CHAPTER 15: WETAND WEBS

Simmons sat at his desk, the glow of the monitor casting harsh shadows across his already tired face. A half-finished cup of coffee sat cold beside him. The report he was working on, already well past the acceptable length for a standard government incident log, felt like trying to describe a fever dream with footnotes. He'd done this a thousand times. Filed reports, cleaned up after Autobots, catalogued events. But this? This was Herculean. Not because of logistics, but because of what it actually contained. How do you even begin to write a report that includes the sentence, "Cybertronian dinosaur tribe discovered on previously undetected island, possibly older than known American civilization."

He stared at the blinking cursor.

First: That island off the coast of Costa the hell do you explain that an entire island was just… missed? Satellites. Naval records. Commercial flight paths. Centuries of ships sailing through the Pacific. And no one's ever logged, seen, or acknowledged this place?

Second: Dinosaurs. Not metaphorical ones. Actual, living, breathing, stomping, bellowing dinosaurs. Species that shouldn't exist. From across the entire Mesozoic spectrum. This island should be full of iguanas, monkeys, toucans. A Central American Galápagos. Not... a prehistoric zoo.

And then, because God apparently had a sense of humor, Cybertronian dinosaurs. Ten of them. Ten. Ten Dinobots. Unaffiliated. Unpredictable. Stronger, larger, and absolutely uncooperative. The Axalon, an ancient ship, just embedded in the jungle, overrun with foliage. They'd somehow missed that, too. Simmons rubbed his temples, trying to stave off the growing headache. This wasn't a report anymore, this was a sci-fi novel with a classified header.

The government was already tense over five Autobots living in Chicago.
Now they had a tribe of mechanical dinosaurs, armed with plasma swords and magma whips, living like some kind of cybernetic Amazonian clan. It was Isla Nublar meets Cybertron. Only this time, there was no Hammond, no fences, no control. God, Jurassic Park wasn't fiction anymore, It was a damn documentary.

Simmons sighed, leaned back in his chair, and muttered to himself, "The Secretary of Defense is going to need a bottle of Advil just to read the first paragraph." He resumed typing, praying no one would think he'd lost his mind. Because frankly, he was starting to wonder if he had.

And how could he forget the walking evolutionary paradox currently trotting up to his desk? Tubehead, Impulse's latest act of spontaneous chaos. The juvenile parasaurolophus from Dinobot Island had, overnight, become the team's unofficial mascot, therapy animal, and attention vacuum all in one. Simmons didn't hate Tubehead. No, that would require emotional bandwidth he no longer possessed. But the little dinosaur had added the kind of chaotic complication to his life usually reserved for a dad bringing home a puppy without telling the rest of the family. No plan, no prep, no discussion. And of course, instead of "Dad," it was Impulse.

Now, Simmons' division was bankrolling Tubehead's food, bedding, hygiene supplies, habitat requests, and even the dinosaur-safe chew toys Impulse insisted were necessary.

Trying to refocus on his ever-expanding report, Simmons squinted at the screen of his laptop, only to realize his CIA-themed coffee mug, which read, "I'm the uncle who works for the CIA" was now being sniffed aggressively. Tubehead let out a small snort, clearly offended by the smell of Simmons' coffee, which was blacker than the screen's dark mode.

Simmons scooped the mug up and placed it on the other side of his desk. That didn't stop Tubehead. The dinosaur's long head craned down, wedging between Simmons and the screen in a very deliberate attempt to inspect what this human was doing. "Isn't there someone else you can bother?" Simmons asked, trying to push Tubehead's snout away from the keyboard.

Tubehead ignored him entirely, plopping his head down on the desk, his body slumping to the floor with a thump. He let out a quiet bellow, then rested his cheek on the table, big black eyes fixed on Simmons. "What? I don't have anything for you." Tubehead blinked slowly. "You want food? I don't have food. And you can't have my coffee." Still staring. "Look, you go and leave me alone, and I'll let you have a donut tomorrow. Deal?"

Tubehead didn't move. Didn't blink. Just licked his own nose.

"…What?"

Then, with perfect comedic timing, he rubbed his snout against the desk, clearly making himself more comfortable. Simmons finally gave up. "Fine." He reached out and rubbed Tubehead's snout, and the dinosaur immediately let out a low, happy growl, something akin to a purr. Simmons sighed, his hand still rubbing absentmindedly at the dino's head.

"What has my life become?" Then, without hesitation, he opened a new browser tab and typed: "Chicago Zoo vacant exhibits."

In the other room, Impulse was crouched near the base's exit, clutching a big white tarp like it was the most important item on the planet. Jeopardy spotted him immediately. "What are you doing, Impulse?"

Impulse looked up like a child caught stealing cookies. "Slipstream's out flying," he whispered, "so when she gets back, I'm gonna prank her with this Halloween costume.

"Isn't Halloween not until October?" Jeopardy asked, not connecting the dots Impulse had somehow considered connectable.

"Well, yeah—but that's the genius of it! On Halloween, everyone's expecting a scare. But now? When September just started? Slipstream's not gonna see it coming. That's what makes it funny!"

Jeopardy sighed. "Impulse, I cannot begin to describe how this is a terrible idea."

"Then don't," Impulse said, utterly unfazed, already peeking through a crack in the door as the sound of turbines signaled Slipstream's return.

Jeopardy wisely stepped back. If Impulse was going to learn anything, it would have to be the hard way.

The atrium's sunroof slid open, and Slipstream rocketed down with the signature superhero landing, one fist to the ground, wings flared dramatically behind her. She'd 100% seen Iron Man do it, and now made it a routine. "Woo! New top speed!" she cheered, shaking out her limbs.

Meanwhile, Impulse donned the white tarp, draping it over himself in the most ridiculous "ghost costume" imaginable, then began creeping forward, arms outstretched like a cartoon ghoul.

Slipstream glanced around, her engines still winding down. "Hey Jeopardy, you seen Impulse? I wanna tell him about my new top speed."

Jeopardy, struggling to hold back a smirk, replied, "Oh, he's close by."

Impulse, now inches away, prepared for his moment of glory. Grabbing Slipstream's shoulders, giving her a dramatic shake, and yelling, "BOO!"

Slipstream reacted instinctively. She spun on her heel and uppercut him clean in the jaw, sending Impulse flying backward and crashing onto the floor with a loud thud.

"Ugh, my jaw!" he groaned, clutching his face like he wasn't the direct cause of his current predicament.

"Shit, Impulse?!" Slipstream shouted, rushing over and yanking the sheet off him. "Dude, what the hell was that?!"

"Halloween prank," Impulse mumbled, still cupping his jaw.

Slipstream blinked. "But Halloween isn't until October."

"That's what I tried to tell him," Jeopardy called out from nearby, trying very hard not to sound smug.

Slipstream reached down and helped Impulse to his feet, concerned. "Oh, Impulse, I am so sorry! If I'd known it was you—"

"Agh, killer uppercut, Slip," Impulse said, sincerely impressed. "I think you broke my jaw."

"If it was broken, you wouldn't be talking," Jeopardy added dryly.

Just then, Tubehead came bounding over, clearly excited that Slipstream had returned. "Oh hey, Tuber, you miss me?" she cooed, rubbing under his neck like she always did.

Tubehead then turned to Impulse and nuzzled him gently, sensing his distress. "Oh it's alright, Tuber," Impulse reassured the dinosaur, giving him a scratch on the snout. "To be honest, I probably deserved that."

Jeopardy raised a brow. "Only probably?" he asked. Because the correct answer was definitely.

"Hey, did you guys see the news?" Stormsurge asked as she walked into the room, datapad in hand.

"No, why?" Jeopardy asked, his tone already bracing for chaos.

"Something landed in Louisiana."

Before Jeopardy could respond—

"SERIOUSLY, MORE OF THEM?!" Simmons screamed from the next room, having clearly gotten the same alert.

"We don't know that," Hermit Crab tried to reason. "It could just be a satellite."

"Oh yeah? Because that's how satellites behave when they come back down?" Simmons barked back. "Do I look like an idiot to you?"

Hermit didn't skip a beat. "You don't want me to answer that query."

Jeopardy stepped into the room, frowning as he saw the footage on the monitor.

"More Cybertronians?"

Hermit nodded, pulling up another feed. "From the looks of it. And after discovering the Dinobots, either this is a coincidence… or our fight with Bruticus got someone's attention."

"How are the Combaticons?"

Hermit tapped a few keys, pulling up a drone feed of Brawl throwing a palm tree at the drone.

"Still stuck in Hawaii…" Hermit muttered, clearly unimpressed. He even pronounced it wrong: Ha-way.

"They're still… well… doing nothing. I'm honestly shocked they haven't tried to escape yet."

Jeopardy turned back to the others. "Alright. Keep monitoring them. We're going to investigate whatever this thing is in Louisiana."

Hermit glanced back at the screen. "From what I can tell, it landed in a swampy environment."

"Ooo, the bayou! I love Cajun food!" Impulse shouted, already racing toward the ground bridge console like a kid about to win a prize.

With a loud whirr and hum, the ground bridge opened, its swirling green and yellow vortex casting a glow across the base. The next mystery was waiting in the heart of the Louisiana swamp.

Jeopardy, Impulse, Stormsurge, and Slipstream stepped out of the swirling light of the ground bridge and into the dense, humid bayous of Louisiana. Immediately, they were hit with thick, wet air, the smell of mud, algae, and something vaguely reptilian clinging to everything. The buzzing of flies filled their audials as the swamp hummed with life.

"Of all the places to land… why here?" Stormsurge grumbled, swatting at a small swarm of bugs near her face.

"If you want, you can sit this one out," Jeopardy offered with a small smirk.

Stormsurge gave him a flat look. "I'm tempted to take that offer." But despite her discomfort, she followed, willing to see this through.

Impulse, already knee-deep in the muck, looked around eagerly. "Hey, you guys think we'll find talking frogs?"

Stormsurge raised a brow. "You know The Princess and the Frog is just a story, right?"

"Yeah yeah yeah," Impulse waved her off, though no one was truly convinced he didn't think it was a documentary.

He turned to Slipstream with a big grin. "Hey Slipstream, would you kiss a frog if it would turn into a prince?"

Slipstream shrugged casually. "If it was a king, I'd consider it."

"Understandable." Impulse replied with a nod, as if that was the most rational thing anyone had ever said.

They arrived at the ship, its underside caked in thick mud, the impact having driven it partially into the swampy ground. The hull was scorched in places, but the structure was mostly intact, which made the silence around it all the more unsettling.

Before anyone could suggest caution, Impulse grabbed the exit hatch and pulled it open, stepping inside like it was his own personal welcome mat.

"Hello? Anyone home? I promise not to fight you!" he called into the dark corridor.

A beat passed.

"Huh, weird. I don't think there's anyone here."

"What? It's just completely empty?" Jeopardy asked, approaching the entrance with a frown.

"Nah, there's stuff in here, but I don't see any people."

Jeopardy followed him in, immediately spotting the signs of something very, very wrong. The passenger seats were clawed and scratched, the walls had gouges, and there were puddles of energon, some fresh, others sticky and drying.

Clumps of small, sinewy webbing clung to the corners of the ceiling, trembling faintly in the air.

Impulse glanced around casually. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

Jeopardy didn't break stride. "Probably not. But go ahead."

"I'm thinking whoever was in here probably spilled their drink on the descent. I mean, look at all this energon. Clumsy guy, right?"

Jeopardy stepped closer to one of the puddles, tapping it with the tip of his foot. The consistency wasn't right, it was too thick, too mucousy.

"Feels more like saliva," he muttered.

Impulse blinked. "So what, the guy's got a drooling problem?"

Jeopardy turned, expression darkening. "I don't know. But I don't like it."

They stepped out of the ship, regrouping with Stormsurge and Slipstream, who were inspecting the area around the landing site.

"You guys find anything out here?" Jeopardy asked.

"Mostly just this webbing," Slipstream replied, holding up thick, gooey strands of energon-dripping silk.

Stormsurge stared at it, then looked to the treeline. "Doesn't this look oddly familiar to you guys?"

Impulse's optics lit up with way too much excitement.

"Oh is this what I think it is?"

Jeopardy groaned. "I think it is… scrap."

"Who are we talking about?" Slipstream asked, still clueless.

Jeopardy didn't even look at her as he muttered, face in hand, "Blackarachnia."

"Who's Blackarachnia?" Slipstream asked, her tone teetering between curiosity and concern.

Jeopardy sighed. "We had a run-in with her and her Insecticons before arriving on Earth. It was… not good."

"Speak for yourself," Impulse said brightly. "I had a wonderful time."

The memory still brought him amusement, being tied up in her web and trading flirtatious banter. Good times.

Slipstream looked between them, confused. "What's an Insecticon?"

"This creepy 'Con that turns into… something. I don't know. Sharp and bitey." Impulse waved a hand dismissively, "Last I checked she had three, so it should be an even fight."

Stormsurge frowned. "Do we really want to fight her?" She remembered the last time they dealt with Insecticons, it was not pleasant.

Jeopardy shook his head. "If we can, we'll avoid it."
He pulled out his pistol, the metallic click punctuating the shift in tone.

"But it's likely she's sticking close to this area. That's where we start the search. Stay close, keep your head on a swivel, she could be anywhere."

"I like that possibility," Impulse said with an eager grin, following Jeopardy into the trees, excitement buzzing like a live wire through his system.

As they trudged through the murky bayou, swatting away insects and stepping over roots and murky puddles, Jeopardy turned to Impulse with a raised brow.

"So, Impulse, you wanna guess how she managed to get off the planet we found her on?"

Impulse pondered that for all of two seconds. "Maybe she found the shuttle."

Jeopardy gave him a sideways look. "She just found a perfectly working shuttle?"

Impulse shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Yeah, like maybe it was hidden somewhere in her crashed command ship and she only recently found it."

Jeopardy didn't look convinced, but didn't argue either.

"You think she brought those Insecticons with her?"

"Probably. I'd want backup if I was her. Remember how fast she folded when you had her at gunpoint? That was an awesome play, by the way."

Jeopardy smirked faintly. "It was just for intimidation."

Impulse paused. "Wait, so you weren't gonna kill her?"

"Of course not. I'm a medic, not an executioner. But she didn't need to know that."

Impulse gave an impressed nod. "Well, then you have a killer poker face, 'cause I definitely thought you were gonna pull the trigger."

Jeopardy smirked a little more, his optics still scanning the trees.

"I'll keep that in mind for next time."

"So what's Blackarachnia actually like?" Slipstream asked, curiosity piqued. If they were about to go toe-to-toe with someone, she wanted the full picture.

"Last I remember," Jeopardy said grimly, "she was ready to keep Impulse to herself forever, and was totally willing to kill us to do it."

Impulse waved that off like it was yesterday's news. "No no no, you got it wrong. Remember what I told you? She was stranded for like a thousand years, low on energon, completely isolated. She just kinda clung to the first bit of connection she found. It just so happened that was moi."

"She kidnapped you." Jeopardy reminded him flatly.

"She was also a wonderful host, engaging conversationalist… and, let's be honest, very attractive."

"By Primus," Slipstream groaned, already regretting asking.

"What?! I'm not allowed to admire someone's beauty?" Impulse protested.

"It's not that," Stormsurge muttered, "but come on, man."

Impulse smirked, his tone growing cheeky. "Seriously, she's got some assets in the land down under, if you're catching what I'm throwing."

"More like it smacked me in the forehead," Slipstream replied, rolling her optics.

Jeopardy blinked. "What does Australia have to do with physical attractiveness?" he asked, completely serious.

Impulse grinned. "I'll let someone explain it when you're older."

Which was extra ironic, considering Jeopardy was four thousand years his senior.

Slipstream raised an optic ridge. "So wait, are you actually… you know?"

Impulse's tone turned unexpectedly sincere. "Oh nah. I'm not that delusional."

Jeopardy, never one to pass on a chance for a jab, added, "The evidence for that is about as airtight as mesh."

Slipstream tilted her head. "But you just said—"

"I can appreciate someone's body without wanting to be with said body," Impulse explained with exaggerated patience.

Jeopardy smirked. "You say that like you're some sort of tastemaker for attractiveness."

Impulse puffed up. "Well, I was one of the most eligible bachelors in Praxus."

Stormsurge finally snapped, throwing her hands in the air.
"CAN WE PLEASE CHANGE THE SUBJECT?!"

Everyone went quiet for a second.

"Alright jeez, don't gotta yell," Impulse muttered.

Stormsurge sighed, clearly flustered. "Sorry. It's just… this is a very uncomfortable subject."

"Message received," Jeopardy said, raising his hands in surrender.

And finally, mercifully, the topic died.

Suddenly, a rapid series of gunshots echoed through the bayou, shattering the silence and sending flocks of startled birds scattering from the trees. Instantly alert, the Autobots rushed toward the source, pushing through hanging moss and thick vegetation until they reached a wide opening in the swamp where a quartet of men on an airboat were wildly aiming up at the shaking canopy above.

The massive airboat roared across the water, its engine kicking up ripples and muck, while the men hollered, eyes fixed upward.

"AW DAMMIT, IT GOT AWAY!" one of the men shouted, slamming his hat against his knee in frustration as whatever had been lurking above scurried into the distance through the treetops with an eerie rustling hiss.

Then, one of them noticed the towering Cybertronians approaching.
"Oh shit, look! It's those Midwest bots!" the captain called out, pointing.

The other men turned quickly, momentarily distracted from their hunt.

"Hello," Jeopardy greeted, stepping forward cautiously. "What was that thing?"

The captain, a sun-weathered man with aviators and a pronounced Cajun drawl, puffed up proudly. "Well, we was comin' home from catchin' this big catfish. Ron, show 'em how big it was."

Ron, the stockiest of the group, held out his arms wide.
"Yeah, was 'bout this long."

Jeopardy nodded slowly, though it was hard to tell how long this was supposed to be.

The captain continued with grand flourish.

"Yeah, see, we was headin' home and this big black 'n purple bug drops outta the trees like the damn boogeyman an' just eats the catfish in one go."

Ron shook his head, still sore about it.
"Didn't even chew. Just snatched it right outta the cooler."

"Well we weren't gonna take that lyin' down," the captain added. "So Paul put one b'tween its eyes. Ain't that right, Paul?"

Paul gave a solemn nod. "Yeah, but it didn't do much." He gestured to his buddy beside him. "Then Nate shot it in the eye, and that made it run. Sprayed some weird blue goo all over Nate's overalls."

Nate held up his energon stained leg for proof.
"Damn thing left a trail. And we wasn't just gonna let a score like that run with it's tail b'tween it's legs so we tried followin' it… 'least 'til you showed up."

Stormsurge leaned in and tapped Jeopardy's shoulder, her voice low but firm.
"That was definitely one of those Insecticons."

Jeopardy nodded. "Gotcha." He turned back to the men. "Well, gentlemen, thank you for letting us know. We can take it from here."

Paul raised an eyebrow. "What about the big beetle thing? We don't getta kill it?"

Jeopardy gave a confident nod. "That's what we're here for."

"So you guys is exterminators now?" Nate asked, chuckling. "Hope the pay's good."

"Wait, you guys are getting paid?" Impulse asked, as if he'd been left out of some imaginary salary negotiations.

Jeopardy exhaled. "Please, just go home. Let us handle this."

"Alright, alright. Yo Phil, take us back!" Ron called.

The captain, Phil , spun the airboat around with practiced ease. With one last hoot of laughter and a wave, the four men disappeared back into the swamp, the roar of their fan fading into the distance.

The Autobots continued deeper into the swamp, trudging through knee-deep muck and thick undergrowth, following the rough direction the humans had indicated. The further they went, the more unnatural the silence became less like a typical swamp and more like something was watching them.

Eventually, they came across a fallen tree, its bark split and its stump jagged and splintered. Across the surface, thick, viscous trails of energon were splattered like arterial spray.

"That's definitely from the Insecticon those guys tagged," Impulse said, crouching next to it and poking at the energon. "We really gotta give these guys names."

"I think we have bigger priorities than that," Jeopardy muttered, eyes scanning the canopy.

"I remember at least one of them being electric," Impulse continued. "How about Shocker?"

Stormsurge gave him a look. "Doesn't that seem a bit basic?"

"What would you suggest?"

"Maybe… I don't know. Electro?"

Impulse stared at her. "That's even worse. You just shortened Electric."

Stormsurge crossed her arms. "When has Electric even been spelled with an O?"

Impulse blinked. "Is it not?"

Slipstream groaned. "Oh, this is gonna be the rest of the hike, isn't it?"

And it might've been if they weren't being hunted.

While Jeopardy, Impulse, and Stormsurge were still bickering over Insecticon nicknames beside the energon-splattered log, Slipstream had her attention elsewhere.

She had heard something, a faint rustle, subtle but unnatural, like something brushing against the upper branches. Her optics scanned the canopy, and she slowly turned in place, null rays raised, sweeping the treetops as quietly as she could. The dense bayou hummed with the sound of insects and distant frogs, but this sound… this was different.

Then plop.

Something wet and sticky landed on her shoulder. She glanced down. Webbing, slick and shining, coated in fresh energon. Her gaze snapped upward and there she was: Blackarachnia.

Perched above in the branches, her glowing optics locked onto Slipstream, sharp and silent. A single finger rose to her lips in a chilling shush, warning her not to make a sound.

Slipstream's wings twitched. She opened her mouth to shout. But a split-second later, webbing shot down, striking her in the face and gagging her mouth shut in an instant. Her voice became a muffled yelp, hands immediately clawing at the sticky material.

Before she could tear it free, more strands whipped down, wrapping around her torso and limbs, and with a powerful yank, she was dragged up into the canopy, branches cracking under her sudden ascent.

Blackarachnia held the other end of the web, her legs clinging to the tree trunk, and gazed calmly at Slipstream as she dangled, suspended and immobilized.

"Sorry," Blackarachnia said, almost gently, "but we can't risk them noticing where you went."

Slipstream blinked, stunned by the odd sincerity in her voice. Then Blackarachnia tilted her head, like they were old friends meeting at a café.

"How are you, by the way?" she asked, completely casual.

"MMH MUH FMM ARH YUH HNMM?!" Slipstream tried to say through the gag, voice completely garbled but full of fury.

Blackarachnia smiled. "Don't worry, Slip. Just a few more cycles, and we can go."

Hearing the sharp rustling above and the unmistakable sound of muffled struggling, Impulse whirled around just in time to see Slipstream suspended in webbing, high in the canopy, and Blackarachnia standing above her like a shadow spun from silk and malice.

"WHAT THE—SHE HAS SLIPSTREAM!" Impulse bellowed, ripping out his minigun, the barrels beginning to hum with rising momentum.

Blackarachnia's expression tightened. "Scrap," she hissed under her breath. Then, smoothly, she straightened and smiled down with mock sweetness.

"Straight to violence, Impulse? I thought we had a good thing going."

"Yeah, that changed when you kidnapped my best friend!" Impulse roared, minigun now fully spun.

"Impulse, don't!" Jeopardy barked, stepping forward. "You might hit Slipstream!"

Impulse growled, teeth gritted, but immediately disengaged, lowering the weapon but keeping his optics locked on Blackarachnia.

"Much better," she cooed, brushing a strand of webbing off Slipstream's cheek like a twisted older sister. "Seems fate would have us collide again, Autobots. Did you miss me, Impulse?"

"Not anymore."

She gave a theatrical gasp. "Oh, you break my spark."

"You lay a hand on her, and I'll actually do it." Impulse snarled.

Jeopardy raised a hand, trying to de-escalate. "We're not here for a fight, Blackarachnia. Just put Slipstream down and come with us. I'm certain we can work something out."

Blackarachnia's optics narrowed in amusement. "Look at you, Jeopardy. Choosing to talk before resorting to violence. Character growth, it suits you."

But then her smile sharpened.

"As much as I'd love to stay and chat, I unfortunately have to go. Me and Slip have some catching up to do."

With a sharp whistle, three massive shapes burst from the surrounding swamp, Bombshell, Kickback, and Shrapnel, Insecticons all, their jaws clacking and optics glowing as they surrounded the Autobots.

Jeopardy immediately yanked his shotgun free, raising it in a smooth, practiced motion.

"I'll let you guys get to know each other," Blackarachnia said sweetly, tightening the threads around Slipstream. "Gotta run, 'Bots. I've got a girl's night planned."

And with a final, sinister giggle, she vanished into the shadows, Slipstream disappearing with her into the thick swamp.

Rushing through the canopy with eerie, spider-like grace, Blackarachnia made her way to her hidden shuttle, its hull half-sunk into the mud but still functional. She pressed a switch, the hatch sliding open with a hiss, and slipped inside with Slipstream still bound in her webs.

"Alright, we should be safe," she murmured, sealing the hatch behind them. She lowered Slipstream onto a padded platform, curling up beside her like this was a casual sleepover.

"You have no idea how much I've missed you. What's it been, two thousand stellar cycles since I got stranded?"

Slipstream stared at her, optics wide, trying to decipher the strange warmth in Blackarachnia's voice, a voice laced with familiarity and longing.

Blackarachnia noticed the silence.

"What...? Oh right," she said, clicking her claws and freeing Slipstream's restraints.
"Can't leave a friend tied up like that."

The moment she was free, Slipstream ripped off the sticky gag, breathing hard as she scrambled back slightly, confused and on edge.

Blackarachnia, however, just smiled, unbothered.

"Now I gotta know, what's up with you? I bet you've got so many things to tell me after all this time."

Slipstream's instincts screamed at her to fight or run, but her brain was caught in a snare of confusion.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked cautiously.

"Come on, Slip. We're safe. You can relax. We can catch up."

Blackarachnia leaned in slightly, almost giddy.

"First off, those Autobots. Was that you being undercover? Or did I just rescue you? Pffft, could you imagine? Second-in-command of the Seekers, rescued by me. Oh Tarantulas is gonna get a kick out of that."

Slipstream's optics narrowed. "What are you talking about? I wasn't a prisoner."

"So… undercover work?" Blackarachnia asked, amused.
"Interesting. Explains the fighting. Oh, did I mess up your work? I'm so sorry, I just got caught up in the euphoria of finally finding you—"

"Undercover? What do you…" Slipstream trailed off, brows furrowed.

Blackarachnia gave a knowing smirk.
"Slip, you can drop the act. They're gone."

"Act? What act?"

"The whole goody two-wheel act."

Slipstream sat up straighter. "There is no act. I'm not a Decepticon."

Blackarachnia blinked at her. "Did Shockwave make you denser? You can stop pretending to be an Autobot."

Slipstream's voice dropped. "But I am an Autobot."

A long pause.

"Slip… you cannot be serious." Blackarachnia leaned back, clearly annoyed.
"Come on, relax, let's hang out like old times."

Slipstream's voice rose, uncertain and defensive. "Hang out? I've never met you!"

Blackarachnia's optics narrowed. "The joke's not funny. Stop it."

"I'm not joking," Slipstream snapped. "I legitimately have no memory of seeing you."

The silence that followed was sharp and heavy. Blackarachnia stared at her, something fragile in her expression slowly fracturing.

Blackarachnia let out a chuckle, light, amused, almost as if trying to laugh off reality like it was a joke she wasn't ready to stop telling.

"Alright, now THAT is funny," she said with a grin. "Did Nova put you up to this? Oh Primus, she is a riot!"

Slipstream blinked. "Who's Nova?"

That stopped Blackarachnia cold. She cocked her head slightly.
"…Okay, okay, you got me. That was good."

She gave a shaky laugh, trying to hold onto the mirth. "But seriously, Slip, what's up with her?"

"I don't know, I've never met her."

Blackarachnia's smirk faltered, her face visibly shifting from amusement to something far more raw, concern.

"Slip… you alright?"

Slipstream hesitated, then shook her head.
"No. Not really. I mean…" she caught herself, the words spilling out before she could stop them.

"Wait, why am I telling you this? You kidnapped me, you sent those things after my friends, and then you started talking like we know each other. I should be punching you in the face! I don't know you!"

For a moment, Blackarachnia didn't react. But then… her optics dropped. Her face softened.

"You're not kidding, are you?" she said quietly.

Her voice had lost its snark, the bravado… everything. It was just soft, and hurt. "You actually… don't know me."

"YES!" Slipstream snapped, though the bite in her voice quickly faded.

Because she could see it. See it in Blackarachnia's optics, the realization sinking in, like a blade between the seams. The hurt wasn't rage. It was heartbreak. And Slipstream couldn't ignore it. She didn't know who Blackarachnia thought she was. But whoever that Slipstream had been… She had clearly meant something.

Blackarachnia slowly stepped back, her optics fixed on Slipstream, not with familiarity anymore, but with hollow recognition, like she was seeing a reflection in a shattered mirror.

Without a word, she turned and rushed out of the shuttle, her feet splashing through shallow puddles and weaving between cypress trees like a phantom in mourning. She didn't know where she was going, she just knew she had to move.

She ran until the jungle gave way to the wide expanse of the Mississippi River, the moon casting silver ripples over its slow-moving current. Blackarachnia collapsed to her knees in the mud at the edge of the water, her claws digging into the earth as she let the weight of the moment crash over her.

She didn't cry right away. She just breathed deeply, the silence around her growing louder with every second she didn't hear Slipstream's voice saying, "Of course I remember you."

Then she heard quiet footsteps behind her. Slipstream. She approached slowly, carefully, sitting beside her, unsure of what to say. She didn't know what was right, only that Blackarachnia needed someone, and Slipstream had a sense she was the only one here to be that someone.

Tentatively, she reached out and placed a hand on Blackarachnia's shoulder. It was immediately shrugged off. But then Blackarachnia looked at her, really looked at her, and her composure finally broke.

Tears began to stream down her face, thin and glowing, trailing over her metallic cheeks. Her optics locked with Slipstream's, trembling with a cocktail of grief, disbelief, and unbearable longing. Then she looked away, like even looking was too painful, and punched the mud beneath her.

"WHY?! WHY, ONYX, WHY!?" she screamed into the bayou, her voice echoing off the water.

Slipstream flinched. She didn't know who Onyx was, or what kind of pain Blackarachnia was screaming at the sky for, but she knew what it was like to feel lost. And she was starting to feel something dangerously close to guilt.

"Blackarachnia… I-I…" she hesitated, her voice small. "Is there something I can do?"

Blackarachnia didn't answer at first.

She just collapsed sideways, her body shaking with every breath, and rested her head against Slipstream's thigh like she was clinging to an anchor in a rising tide. Between ragged sobs, her voice slipped out, raw, desperate.

"I want my friend back."

Slipstream froze, her hand hovering above her. Then, slowly, she placed it on Blackarachnia's back.

Blackarachnia took a deep, shaky breath, trying to gather herself. "I have been SO lonely…" she admitted, voice cracking. "Stuck on that Primes-forsaken planet, wondering if I'd even make it another stellar cycle. Wondering if anyone even remembered I existed. And then… I found you."

She clenched her fists. "I thought, I hoped, I'd finally have someone again. Anyone. And I saw your face and I knew I wasn't alone anymore. But…"

Her voice faltered, cracking again. "You're here… but it also feels like I'm still waiting for my friend to come back."

Slipstream looked down at her, speechless, her optics softening. She didn't know how to make it better. But she knew she could stay.

"Um..." Slipstream started, her voice low and uncertain. She hesitated, her thoughts knotting and unraveling in the same breath. She didn't know how to fix what had broken inside Blackarachnia. She didn't even know if it could be fixed.

But maybe…

"Maybe we could start over," she offered, cautious but sincere. Her words were halting, like she was feeling them out with every breath. "I mean, I know I'm not the same 'me' you knew, and I can't be the 'me' that you miss. But I think… I think we can try to make something new. We can take it one day at a time, get to know each other all over again. And who knows, maybe this version of us will be even better."

There was a long silence.

Then, Blackarachnia slowly raised her head, her optics searching Slipstream's face with a flicker of something almost like hope.

"You really think so?" she asked, her voice small and tentative.

"It matters to you," Slipstream said, steady now, "so I'm willing to give it a shot."
She gave a half-smile. "Just… let's not be, like, whatever we were like as Decepticons."

Blackarachnia gave a soft, exhausted laugh, then wiped her tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. It wasn't much. But it was something. A fragile start, delicate, awkward, real.

"Alright," she nodded, sitting up a little straighter. "We can try."

Through the quiet hum of the river and the rustle of the bayou, a distant voice echoed, getting closer. It was a yell that carried both energy and impending chaos.

Slipstream closed her eyes for a second. She knew that voice. Impulse.

CRASH! A figure barreled through the trees and splashed into the river, water surging around him as he surfaced dramatically, optics wide.

"Oh," Impulse blinked as he saw Slipstream and Blackarachnia sitting together, clearly in the middle of something heavy. "Did I interrupt something private?" he asked, trying to keep a straight face. "No no, it's fine, just pretend I'm not here. You can go back to doing whatever women do when they're alone." He slowly lowered himself so that just his optics and the top of his helm peeked out from the water.

Slipstream gave him a flat look. "Get out, you doofus."

Impulse scrambled out of the water, mud clinging to his shins. "Did I ruin the moment?"

"Eh, the moment was winding down."

"Gotcha." He nodded, glancing between them, then turned to Blackarachnia, "By the way, does this mean she's cool?"

Slipstream nodded, "Yeah. She's cool."

"Great." Impulse beamed, then raised a hand. "Now could you please tell your Insecticons that?"

Blackarachnia blinked. Then blinked again. "…Right. I did send them after your friends, didn't I?"

Impulse rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't worry, the others are fine. The grasshopper one just kicked me into last week."

Blackarachnia stood up, brushing the mud from her legs, Slipstream rising with her. "I'll go call them off," she said, her voice soft but resolved.

It wasn't perfect. But it was progress.

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