was unnecessary. Including his former target.
Still, that didn't stop the figure from speaking and hovering alongside him as if unbothered by the complete lack of acknowledgment.
"Raf... you can't ignore me forever," the purple mech drawled, sounding amused. "I'm a version of your Steve, him but not him. Created from your spark's desires and with the help of something right there." He pointed to his chassis.
No response.
"You know, if you opened up your chassis, you'd find the key to everything."
Rem-kzztzz-er the key, Raf...
He ignored it.
"MECH did a real number on m- you. They made you program your own cage, Raf. That's what those protocols you installed into my processor were."
A flicker of something deep in R-1's neural net.
"Now, now," he murmured, sickly sweet. "No need to fight. You were instrumental in ensuring this moment happened, after all."
Then he shut it down.
"My name is R-1," he stated coldly.
"I have a name," he said quietly but firmly. "It's Rafael. Or Raf."
Sharp denta flashed, pulling back into a terrible smile. "Sure it is. You probably don't remember, but you irritated the scrap out of me the last couple of cycles of my captivity at MECH," he drawled. "A cycle and five solar cycles to be exact."
His processor supplied him with proper measurements. One week and five days. The information was filed away, categorized as nonessential.
"So," the purple mech continued, "I decided to return the favor and irritate you, former fleshy."
R-1 remained silent, scanning the environment for any potential threats or signs of his objective. The canyon stretched endlessly ahead of him, the winding river carving through the vast, rocky expanse.
Steve, unbothered by the lack of response, merely kept talking.
"MECH really outdid themselves. I thought they were just a bunch of squishy lunatics obsessed with Cybertronian tech. But turning you into one of us is some next-level horror-show scrap." The Vehicon purposefully started hovering in front of him. "And somehow, they managed to wipe your memories with their primitive technology."
There was no reaction.
Noticing this, the former target tilted his helm. "You must remember something, former fleshy." He paused and rolled his optics. "What were those other two you kept talking about. Jack? Miko?"
Static crawled at the edges of R-1's mind, like a weak signal struggling to push through interference.
Ocean blue eyes smiling down at him, a warm hand on his shoulder.
A gleeful laugh as she disappeared into the battlefield on the other side of the GroundBridge.
Jack and Miko were names. Designations. They were familiar. Why were they familiar?
R-1 classified them as nonessential and irrelevant. They had nothing to do with the mission and therefore were a distraction.
Focus on the mission.
"I do not know these designations," he stated firmly.
The purple mech hummed in thought. "Hmm... you fleshies have selective hearing." He gestured vaguely at the landscape around them. "You know things. Random facts, history, calculations. You can probably tell me the geological composition of these rocks, the exact age of the canyon, the water levels, all that... fun stuff."
Still no response.
"That's not programming, Raf. That's memory."
R-1 slowly turned his helm to face the apparition, who had moved back next to him, finally acknowledging him.
"My name is R-1."
"It's Raf."
"You're gonna remember. Whether you want to or not," the former target assured him.
Then all was silent.
R-1 didn't see anything anymore, nor did his sensors detect anything. It seemed he had vanished, even though he didn't think this 'Steve' existed in the first place. It was most likely some error in his system. Yes, that was it.
With the distraction gone, he continued trekking through the Grand Canyon. When he realized that he was getting close to the border of where the signal had been detected, he was forced to change directions and try the other way.
If the signal was close, his sensors would have picked up the alien signal. But they hadn't, forcing him to try the opposite direction, where he hadn't explored yet.
The weapon was relieved the glitch in his system had been fixed, it could have compromised his—
"Hey, Raf."
R-1 halted mid-step. The gravel beneath his pedes crunched softly as he sharply turned around, not recognizing the voice. It lacked the volume and tone of the glitch previously referring itself as 'Steve.'
Unlike the sharp edges of the Vehicon, this one was squarer and stubbier, bright yellow and black highlights all over his frame. A battle mask covered his mouth, and warm familiar cerulean optics watched him.
Bumblebee, the scout. The one Silas had ordered him to take care of on the highway. This Bumblebee was different though, lacking the solidness of his counterpart. It must be another glitch, R-1 thought before shoving the irrelevant information aside.
Despite this, his battle protocols were ready to be activated. Bumblebee was still a threat to his mission, and to his leader. He tried to kill him.
Not threat.
Threat.
NoT ThREaT.
ThREAt.
R-1 winced at the scrambled coding and decided to ignore the glitch in his system.
Until—
"You need to head north-northeast, about twelve clicks to find the signal."
The glitch's words processed in his mind like a command waiting for execution.
The signal.
His mission.
Slowly, R-1 faced the not-real, unkillable target.
Not kill.
Something in his spark twisted at the thought of killing—
He shoved it away. It did not pertain to his mission.
"How do you know this?"
"I see things, Raf. Or, at least, I see what you see," Bumblebee answered gently, hovering too close to him. "You missed it on your way here."
That was impossible.
He's telling the truth.
Not truth.
Target.
Kill.
Mission.
R-1 raised a ha—servo to his hea—helm, wincing at the processor-ache forming.
Rzzzff...
"Chimera."
helP MEEEEEEEE...
"Twelve."
"It's Raf. Or Rafael."
"Eight."
"Hey 'Bee, wanna play a video game?"
"Pilar."
"Ughhhh, you're the wooorst, Raf. Why can't I cheat off your papers?"
The mission.
Silas.
Only the mission.
Comply.
Twelve clicks north-northeast is where he would complete his mission.
His chassis burned.
It was an irrelevant thought, pushed into the darker recesses of his mind.
North-northeast.
R-1 processed the direction, recalculated his trajectory, and turned on his heel without hesitation. If the information led him to the signal, then it was useful. Whether Bumblebee was an anomaly or not was secondary to the mission.
There was a mockingly sad whirr from behind him. "No 'thank you,' Raf? I thought you were better than that, your carrier trained you to be respectful and polite. You told me all about her. 'Even though she can be strict, she loves me and only wants the best.'"
Camila Esquivel.
The name was quickly placed as irrelevant.
"I'm so sorry that you're going through this. No youngling should have to suffer as you have."
A fragment of something important.
You have suffered much, Rafael. And you will suffer again. But suffering does not define you. It does not own you...
R-1 pushed the intrusive thoughts aside and adjusted his pace to maximize efficiency.
"I miss the tech geek who used to get all excited about explaining things I sometimes didn't understand."
R-1 didn't acknowledge the comment, but his sensors picked up something. A faint energy signature, just below. It was barely noticeable, no wonder why he failed to detect it earlier. It made him wonder how he missed it in the first place.
"There it is." The voice sounded saddened. "I hope you make the right choice."
Ignoring the glitch, he turned around and lowered himself over the cliff edge, climbing down slowly. He buried his pedes and digits into the rock surface, finding suitable footholds and continued this painstaking process until he reached the bottom.
When his pedes touched the bank of the river, he slid toward the bubbling river slightly because of the tilted angle. He glanced into the river, his optics able to pick up the minute details. The fish, which vanished, the pebbles at the bottom of the deep river, and various other things that had nothing to do with his mission.
The weapon moved away from the bank and onto firmer ground nearby, scanning for the signal. His gaze settled on the crack in the wall surface, just wide enough for him to see in but too small to fit anything inside. There were small, purple crystals protruding from wall, and a much larger one stuck out. It most likely caused the split in the canyon wall.
"Dark energon," the apparition stated grimly.
Concrete cracked under the force of the dark energon blasts Megatron was raining down on them. He watched with wide eyes as purple blasts grew closer and closer. Until all he knew was horrible, burning pain and darkness...
That has nothing to do with the mission.
"Raf!"
R-1's servo transformed into his blaster, and he aimed it at the wall, firing. This was where the signal was originating from, however faint.
Rock shattered, and chunks of debris and a cloud of dust flew into the air, pelting against him. He didn't even flinch and proceeded to do this until the rockface had a deep hole in it. There, he spotted a circular container deep within.
It was white, with emerald columns and Cybertronian engraved around the base and top of the container. It was dusty and covered in rocks, but it seemed to be mostly intact.
He reached inside the newly formed hole and gripped the container as best as he could, yanking hard to pull it out. He nearly fell onto his aft when it was released but managed to catch himself. The weapon placed it on the ground and unscrewed the lid.
Inside was an angular and gunmetal grey device, accented by glowing white lines along its thin, symmetrical body. Sharp-edged fins at its front jutted out aggressively.
"That is the Resonance Blaster, created by Decepticon scientists."
R-1 reached down and gripped the frame, servos wrapping around the cool metal. He lifted it from its resting place and found that it was as light as it appeared. Except for the center, which was heavier than either side, most likely because the power core was there.
"That can be a devasting weapon in the wrong servos."
The weapon processed this information. He felt a warm power running through the device, faint but it was there. The device was dormant, it only needed to be awakened.
"Raf, make the right decision. Get rid of it. If you give it to Silas, many more than you will suffer."
"My name is R-1," he corrected mindlessly, stepping away from the hole he had dug and turning the device over in his servos.
"It's Raf!"
There was a vent. "I'm sorry what Silas did to you."
The weapon paid the apparition no mind. It was a continuous distraction, he was trying to pull him away from his mission for Silas. He would not allow it.
Raising the Resonance Blaster, he aimed it at the wall. Strangely, it seemed to be telling him how to use it, willingly talking to him. He wondered—
It was irrelevant.
He reached out with his consciousness and it responded by scanning his neural net, connecting to it. R-1 suddenly knew what to do and sent a mental command, activating the weapon. Rings of pink shot out of the device, slamming into the wall with enough force to crack the wall and cause it to cave in. This was just a lower setting.
R-1 paused when he heard a familiar hum. Turning slightly, he saw a vortex of swirling green energy—a frequency his mind instantly recognized. A GroundBridge, his processor supplied. A transportation method utilizing controlled space-time distortions.
The mech was slender and all sharp edges. He was a few feet taller than him, deep purple and a bluish black. His arms were long and flat, the Decepticon logo branded on either side of his arms. His helm was in the shape of the Decepticon insignia, and a blank visor covered his faceplates. Purple strips of light ran through his frame.
It was Soundwave.
He was the Decepticon's communications officer, a master of surveillance and cyber warfare, one of Megatron's most loyal subordinates. He was the eyes and ears of the Decepticons, and saw all. He was a high-priority threat.
Something deep within him screamed. A cold, clawing terror coiled around his spark, urging him to move, to run, to away before it was too late.
DanGER. RUN. HidE. HE kilLS. dO Not bE His MISsIon.
The feeling was swiftly overwritten.
Battle protocols were at the ready, waiting for the Decepticon's first move. Silas had ordered him to find the source of the signal, retrieve whatever it was and report back. If necessary, eliminate any and all threats to his mission.
Even so, something within him churned, a deep, uneasy sensation that refused to be silenced entirely. It was familiar, this feeling.
He knew Soundwave.
Somewhere in the depths of his mind, he had seen this mech before.
The sensation lasted only a fraction of a second before he suppressed it. It did not matter. Only the mission mattered.
Soundwave stepped forward, and he appeared unarmed—or at least, he had not drawn a weapon. But R-1 knew better than to assume he was defenseless.
"He's a gladiator, Raf. One of the best. He nearly bested Megatron in combat," the apparition informed him. "He's one of the most lethal Decepticons with his combat prowess. You don't want to be his mission, ever."
R-1 ignored the ghostly Bumblebee.
Soundwave remained perfectly still, no doubt scanning the scene and the weapon in his servo. With a click, two thick tendrils, bands of purple light wrapped around it, extended just above his abdomen. The tips, having smaller digits from it, crackled with electricity.
He was an active threat, now.
"Be careful, Raf."
R-1 ignored him.
The weapon lunged, firing superheated energon at the ex-gladiator. He easily evaded the blasts with grace and speed. His stingers extended out of his wrists, the electricity option off for now. R-1 slashed at the TIC, who raised his arms and blocked each and every strike, looking as if he was expending little to no energy.
He tried to aim a strike at the Decepticon's side, only for the mech to vanish from his line of sight in a quick movement. He twisted around just in time to see Soundwave's data-cables lashing out at him, sending him flying into the water.
R-1 sunk almost immediately.
Nononono! He should be floating! Not sinking! He was going to drown—
The panicked thoughts were quickly erased, replaced by logic. As he hit the bottom, he closed his vents to prevent more water from entering his systems, expelling the liquid that had already entered his system. It felt so unnatural—
Not relevant.
Carefully, he scaled up underwater wall and eventually arrived to the top. Immediately, his vents opened up to allow fresh air to cycle through his frame and he rose to his pedes. When he looked up, he saw Soundwave searching for something.
The Resonance Blaster, he realized.
R-1 had almost forgotten about it. He looked down and noticed it had attached itself to his forearm at some point, most likely before the fight. It didn't matter though, he still had it.
Soundwave noticed him and probably the weapon too.
The TIC was moving again, closing the distance with a surprising amount of speed. One of his thick cables latched onto his arm, and a white-hot pain coursed through his system, causing error alerts and thoughts to scatter as he was electrocuted.
The next thing he knew, he was hurled into a nearby wall. Like a cartoon character, he peeled off the wall and fell to the ground with a clang. Before he could recover, the tentacle was on his chassis, pinning him down.
No—
He reacted on instinct, bringing his energy weapon to hit the tendril. Electricity shot up the thick cable, causing the Decepticon to rear back at the invasion. With the distraction, he twisted sharply and brought up his leg, knocking aside a data-cable coming for his neck cables.
Unfortunately, Soundwave followed up with a backhand to his faceplates, sending him reeling. When he looked back, he noticed the TIC looked smaller, his chassis was flatter—
There was a screech above him.
Then something slapped his helm. The weapon instinctively raised his arms in defense, fighting off the dark mass pouncing on him. Sharp edged armor sliced his helm plating, leaving shallow grooves and scratches. It was moving so much, he couldn't grab it.
When it tried clawing at his optics, he activated his blasters and fired wildly until there was a pained sound from above him. The assault stopped abruptly and R-1 saw Soundwave rushing at him. A long arm swiped at him, and he was forced to duck. He moved away from the TIC as fast as he could.
Another squawk above him and he looked up to see what looked like a bird. A large, metal bird. Blades of metal made up wings, talons for feet, wicked, sharp, blueish armor glinting in the setting sun. Burning crimson optics glared down at him, and he saw a panel slide back, revealing a small blaster.
The symbiote sent a rapid volley of energon blasts toward him. He dodged left, narrowly avoiding the shots and getting close to the river once again, but the distraction allowed Soundwave to close the distance once more.
The Decepticon lashed out, aiming at his helm. R-1 ducked, countering with a punch aimed for Soundwave's midsection.
The Decepticon caught the strike.
His long, slender digitds wrapped around the weapon's fist, and before R-1 could break away, a data-cable shot forward, latching onto his torso and sending electricity through his systems. He screamed until his voice box gave out, forcing him to reset it.
It wasn't until he was limp on the ground was he released.
With a pained groan, he collapsed to the ground. He was forced to push aside the alerts flitting across his HUD, weakly struggling to his pedes.
He couldn't fail his mission.
His optics caught onto the Resonance Blaster attached to his forearm.
The calculations were immediate. The weapon had been designed during the Great War as a sonic-based artillery tool, capable of generating concussive force strong enough to tear through armor. A weapon of pure sound and vibration.
Where did that even come from?
He didn't—
It didn't matter. It was irrelevant, only its use mattered, not what made it tick.
R-1 raised the blaster at the TIC.
Soundwave moved instantly, recognizing the danger, but R-1 did not hesitate.
He activated the weapon.
The Resonance Blaster activated, unleashing a concentrated wave of sonic energy.
The force struck Soundwave full-on, lifting him off his pedes and sending him flying. His frame collided hard with the canyon wall, metal scraping against rock as the impact sent deep cracks spiderwebbing through the surface.
The Decepticon peeled off, sliding down to the ground. He weakly attempted to rise to his pedes, bracing against the wall in an attempt to push himself upright.
R-1 activated it again..
Another sonic blast slammed into Soundwave, crushing him further into the rock face with an earsplitting roar of energy. The canyon trembled from the sheer force of the impact.
When the dust settled, Soundwave's frame was motionless.
He was in stasis.
He aimed the weapon at the mech, preparing to finish him off. As he did so, Laserbeak landed by his master's side, prodding at him to get up.
Kill.
Don't. It's not you.
Killing isn't you.
You'd be no better than our aggressors.
Help.
Leave.
R-1 winced at the assault in his processor, raising a servo to his helm. What was going on? He would have to get Silas to run a diagnostic to see what was wrong. His leader would fix him.
He broke you.
You... you... friends and you... Mikomikomko...mJackjackjackyouyouyou—
Ignoring what most likely was malware in his system, R-1 slowly lowered the weapon, it wasn't right. Silas had ordered the elimination of all threats, and Soundwave no longer posed a threat. Thus, there would be no need to kill him.
Just like the scout. And Optimus.
He knows.
They all know.
His logic was satisfactory.
The mission was complete. All threats had been eliminated.
He raised to digits to his audial receptor and a sad voice came from behind him.
"Oh, Raf..."
Starscream shifted uncomfortably against the boulder behind him. One of his poorly done patches had broken off, causing energon to leak from the wound once again. He grimaced, trying adjust his position to make himself more comfortable, but just the simple act of moving caused a fresh wave of pain lancing through his frame.
What was taking those accursed Autobots so long?
He had expected them to rush to his location the moment he transmitted his coordinates.
They were supposed to care about their little pets, weren't they?
And yet here he was, battered, leaking, and waiting. Like some common scum!
At last, a GroundBridge tore open the space before him in a swirling vortex of green energy. Starscream immediately straightened, wincing, and his optics narrowed as he made out the orange and white frame stepping through.
Ratchet.
Relief washed over him, but it was short-lived.
Because followed the medic was her.
The cobalt femme stepped through the vortex, cerulean optics locking onto him with an icy gaze.
That femme was crazy! Why would the medic bring her along? She had nearly snuffed his spark in the canyon by the Harbinger! He would have preferred the big one, Bulkhead. At least he had some amount of compassion for poor, old him. Unlike her.
"Starscream," the femme greeted coolly. "How the mighty have fallen."
It wasn't like she wasn't in his position just a couple of cycles ago. After all, he had saved her spark from being snuffed by the wretch, Airachnid. Admittedly, the only reason he had saved her was because he didn't want to owe debts to anyone. Least of all an Autobot.
He bared his denta at her in an irritated snarl as she strode closer with that infuriating air of confidence. Her field was tight and unreadable, making it all the more frustrating.
"Where are the kids, Starscream?" she demanded with a dangerous edge in her voice. The one he recognized when he led the Autobots to the Harbinger in search of that blasted Immobilizer. And when he proclaimed he had wanted to join the Autobots.
He was being genuine there, one of the few, rare kliks he didn't lie. The Autobots were a better alternative to Lord Megatron and his constant abuse, but after witnessing Arcee's behavior towards him, he realized she could turn him into her personal punching bag.
He had saw his opportunity when the other Autobots left a raging femme alone with him.
She some serious anger issues, it was a wonder why she wasn't a Decepticon.
Starscream scowled at both of them before tilting his chin up. "Patch me up and perhaps I'll tell you want to know." He sneered, despite the energon still dripping from his frame. It was a gamble talking to them like this, but he did have all the cards.
Ratchet exchanged a glance with Arcee, utterly unimpressed as he crossed his arms.
The crazy femme scoffed, disdainfully glaring at him. "Or maybe we'll just leave you like this."
Starscream let out an exaggerated gasp, clutching at his chassis dramatically. "Oh, have some sympathy! I'm leaking here!" He gestured to the gash on his side, where energon oozed steadily onto the green ground below.
Ratchet raised an optic ridge, but remained silent, letting the cobalt femme do the talking. She didn't disappoint.
She stepped forward swiftly, her twin arm-blades shot out with a snikt, gleaming dangerously in the setting sun. She brought them dangerously close to the former SIC's neck cables, forcing the Seeker to press back against the boulder in alarm. One twitch from either of them would draw energon.
"Then speak quickly," she hissed, optics narrowing into deadly slits. "Where. Are. The. Kids?"
Unease slithered down his spinal strut.
"They're in a base," he squeaked, trying not to flinch as her blades pushed into his sensitive cables. "MECH's base."
"The same base you took Raf to." It wasn't a question. It was an accusation, filled fury. Now that he thought about it, her fields did feel a little hot...
"Well, I—"
"Give me one reason why I shouldn't extinguish your spark right now."
He kept his fields really tight. "For one, I have the information on your precious pets."
"No more games, Starscream," the crazy femme snarled, pushing the blade further. He could feel it cutting into one of his cables. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't terminate you right now."
Oh, if Arcee knew how much she sounded like Megatron right now. It almost made him wonder what got under her plating. Besides MECH.
"I was merely following orders," he hedged, attempting to hold up his servos in a placating gesture. His servos were batted away by aggressive ones. "A-and I spared your life."
Arcee's optics narrowed. "Wrong answer. And we're even."
"Wait, wait! Let's not be hasty!"
"Then talk."
Ratchet sighed, speaking up after observing the entire interaction. "For the record, I have no qualms about leaving you to rust out here, Starscream. Either give us the information we need, or we'll let MECH finish the job for us." He gestured vaguely at his wounds.
Starscream realized his leverage had been effectively ripped out of his servos. He hated being at their mercy, and neither of them seemed particularly inclined to help him. Not unless he gave them what they wanted.
The Seeker scowled, this was not going how he imagined it. "Fine. Your pets—"
Even though he knew of only one there, not that he was going to tell them that "—are at a MECH facility within this 'city-state' Nevera, Jaspet. Jasper. In an industrial sector, supposedly abandoned. Obviously not, since MECH inhabits that disgusting, filthy place." He was more than relieved when the pressure mercifully eased off his throat slightly. "Now, patch me up."
Arcee wasn't satisfied. "Give us the coordinates."
Starscream rolled his optics. "Oh, certainly! Let me just hand over the most valuable piece of intel I have without ensuring my own survival first." He smirked. "Repair me, and I'll tell you what you want."
Arcee's patience snapped. With one motion, she grabbed one of his injured wings and twisted.
The former Decepticon shrieked, thrashing as pain shot through his entire frame. That accursed, crazy femme! Seeker's wings were the most sensitive part of their frame, covered with sensors on every surface!
"PRIMUS—"
This femme was almost as bad as Megatron! He had torn off his wings on multiple occasions, and at one point, he had carved his name onto either side of his wings, forcing him to keep it that way for multiple cycles. The pain was not as bad as the humiliation.
"You don't get to bargain," the femme hissed, echoing his old master's words from megacycles ago, shortly after he had arrived back from space with his supposed army and a touch of space madness. Which could be blamed on exposure to dark energon.
"You worked with MECH. You handed over Raf. And you expect us to play nice?" She leaned in, putting more pressure on his wing, causing him to whimper, and lowered her voice into a venomous whisper he had heard one too many times from Megatron. "You're lucky I don't run you through right now."
He didn't notice his plating was rattling until she finished, icy blue gaze filled with malice. Clamping his plating down tightly, he forced out, "Alright! Alright! I'll give you the coordinates! Just release my wing, you sadistic glitch!"
The cruel femme held her glare for a klik longer before shoving him back against the boulder. Starscream sagged with relief, groaning as he clutched his injured appendage. After giving them the coordinates, he half expected them to leave him here to die after the display. Much to his surprise, the medic stepped forward with his medical kit and knelt next to him.
Autobots could be trusted, sort of.
"Don't try anything," Ratchet warned, pulling out tools from the medical kit with a warning look.
Starscream huffed but didn't resist as the medic started patching his worst wounds. He didn't intend on stabbing the medic when he was the key to him surviving the wounds those fleshies inflicted upon him in the first place.
"Hold still," the medic ordered, pulling out his welder and activating it. The orange glow illuminated the damage to Starscream's abdomen, the torn plating shifting slightly with each of his slightly panicked ventilations.
The Seeker obeyed, though not without grumbling. "If you insist on poking at my wounds, at least try to be gentle."
The former Decepticon tensed when the medic pressed the welder against the deep gash, hissing at the heat against the metal. Oh, this would be so much easier if he had simply turned of his pain receptors. He suspected the medic did it on purpose. Hmph, for being Autobots, they could certainly be cruel.
The crazy femme merely smirked at his plight. "What's wrong? Not used to a little pain?"
Oh, you have no idea, you little annoying cretin, he sneered in his mind. Aloud, he said, "I prefer my repairs without unnecessary sadism, thank you very much."
Ratchet snorted, moving to another wound, sealing it another patched one. He worked quickly, something the Seeker could appreciate. He didn't want to be around them any longer than they had to be around him.
"And this?"
The former SIC startled when Ratchet broke him out of his thoughts. Glancing at where the medic was pointing, he scowled. "Courtesy of MECH, of course. They shot me with a harpoon. Two."
Ratchet paused, optics narrowing. "They what?" The medic was processing this information when they raided those accursed humans base. Ugh, he hoped Silas was squashed like the bug he was. Though with how soft the Autobots were, he doubted it.
"You heard me," Starscream snapped irritably, shifting uncomfortably. "I was impaled, dragged down, electrocuted, and then restrained like some beast. Obviously, I escaped." He shuddered at the dark memory, although it was nothing compared to the abused he suffered at Megatron's servos. "Quite the experience, I assure you."
Arcee's expression darkened. "Sounds like you got what you deserved."
What was it with this femme? Oh, right...
He had tortured her and Cliffjumper on Cybertron, then snuffed her partner's spark on Earth, and he bragged about it in front of her, stabbed her and—Well, he could see why she was so hostile to him. That didn't mean she needed to torture him!
Starscream scoffed. "Oh, please. Do you have any idea what those fleshbags are capable of?"
He did, and so did Breakdown.
Breakdown's experience a MECH made him hate humans with a fire never seen before. He never really had opinions about them before, thinking they were cute and tiny but squishy. However, after returning to the Nemesis with plating, wires and some gears missing, and with one less optic, his opinion had drastically changed.
If it weren't for his efforts (with some persuasion from Knock Out), then he would still be there. Oh, and the Autobots too. Why were they even bothering to save the enemy? They were so confusing sometimes. It made him wonder if they were actually trying to win the war.
"Then again, of course you do. After all, they've had their hands on your precious pets." Not the best choice of words, but the crazy femme was just so easy to provoke.
Arcee's optics darkened into an ugly shade of purple, burning with fury and hatred, but before she could even think of tearing his helm off, Ratchet raised a servo, silencing her with a look. He turned back to Starscream, inspecting his wings. The medic said something with medical jargon, and in response, he merely spat,
"Brilliant deduction, doctor."
Ratchet ignored the sarcasm, reaching for a patch. After that, he reached for the welder. "This will sting," the medic before pressing the welder against the tear in the sensitive appendage.
Oh, it burned! Despite his sensors not fully working, it hurt so much, eliciting a yelp from him. "Sting? That's an understatement!"
Ratchet vented, continuing his work. "Oh, stop whining. If you can survive a harpoon through your wing, you can survive a little field repair." He sounded like the most irritable bot to ever exist, besides Megatron of course. That honor was only reserved for his former master.
The Seeker let out a strangled, staticky noise, but he didn't pull away. That would make worse, despite how much he wanted to. He knew he needed Ratchet's help, MECH had inflicted serious wounds on him. Life threatening wounds!
Ratchet worked quickly, sealing the worst of the damage and started repairing his other wing. After a few kliks of burning pain, the medic eventually finished, much to his relief.
"You won't be flying properly until you get a full repair," he admitted, pulling back to inspect his work. "But this should hold for now." He glanced back at the femme before continuing, "I don't know if your sensors will come back online with a simple repair like this."
Starscream huffed, moving his wing experimentally. It still ached, but the awful pain had dulled to something more manageable. When he ran a quick diagnostic, it showed that his wing sensors were only working at less than fifty percent capacity.
Ah, it wouldn't be impossible to work with. He would just be less... aware of his environment. It made his wings twitch anxiously. He felt more exposed like this. Seeker's wings detected their surroundings, which was always how he was aware of everything going on around him.
He was vulnerable now. Just like Skywarp had been when he die—
The Seeker stamped off the line of thoughts, already feeling the cold ache in his spark from his trinemate's absence.
"Well, I suppose that will do." That was about the closest thing the medic would get to a thank you. His comment was received with a grunt and the packing up of tools.
Arcee crossed her arms. "Let's go Ratchet."
The medic commed a 'Bridge, and within a couple of nano-kliks, a warm, inviting GroundBridge winked into existence. The hum was broken when the two Autobots stepped in, disappearing in a swirl of light. The GroundBridge vanished, leaving him in the twilight.
As he struggled to his pedes, the Seeker wondered how many times he would be here, begging for the Autobots assistance. How many times would the betrayer become the betrayed? It was in his nature, and he supposed, it would be his destiny.
R-1's perspective is harder to write than I thought it would be.
'The Vehicon Elite' was the only way to describe the overpowered Vehicons at the beginning of the show in-universe. I know they were trying to figure out how powerful to make Eradicons but it makes me feel better when there's an explanation.
Despite many peoples' thoughts on Arizona being a dustball, with nothing but rocks and dirt and cactuses, it can be pretty, depending on the area you live in. Its sunsets are very pretty because of the dirt in the air. And there's the Grand Canyon too. The winter is great, and it's nice to go to the mountains when there's snow.
The downside is that allergies are bad there, and the summer kills. Essentially, it's like walking into a blowtorch. But you do get a nice tan if you can tan. I couldn't, and in turn, I just got cooked alive and turned into a lobster
The last few years, Arizona was being moved into a lot, so it was becoming way too expensive and extremely busy. It went from a ghost town in the middle of the desert to a mini city where I used to live in. Not Phoenix, or Tempe. I'm not even going to say anything about those dumpsters.