Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was nothing like the feeling of freedom after a long shift at K.O. Burger. One could remove the dumb hat that signified you were an employee, step out into the dry air —blessedly free of the cloying smell of grease and burning meat residue —and breathe easy knowing you wouldn't have to go back for at least another day.

Jack Darby groaned in relief as he let the door swing shut, shoving the flimsy hat into his back pocket while he fished around for his phone. The past week or so he’d had to pick up more shifts since one of the other cashiers was still home recovering after a stint in the hospital, and while he wasn't necessarily complaining —Jack couldn’t say he had much of a social life outside of his coworkers —his legs were most certainly protesting the fact that he’d been standing nonstop for the past five hours.

Flipping open his phone, he quickly dialed his mom’s number and sat down on the curb to wait for her to pick up. Given that she worked at the hospital as a nurse, Jack’s mother’s schedule wasn’t the easiest thing to predict. Oftentimes she had to stay late and Jack would be on his own when it came to finding dinner, though he had built up quite the repertoire of easy to cook meals in the time his mom had been working there.

“Hi, Jack,” came the slightly distorted voice of June Darby from the phone’s speaker. “How was work?”

“Ah, it was okay,” Jack replied, unhooking his backpack from his bicycle and rummaging through it to make sure he didn’t have any school work he needed to notify his mom about. “Today was pretty calm, though Vince and his buds did show up and cause a bit of trouble at the window earlier.”

“Oh no; what did he do?”

“Nothing too bad,” Jack assured her, affixing the backpack to his handlebars when his search turned up empty. “The store manager was here today, so she went and took care of it. Nice to have friends in high places, huh?”

His mom chuckled at that and Jack could imagine the look on her face.

“Are you going to that dance tonight?” his mom asked suddenly, as if she’d just remembered it. “Did you ask that Sierra girl to go with you? I’ve talked to her mother a couple times, she seems—”

“N-no, Mom,” Jack cut her off, willing the blood to stop rushing to his face and give away his embarrassment, even though there was no one around to see. “I’m not going to the dance. Experience says I should never cut a rug.”

He paused a bit before adding, “unless I’m installing carpet, that is.”

That earned another laugh out of his mom, but it was not enough to deter her. She’d been gently nagging him for days now about making friends and going to events, and Jack knew it was just because she worried about him, but that didn’t make it any less annoying.

While his mother was rambling about something regarding the dance, Jack’s eyes were suddenly drawn to the only other vehicle in the restaurant parking lot —the others being Jack’s bike and the manager’s sedan.

It was a gorgeous motorcycle, smooth and aerodynamic with a glossy black paint job and chrome wheels. The sides were marked each by a silver panel —possibly disguising the fuel port, Jack wasn’t sure —and outlined by dark red lines that upon closer inspection, appeared to be the casing for some sort of light, like something out of Tron. 

“Whoa…” Jack breathed, staring at the vehicle in awe. “I love you.”

“Aw, what was that Jack?” he almost dropped the phone at the resurgence of his mother’s voice. “I love you, honey. Make sure you get home safe, okay?”

“Y-yeah, I love you too, Mom,” he stammered, his face heating up again at being caught ogling the motorcycle. “And of course I’ll get home safe. This is Jasper we’re talking about.”

“Don’t give me that sass,” his mom warned jokingly. “I’ll be home late again tonight, but there’s still leftover pasta salad in the fridge. Don’t eat it all while I’m gone!”

“I won’t,” Jack chuckled as they said their goodbyes and he slipped his phone back into his pocket.

He sighed, looking first at his bike and then at the motorcycle.

“What I wouldn’t give to have a ride like you,” he said, running his fingers along the leather of the seat. “It may take a few K.O. paychecks, but I’m gonna get there. Mark my words.”

“Are you talking to your motorcycle?”

Jack jumped, nearly tripping over the bike behind him before he caught himself on its handlebars.

“What—? No!” he floundered for a response, mouth going dry when he realized that the person addressing him was Sierra.

Oh, why does the universe hate me?

“I-I mean, yes, it’s my motorcycle,” he cleared his throat, straightening up and placing a hand on the bike’s seat. “How’ve things been, Sierra? U-uh, take you for a spin sometime?”

What am I doing?! I don’t even own the bike! Idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot—

“You...know my name?” Sierra said, surprised.

“Well, yeah,” Jack said, feeling like this interaction was only getting worse the longer it went on. “I’m Jack —Jack Darby? We’re in homeroom together.”

The look on Sierra’s face did nothing for his spiraling mood. Did she seriously not know his name? They’d been classmates for years!

“Sorry, I don’t—” Sierra didn’t get to finish, because two cars suddenly pulled up and flashed their high beams at Jack, revving their engines in an almost threatening way.

Jack’s brow furrowed and he opened his mouth to ask Sierra if she knew these people —he certainly didn’t, he would’ve remembered if someone with two pristine white sports cars was living in his neighborhood —but before he could, the two cars suddenly jerked forward and Sierra and her friend shrieked and ran back towards the safety of the restaurant and sidewalk.

Panic seized Jack as he stared into the bright headlights. What were these guys trying to do? Run him over? And what—

Jack screamed in shock as the motorcycle suddenly started up of its own accord and he was rather roughly dragged along with it as it —without any input from Jack whatsoever —twisted on its back wheel and shot forward, slipping between the two cars with masterful precision.

Jack stared down at his hands, which were now clasped feverishly tight around the handlebars, and tried to readjust himself on the bike, thinking that he must’ve accidentally hit something that caused it to start up spontaneously.

...not that that accounted for while it was still driving, or how it had executed such a perfect wheelie on its own…

“Don’t let go unless you want to become a stain on the pavement,” said a sharp voice out of nowhere.

“Who said that?!” Jack cried, glancing around frantically.

There was no reply, only the screeching of tires on asphalt as the motorcycle took a drifting turn around a corner and sped into a back alley.

Jack jumped off the demented vehicle as soon as it was going a non-fatal speed and backed away from it, looking around to see if there was a viable means of escape.

“W-what are you?” Jack managed to ask after catching his breath.

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

Yep. The voice was definitely coming from the bike.

“Pretend I don’t exist, and this doesn’t have to get complicated.”

“Okay, that’s fair,” Jack said, taking deep breaths as he turned and started jogging back towards K.O. Burger with as much vigor as he could.

He had no idea how to even begin processing what just happened, so he figured he’d start by retrieving his backpack and cycling home. Maybe once he’d eaten dinner he'd be able to—

Hold on, was one of those white cars following him again?

“I don’t even know them!” he cried, half exasperated, half terrified.

His heart almost gave out with the motorcycle reappeared beside him and shouted for him to get on.

Jack wasn’t sure why he listened, maybe because he trusted the demon motorcycle more than he did the crazy cars, but regardless he couldn’t really take it back now given that they were already on the interstate entrance ramp.

He jumped when there was a sudden crackling sound behind him and a flash of blue light burst in his peripheral vision.

Were...were the cars firing lasers at them?!

“Why are those guys shooting at us?!” Jack shouted, turning around to watch the two white automobiles slide smoothly onto the interstate behind them.

“Just be grateful they aren’t dropping cover in the middle of a bunch of civilians!” the motorcycle hissed back, the tail end of the sentence partially lost as a loud roaring overtook them.

Jack twisted in the seat to look behind him, eyes widening as the shiniest car he’d ever seen merged onto the highway in front of their pursuers. It had to have cost a fortune, what with the flawless cherry red paint job and the gold rims, and whoever was driving it clearly knew what they were doing.

“Is Flashy back here good news or bad news?” Jack hesitantly asked the motorcycle.

“He’s not going to shoot at us, if that’s what you mean,” the vehicle replied, though their voice sounded less than enthused. “But you might want to preemptively mute your audio receptors, because he will talk them into glitching.”

Jack didn’t bother telling the motorcycle that he didn't have “audio receptors” that could be talked into glitching.

Since he wasn’t required to watch the road ahead of them, Jack turned around again, looking back over his shoulder at the cars following them.

The red sports car was weaving in and out of lanes, blocking the white cars where it —he? —could but never getting so close as to touch.

Getting a car that nice repainted probably costs a lot.

“Hold on, human,” the motorcycle suddenly said, and Jack whipped around to face the front seconds before they leapt off of the road and skidded down into the wash below the bridge.

As soon as the motorcycle stopped moving Jack was off, breathing deeply and trying not to panic at what just happened.

“Whoa!”

Jack looked up, eyebrows rising at the sight of a young boy standing on the other side of the canal, just beside a backpack and miniature car.

“You have no idea,” Jack wheezed, swiftly making his way to the kid and eyeing the motorcycle with mistrust.

“What are you—” the boy didn’t finish his question, because not a second later those two white cars had driven down the incline and launched themselves into the wash.

Only...they weren’t cars anymore.

At the height of their arc they unfolded, metal splitting apart seamlessly and readjusting with a whirr until before them stood two towering metal people(?) with blocky white bodies and silver faces inset with creepily bright cyan eyes.

“What are they?” the boy next to Jack whispered in a mix of fear and awe.

“Talking cars that turn into robots,” Jack shrugged helplessly. “Or the other way around.”

“Surrender yourself, Decepticon,” one of the white robots ordered, lifting their arm and letting his unfold further until the forearm was replaced with what appeared to be the barrel of a gun. “Before this becomes violent.”

“You Autobots all have such god complexes about you, don’t you?” came the raspy voice of the motorcycle as it twisted around to face the robots. “So convinced you’re in the right.”

“I don’t have time for your slag, ’Con.”

The way they said it made it sound like a slur.

Maybe it was.

“Neither do I,” replied the motorcycle, before it too unfolded.

But not into a person, rather the lean bike’s metal whirred and clicked and shifted until in its place was the slinking body of a glossy metal panther, complete with a tail tipped with razors.

“And what’s a mechanimal gonna do?” the white robot sneered. “Run for your carrier?”

The robot cat snarled, ears flattening back against its head.

“Waste of energon, I say,” commented the other white robot, their metal face somehow managing to twist in disgust. “Don’t know what possessed that faceless creep to build ’em.”

“I don’t like this,” the boy next to Jack murmured, his hand somehow having found Jack’s own.

“I don’t either,” Jack agreed, beginning to nudge the kid further from the altercation.

“Wait, we can’t leave the motorcycle cat!” the kid protested, trying to move past Jack.

“W-what? Going back is a death sentence,” Jack said, tightening his grip on the boy’s hand. “Besides, they’re made out of metal, I’m sure they’ll be—”

There was a series of loud bangs, screeches, and the ear piercing sound of metal being rent apart.

Jack and the boy whirled, only to see the robot cat get thrown into one of the walls of the wash, its side smoking from where it had presumably been hit by one of the blue lasers.

“We have to help him,” the boy insisted, pulling on Jack’s arm.

“How?” Jack asked incredulously. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but those guys are like, twenty feet tall! How are we supposed to fight them?”

“I don't know,” the boy replied, but he still pulled against Jack. “But we can’t just leave him! What if —what if they kill him?”

Jack couldn’t reply —he didn’t know how. How was he supposed to explain self-preservation to a selfless little kid?

“Aw, is the little cybercat limping?” one of the white robots guffawed.

Jack grit his teeth; for giant, presumably high-tech robots, they sounded an awful lot like a pair of Vinces.

“Stay back,” the cat growled, baring silver fangs at the two. “Or I will tear your sparks from your chassis.”

“Ooh, cat’s got some spunk!” the white robot with the laser gun still unfolded snickered. “Gonna bite us, kitty? Maybe mew at us until we go away?”

“I wouldn’t antagonize him, you know,” came a new voice from above, this one smooth and distinctly masculine. “He’s scraped my paint more times than I can count, and I never can seem to catch him.”

Another robot dropped down from the bridge above the wash, this one also person shaped but slightly shorter than the two white ones. He was also considerably sharper than the other two, with thin red fins framing his face and deadly looking claws.

“Robo-cat has backup,” Jack said, tugging at the kid’s arm again. “Let’s run before they decide to involve us.”

“But—”

“The ’Cons must be really desperate if they’re sending you out into the field,” one of the white robots mocked. “They really willing to risk one of their precious medics?”

“Perhaps my superiors just don’t underestimate me like you seem to,” the red robot remarked, grinning at them. “Would you like to find out?”

The two white robots snorted, abandoning the robot cat and advancing on the red one, who Jack presumed was likely the sports car that had been following them earlier, given the vector flames on his forearms and shiny paint job.

“Come on,” Jack said, pulling the kid along behind him as he rapidly searched for an escape route. “I don’t really want to stick around for a fight.”

The kid seemed satisfied that the robot cat had backup now and allowed himself to be tugged towards a drainage pipe that Jack figured was probably small enough that none of the robots —save the cat, maybe —could fit inside.

“I’m Jack, by the way,” he said as he helped the kid into the pipe. “Jack Darby.”

“Rafael Esquivel,” the boy replied, offering his hand for Jack to shake. “But everyone just calls me Raf. What —what did we just see?”

“I don’t know, and I’m not sure I want to find out,” Jack replied honestly, leading the way further into the drainage pipe and away from the faint sounds of screeching metal.

Jack and Raf both got home unharmed —though Jack had to run back to K.O. to grab his bike and backpack —and no more crazy transforming vehicles bothered them.

When his mom got home and asked Jack how his day went, he just said it was fine, if a little exhausting.

How was he supposed to tell his mother that a bunch of robots had a deathmatch under the closed-off bridge and that he’d almost been dragged into it?

He elected to pretend the event never happened.

In order to maintain his cover, however, he needed to talk to Raf and make sure they were on the same page.

The school day dragged by more than usual, partly because Jack was anxious, and partly because it was Friday and he was ready for the school week to be over. Vince caused mayhem in Chemistry class and somehow Jack got blamed for it, meaning he’d had to stay behind and help clean up, missing part of lunch period and effectively ruining what little good mood he had.

When he did finally get out of school, he’d spent several minutes running around the building looking for Raf, only for one of the kid’s classmates to say he was waiting at the front of the school for someone to pick him up.

More time wasted. Wonderful.

Tired and irritable, Jack made his way towards the tree near the corner of the block where Raf was sitting with his bookbag in his lap, sorting each of his assignments into their corresponding folders. What an organized kid.

“Hey, Raf?” Jack called, rubbing the back of his neck as he approached.

“Hm?” Raf looked up, adjusting his glasses. “Oh, hi, Jack.”

“Yeah um,” Jack glanced around, making sure no one was close enough to overhear them. “About what happened yesterday? Let’s just —ugh —forget it ever happened, okay? I mean it’s not like anyone would believe if we said anything, and I certainly don’t want to attract the attention of more crazy robots—”

Jack was cut off by Raf pointing at something in the side parking lot.

A familiar glossy motorcycle.

“What is—”

“We were waiting for you,” Raf explained, getting to his feet and brushing off his jeans. “He says we have to go with him.”

“Wait, what?” Jack hissed. “You talked to it? Are you crazy?”

“No,” Raf frowned. “But I want answers to all the questions I have! I’ve never seen anything like them before, and I don’t want to miss a chance to learn about them.”

“Well, fine,” Jack said, crossing his arms. “You go do that, but I am not getting involved.”

With that he stalked away, gripping the straps of his backpack so tight they started to dig into his palms. What was Raf thinking? Hanging around talking robots that turned into death machines was the stupidest concept Jack had ever heard, and he’d known Vince since third grade.

Whatever. If Raf wanted to endanger his own life by running around with those things, that was his business. So long as he didn’t involve Jack, he could do whatever he liked.

The sound of an approaching vehicle drew Jack out of his thoughts and he looked up to see that the motorcycle had —unsurprisingly, really —followed him into the alley, complete with Raf sitting precariously on its seat.

“What do you want?” Jack asked sharply, glancing between the motorcycle’s front and Raf. “You’ve got a new friend, hang out with him.”

“Both of you saw us,” the motorcycle said, its —his? —voice as unnerving as the first time. “I have orders to bring you both back to base.”

“Jack,” Raf climbed off the bike and walked up to Jack, giving him a pleading look. “Please; those white robots from before definitely saw us and know we’re at least somewhat affiliated with their enemies, which means we’re in danger!”

“Wait, what?” Jack spluttered. “What do you mean ‘enemies’? I thought you guys were government experiments or—”

The motorcycle unfolded again, the components sliding back into place to form a panther.

Shaking themselves with a strange whirring noise, the cat moved forward to stare Jack directly in the face, electronic eyes casting a red glow on his skin.

“Given that we Decepticons have already made contact with humans’ governments, the Autobots now see any and all humans who know of our existence as threats and will treat them as such,” the metal cat said, his voice slightly clearer than it had been when he was a motorcycle. “My superior wishes to speak with you to better assess the situation. We do not intend for any harm to come to you.”

“I—”

“Dude!”

Jack and Raf both jumped at the sudden voice, while the cat merely flattened his ears —why did a robot need ears? —and groaned.

“What are you waiting for?!” demanded their spectator, the foreign exchange student they’d gotten at the beginning of the semester. “Go with!”

“Do we take her with us?” Raf asked the cat.

“Unfortunately, I believe we’ll have to,” he replied before folding in on himself again, revving his engine as he once more became a motorcycle. “Climb on; we don’t have time to waste.”

All three obeyed, though it was a little cramped, and the group sped out of the alley, across Jasper, and out into the desert.

“Is your boss going to be mad that we’re bringing an extra person with us?” Raf asked the cat nervously.

“No; he already knows,” was the vehicle’s answer, taking a sharp turn to bring them past the city limits.

“Where is this base anyway?” Jack shouted over the rushing wind. “I hope you don’t plan on driving us all the way to D.C. or something today!”

The motorcycle didn’t respond, continuing to head straight.

...which happened to lead directly to the cliff face of a very large mesa.

“Uh, you do realize that’s a wall—” Jack let his sentence trail off as said wall opened up, revealing an industrial sized tunnel lined with dim yellow lights, like those in the pictures Jack had seen of subway tunnels.

“Whoa,” whispered the girl behind Jack, her voice full of awe. “This is epic.”

Jack might’ve scoffed, but he was equally stunned by the tunnel, and even more by the sight that awaited then when they reached the end of it.

A giant room lay before them, circular in shape with a tall silo built into the center, surrounded by a mezzanine and several clusters of high-tech computers and screens, all displaying glyphs and diagrams Jack couldn't hope of interpreting. A stylized face, almost like a fox, was emblazoned on the floor, just in front of yet another tunnel, this one supported by a series of metal rings.

But by far the most awe inspiring thing were the occupants.

The closest was the red robot from the previous day, chatting cheerily with a larger, bulkier robot with dull blue plating and yellow eyes. A pair of almost human-sized robots were tussling near several crates, monitored by a shiny metallic hawk, who, despite the lack of conventional facial features, somehow still managed to appear tired. A dark blue robot was investigating the screens, their face obscured by a tinted red visor and silvery mask; this one was a fair bit taller than the two chatting bots, but had nothing on the final occupant. All sky blue and chrome with a few stripes of crimson red, this one stood nearly double the height of the red one, their size accentuated by the massive wings sticking out from their back.

Jack, Raf, and the girl all climbed off the motorcycle, who unfolded into cat-form and slunk towards the masked blue robot by the screens, leaving the children in the center.

“I’m pretty sure there were only two humans last solar-cycle, Ravage,” came the smooth voice of the red robot, who was peering at the three kids with intrigue.

“I caught them hiding in an alley,” the exchange student said proudly, placing her hands on her hips. “I’m Miko, by the way. Who’re you?”

“My designation is Knockout,” the red bot answered, before waving a clawed hand at his bulky blue friend. “And this is my partner, Breakdown—”

“Wow, you look awesome!” Miko grinned at the one called Breakdown, scurrying over to stand by him. “Do all you guys turn into cars and stuff? You must turn into something epic, like a monster truck or —no, wait, a tank!”

“Uh, slow down,” Breakdown said, his yellow eyes flickering to Knockout as if to ask for help.

Knockout opened his mouth to say something, when all of a sudden there was a series of crashes and then the silo room was filled with excited shouting.

“You guys got a human?!”

“Holy scrap there’s two —no, three!”

“Carrier, can we keep ’em?!”

“Please please please please—”

“We’ll clean the rec room for two decacycles!”

“—please please please—”

Jack let out an undignified shriek as one of the small —slightly bigger than a human —robots grabbed him around his middle and lifted him into the air before running over to the bot at the screens, holding him out like he was Simba from The Lion King.

“Rumble, Frenzy: desist,” came a heavily modulated, strangely musical voice. “Request: refrain from mech-handling the organics.”

“I wasn’t gonna hurt ’em!” the one holding Jack protested, but set him back down all the same.

Jack quickly backed away, rubbing his side and watching the mini robot warily. This one was mostly black, accented with reds along his arms and legs, while the one now crouched by Raf was a paler shiny lavender.

“Jackson Darby,” the blue bot with the musical voice turned to Jack. “Rumble, Frenzy: did not intend to cause harm or distress. Reason: they are impulsive sparklings.”

Both of the small bots snapped their heads towards the musical one with scandalized looks on their faces.

“Carrier!”

“We are not sparklings! Well, maybe Rumble is—”

“Hey, you take that back, glitch-head—”

The entire room seemed to sigh as the two resumed their fighting.

“So, what are you guys?” Raf spoke up, peering up at the masked one with the musical voice. “I mean, you’re robots, but who built you?”

“Answer: we are Cybertronian,” the musical one answered. “Origin: the planet Cybertron, several light-years from Earth.”

“Whoa, you guys are alien robots? That is so cool!” Miko cried, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “What’s your planet like? Can we visit? Do you guys breathe air? Do—”

“Cybertron is, unfortunately, unable to sustain any form of long-term life at the moment,” said the massive one with the wings, who had until this point been silent; his voice was deep and gravely, like the rumble of a diesel engine. “The war saw to that.”

“You guys are fighting a war?” Raf sounded pensive now, his brows furrowing behind his glasses. “Or were fighting a war?”

“Is that why you’re here?” Jack asked. “To find a new planet to live on?”

“Original mission: to regroup with other Decepticons,” the musical one said. “Current mission: hold out against the attacks from the Autobots.”

“Those guys with the white armor, right?” Jack said. “What’s their deal, anyway? They the ones who started the war?”

“No,” the one with wings gave a heavy sigh —did robots sigh? —and knelt down to be closer to the children. “We started the war. We were once a meager rebellion, fighting against the rigid caste system enforced by Cybertron’s Elite. But over time, as more were swayed to our cause, it grew from a few riots in the streets to a full blown war; one side fighting for the system they’d always known, one side fighting for the equality of those oppressed by the system.”

“I...guess it didn’t go too well?” Jack asked quietly, noting the somber expressions of all present, even the two rowdy small ones.

“No, it did not,” the winged one agreed. “My people —the fliers of Vos —were the first to flee from Cybertron, only stellar-cycles before it went dark. It was centuries before we heard anything from our comrades, and centuries more before we had enough energon to make the jump to this system, where we have remained ever since, recovering from our losses and preparing to retake Cybertron if possible.”

“That is a lot of info, big guy,” Miko piped up, startling Jack, who hadn’t realized she’d walked up next to him. “There gonna be a quiz or something?”

Jack scowled at her and received a stuck-out tongue in reply.

“So the Autobots want things to go back to the way they were, which was classist, which is why they’re here on Earth, trying to stop you guys?” Raf summed up, brightening a bit when he received a nod from the winged bot.

“That’s all very fascinating, but what does that have to do with us?” Jack asked. “I mean, it’s not like we can help you fight —you guys are twenty feet tall at the least!”

“’Cept for the little guys,” Miko pointed to the two small bots —Rumble and Frenzy? —who had gone back to arguing.

“Statement: the Autobots have witnessed you interacting with a Decepticon,” the musical one said. “It is possible that due to your proximity they could deem you a threat and attempt to eliminate you. Summary: you were brought here for your protection.”

“Whoa, hold on—“ Jack waved his hands emphatically. “I have a life! I can’t just drop everything and move in here! I mean, no offense meant, Mister—?”

“My designation is Soundwave,” the musical one provided.

“Okay, Soundwave; we can’t stay here,” Jack continued. “For one, we’d probably get in your way, and two, if we just up and disappear people will wonder what happened to us!”

“Yeah, I might have a big family, but I think they’d notice if I wasn’t there,” Raf agreed.

“Oh come on,” Miko whined, “I don’t wanna have to go back to my host parents! These guys would be way cooler!”

“Assurance: humans will be able to return to their homes,” Soundwave said. “Statement: they will be accompanied by a cassette for protection and reconnaissance.”

“A...cassette?” Jack raised his eyebrow, unsure of what protection a tiny cassette tape would offer.

“Ravage, Laserbeak, Buzzsaw, Rumble, Frenzy, Ratbat: cassettes,” Soundwave clarified, tilting his head to nod towards the two now rolling on the floor trying to punch each other. “Cassettes: colloquial term for symbiote-sparklings.”

Jack had no idea what a “symbiote-sparkling” was, but at least his assigned protection wasn’t going to be an outdated music tape.

“Cool,” Miko grinned, watching the two fighting with a gleam in her eye.

“Are you sure the cassettes will be enough, Soundwave?” the big winged one asked, looking at the two roughhousing with considerably less enthusiasm than Miko.

“Thundercracker: should not be worried,” Soundwave said, turning back to the screens behind him. “Cassettes will provide protection and companionship for the humans.”

“We get to hang out with the humans?!” came the loud voice of either Rumble or Frenzy.

“Slag yeah!”

“Request: cease use of vulgar language.”

Chapter Text

In the few hours the kids had spent at the Decepticons’ base —codename: Outpost Kaon —they’d managed to get a decent grasp of the situation. 

Soundwave, the one with the red visor and musical voice, was the one in charge of the base given that he had the highest rank among those present.

Thundercracker, the huge one with the wings, was the next in rank, and from Miko’s pestering they discovered that his “alt-mode”, as they were called, was a fighter jet, which explained his size and wings.

Knockout, the cherry red sportscar, was one of the Decepticons’ only medical officers and wasn’t a permanent part of the base’s team; given the aforementioned lack of medical staff, Knockout spent time at other bases too, as well as on the Decepticon flagship.

Breakdown was introduced as Knockout’s partner, though exactly what that meant, none of the humans were sure. Regardless, the two seemed very comfortable with each other. Their relationship, Jack assumed, was the reason that Knockout apparently stayed at Outpost Kaon more than the others.

Miko had immediately taken a liking to Breakdown and continued to barrage him with questions, but after the initial surprise and after Miko was relocated to a higher perch, Breakdown was regaling her —and Rumble and Frenzy, who had climbed up onto the mezzanine as well —with stories of battles he’d fought.

The cassettes seemed to exist in a weird grey area among the Decepticon hierarchy, given that while they were all technically direct subordinates of Soundwave, only a few of them were cleared for actual service. Those few included Ravage, the motorcycle cat, and Laserbeak and Buzzsaw, two large metallic birds whose alt-forms were unassuming drones.

Rumble and Frenzy could fight and had seen combat, but according to Soundwave —and everyone else’s expressions seemed to concur —they were not experienced enough to go on missions alone. The same was said for Ratbat, a bright pink robot in the shape of a bat, who was only about the size of a dog or large housecat.

“How many outposts do you guys have?” Raf asked Thundercracker, poking his head over the railing of the mezzanine.

“One on each major Earth continent,” the flier replied, crouching down so his head was on level with the balcony. “This was the first base established, named after the first city we gained control of during the war. Outpost Tarn is stationed in the northern latitude of Asia, Helex somewhere in the deserts of Africa, Tesarus in the Australian outback, and Vos high in South American mountains.”

“You mentioned a spaceship too,” Jack learned forward, trying to get a read on the con’s solemn silver face. “Where’s that?”

“Typically in orbit,” Thundercracker said, “far out of Autobot reach. Given how much energon is carried on board just to power the ship, it wouldn’t be terribly difficult for an Autobot to start a chain reaction and blow the whole ship, so long as they didn’t mind offlining themselves in the process.”

“Do the Autobots—” Jack was cut off by the sudden flashing of green lights and a repeating buzzing sound, similar to the bell that signaled the end of a school period but somehow even more grating.

“What’s that?” Miko asked curiously, squinting at the screens of indecipherable glyphs near Soundwave.

“Proximity sensor,” Knockout said airily as he walked into the room from one of the tunnels, using a cloth to clean his digits. “Must be that Fowler again.”

“Who?” Jack looked between the medic and Thundercracker.

“Our liaison to the American government,” Thundercracker answered.

“Ravage, Rumble, Frenzy, Ratbat,” Soundwave’s voice shifted into a discordant harmony. “Remove the humans to the rec room and await further instructions. Laserbeak, Buzzsaw: remain with me.”

“On it!” exclaimed Rumble, picking Miko up and jumping down from the mezzanine, much to her delight.

“Request: refrain from mech-handling the organics.”

“He’s fine,” Rumble said, continuing to carry Miko towards a tunnel at the opposite end of the room. “C’mon, Frenzy, let’s show these guys the ropes!”

Frenzy whooped in reply, vaulting off the balcony and chasing after Rumble.

“Follow me,” Ravage’s low voice came from off to Jack’s right, startling both him and Raf. “It would be best if the twins were not left unsupervised for too much longer.”

Ratbat, who was sitting on Ravage’s back, whirred in agreement, flapping his strange metal wings.

Thundercracker watched as Soundwave’s cassettes led the human children away, deeper into the silo. He supposed Soundwave wanted to consult Megatron before revealing the children’s presences to Agent Fowler, but the idea still sat ill with him. It didn’t seem fair that Fowler be kept in the dark about other humans discovering the Cybertronians; Primus knew Thundercracker would be furious if he found out the humans were hiding other seekers from them.

A soft EM pulse brushed against the edge of his field and he looked away from the mouth of the tunnel, facing the elevator where Fowler would emerge.

Laserbeak alighted on the balcony beside him while Buzzsaw remained perched on Soundwave's shoulder, both watching with unblinking optics as the elevator chimed its arrival.

Fowler was already talking even before he stepped through the doors.

“Damages to a construction area, reports of a teenage hooligan zipping around Main Street,” the man slapped his hands down on the railing, glaring up at Thundercracker. “Not to mention the infamous speed demon street racer—”

A pointed look towards Knockout.

“General Bryce is breathing down my neck and I’m up to my tie in paperwork, so you ‘cons better have a good explanation.”

“We had no intention of causing harm to humans or your society,” Thundercracker began, forcing his wings to lower in an attempt to appear less threatening. “However, Ravage was jumped by Autobots in the middle of a populated area and needed to lead them away from civilization before engaging. With the resurgence of Autobot activity, we will be more alert in the future, as should you and your superiors.”

“The bots are trying to take a stab at Earth again, huh?” Fowler scowled. “Trying to snuff your lights for good?”

“So it seems,” Thundercracker nodded.

“Then it’s time to wake up the Pentagon,” Fowler said, crossing his arms. “It’s only a matter of time before they decide we humans aren’t worth avoiding and start causing real damage.”

“Even with our help in technological advancement, your weapons are still too primitive to cause the Autobots much damage,” Thundercracker argued. “We may need to change up our strategy, yes, but sending humans to attack Cybertronians would be a suicide mission.”

Fowler let out a heavy sigh, resting his weight on the railing.

“Then what do you suggest we do?”

“For now, we can only wait and see if we can locate the Autobots’ base of operations,” Thundercracker replied. “With what little information Skywarp was able to transmit before he—”

Thundercracker’s voicebox crackled, anxious energy overloading it.

“Dropped off the radar, yeah,” Fowler’s expression turned solemn for a moment, before he turned back to the elevator and called over his shoulder, “keep me posted! I’ll do what I can to keep the high-ups satisfied.”

The ‘cons watched as the elevator doors closed and the chime signaled its rise, carrying Fowler back up to the landing pad.

“It’s gonna be great to have someone we can actually talk to for a change,” Rumble said to Miko, who was currently sitting on his shoulders.

“You don’t talk to the rest of the ‘cons?” Miko asked, peering down at him.

“Eh, they think we’re immature,” Frenzy said, and though his eyes were hidden by a visor, it was very clear he was rolling them. “None of ‘em wanna have fun.”

“I think we’re gonna be great friends,” Miko said, to which the twins grinned in reply.

“I should warn you their idea of ‘fun’ usually involves unnecessary harassment and destruction,” commented Ravage idly from a crate some feet away.

“Sounds awesome,” Miko said.

Jack groaned while Raf simply looked around at the room they were in, noting how despite the size difference, it sort of resembled a regular room, with seating, several tables, a screen on the opposite wall, as well as some contraption he wasn't sure what the purpose was, sitting near the door.

“So...what did Soundwave mean when he said you guys would be protecting us?” Jack asked, leaning against the crate that Ravage rested on. “I mean, I might be able to explain away suddenly having a motorcycle to my mom, but what about Raf and Miko?”

“Already covered!” squeaked Ratbat, clambering out from where he’d been rummaging through Raf’s backpack.

Once he was sure he had everyone’s attention, Ratbat began folding in on himself like the others, swiftly taking on a very similar shape to Raf’s remote controlled car.

“Stealth and recon!” the miniature car chirped, driving a victory lap around Raf’s feet.

“Cool!” Raf laughed, squatting down the watch Ratbat more closely. “I can just tell my mom a friend painted it for me; hopefully she won't look too close.”

“If Carrier finally clears us to get alt-modes, we could turn into bikes like Ravage,” Frenzy said, watching Ratbat zoom around the room with envy.

“And how’s Miko going to explain that?” Jack asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh please,” Miko snorted, hopping off Rumble’s shoulders. “My host parents are scared of me; they’re not gonna ask where I got a motorcycle from.”

“What’re ‘host parents’?” Rumble asked.

“The couple who are supposed to take care of me while I’m going to school here,” Miko replied, shrugging. “Like temporary parents, I guess.”

“Do all humans have host parents?” Rumble looked over at Jack curiously.

“Nah, it’s just ‘cause I’m from another country and my actual parents didn’t come with me,” Miko said, making a grab for the pink blur that was Ratbat and missing.

“Your caretakers left you?” Frenzy gasped in horror. 

“No, it’s an education program,” Jack interrupted before the conversation could become any louder. “Miko’s school program gave her the opportunity to spend time in America and go to a school here. I’m sure her parents signed off on it.”

The last part was initially said just to console the two very concerned cassettes, but now that Jack thought about it, he wouldn’t put it past Miko to scam her way into the exchange program.

“Oh,” Rumble sighed in relief. “Okay. That’s way better than what we were thinking.”

“Yeah,” Frenzy agreed.

“Do you guys have parents?” Raf inquired. “You seem familiar enough with the concept, but I’m pretty sure cybernetic organisms wouldn’t reproduce in the same way that organics do.”

“Aside from those that are cold-constructed and raised in batches by tutors, most young Cybertronians are raised by either the mech or mechs that sparked them, or a suitable stand-in,” Ravage answered, calmly flicking his tail. 

“What are you guys’ families like?” Miko had successfully scaled one of the seats and was comfortably sitting some five or six feet up.

The ‘cons all exchanged a glance with each other.

“Uh, we’re all part of the same family,” Rumble said, gesturing to the room. “So are Laserbeak and Buzzsaw too.”

“In human terms, we are siblings,” Ravage supplied. “Soundwave is our carrier.”

“Whoa, music voice is your dad?” Miko leaned forward. “That's so cool! I wish my parents could talk in music. I wish I could talk in music.”

“None of us know how to do it,” Rumble said, huffing. “Frenzy can get close, but it also hurts everyone’s audio receptors when he tries.”

“Oh, shut up!”

The room —save Miko —let out a collective groan.

“He still hasn’t talked?”

“If he had, I would’ve commed you.”

“But—”

“Prowler, for Primus’ sake,” an exasperated bot with white plating rubbed at his audials with his servos. “Nothing’s changed. I know you’re in a tizzy ‘cause Prime’s back from the summit, but worrin’ your processor ain’t gonna help anybody.”

Prowl ex-vented sharply, the mesh of his faceplate pulled taut in his anxiety.

“There’s no new information? Nothing at all?”

Prowl stifled the urge to groan at the answering silence.

“I’ll let you know if he talks,” the mech said and turned back to his console, tapping away at something Prowl couldn’t see from his position.

“I suppose that’s all I can ask, Jazz,” he conceded, exiting the room.

They’d been searching for solar-cycles and still nothing. It was as if he’d simply disappeared into thin air. Not that that was unlikely, but generally when he did so he reappeared somewhere else.

“You are pacing again,” came a dry voice from across the room.

“Astute observation,” Starscream replied, not sparing the other mech a glance.

“Pacing does not make our chances of locating Skywarp any greater,” Megatron said, eyeing his second in command with concern. “You should recharge; you haven’t had a proper defrag cycle since—”

“I’ll recharge when I’m offline,” Starscream hissed, wings flaring out to his sides in vexation.

“Which may be sooner than you think if you don’t allow yourself to rest,” Megatron pressed, placing a servo on Starscream’s shoulder. “Thundercracker said you weren’t responding to his pings.”

Starscream ignored him, jerking his shoulder away and stalked towards a console.

“I know for a fact you haven’t been too busy to respond,” Megatron continued. “You’ve been hunched over that console all solar-cycle. Have you even refueled today?”

“Irrelevant,” Starscream replied through gritted denta.

“If you won’t listen to your trinemate and you won’t listen to me, what will make you see reason?”

“I don’t need to see reason, I need to find Skywarp.”

Megatron fell silent, optical ridges furrowing. The twitchiness, the snappish attitude, the reclusiveness...

“Starscream, what happened was not your fault.”

“Like slag it wasn’t,” the seeker hissed, his wings shuddering violently. “I was in charge of the mission, I was the one who was supposed to have checked his surroundings, I was the one who thought we could handle those Autobots —how is it not my fault?!”

“The Autobots ambushed you,” Megatron grasped Starscream’s shoulders and lightly shook him. “No one of us could have seen that attack coming. Every single one of us has failed our troops in some form, but this was not a failure. You did everything you could.”

“And yet he’s still gone,” the bitterness was still there, but the panic had gone.

“We’ll find him, Starscream,” Megatron said firmly. “On my honor as a Decepticon, I promise you this.”

Starscream was silent for several klicks, the only noise the sound of their combined vents.

“‘Honor as a Decepticon’,” he finally snorted weakly, pulling away and turning back towards the console. “Four million years and it still sounds ridiculous.”

“If equality is deception—”

“‘—then we are gladly guilty’, yes, I know,” Starscream sighed. “Perhaps you were right about recharging. I feel as if my systems are going to shut down any moment now.”

“Then go rest, my friend,” Megatron said. “I will rouse you if we have any updates.”

Starscream merely nodded in response, heading towards the door.

“Please don’t keep ignoring Thundercracker, Starscream.”

“Stop telling me how to live my life, Megatron.”

“Alert: I am picking up Skywarp’s signal again,” the ominous suspended chord hung in the air for several moments before the base flew into action.

“Who’s Skywarp?” Miko asked Frenzy, the two of them watching as Soundwave rapidly typed into his interface and Thundercracker paced anxiously.

“Thundercracker’s trinemate,” Frenzy replied quietly. “Kinda like how me and Rumble were forged from the same spark.”

“So they’re brothers?”

“That is the human term, yes,” Laserbeak eyed Miko warily, still undecided on how she felt about the humans.

“Why wasn’t he on your radar before?” Raf asked Soundwave, frowning. “Is he okay?”

“That remains to be seen,” Thundercracker said, his presence much more overwhelming when he was standing up fully and filled with nervous energy. “Have you contacted the Nemesis, Soundwave?”

“Statement: Starscream is bridging here with a cohort of vehicons to be briefed,” Soundwave replied. “Thundercracker, Breakdown, Soundwave: will accompany the rescue party. Knockout: will remain here to monitor the groundbridge and human children.”

“Have fun kicking tailpipe while I babysit, then,” Knockout said to Breakdown, though his tone was light and didn’t seem particularly upset.

“I’ll do my best,” Breakdown promised, nudging his forehead against Knockout’s.

“Aww,” Miko whispered, holding her hands over her mouth to stifle her squeals. 

“More like ew,” Rumble made a disgruntled face and Frenzy stuck out his tongue at the two larger cons.

“Oh, stop being—” Miko was cut off as the tunnel lined with circular braces suddenly lit up, crackling strands of green electricity dancing back and forth across the struts.

“Whoa,” Raf's eyes widened and he wiped at his glasses with his sleeve to make sure he was seeing everything right. “What is that?”

“A groundbridge,” said Knockout, before pointing a clawed finger at the console Soundwave was still typing at. “This facility doesn’t not have nearly enough space to build a proper spacebridge, which means we can’t bridge to coordinates outside of Earth’s atmosphere, but within those confines we can open up a path to anywhere we desire.”

“That’s incredible,” Raf breathed.

As Raf discussed the nature of the ‘groundbridge’ with Knockout, Jack watched the glowing portal almost as if he were in a trance. It was so hard to look away from; all those swirling colors and—

Jack had to stop himself from physically stumbling back when he realized there were people coming through the vortex. Or, mechs, rather, as their silhouettes were way too large to be human.

The first one through had to be the previously mentioned Starscream, as he appeared to be an almost carbon copy of Thundercracker, if a bit shorter and slimmer. Rather than pale blue, Starscream's armor was primarily a white-silver, though his chest was bright red, with the occasional accent of blue on his wrists and shins. The metal of his face was darker too, and he had a crest on his forehead, sort of like a crown.

“Where?” was the first thing he said upon entering the base, not even noticing the humans.

“Skywarp: has appeared on the radar at the site of an abandoned mining operation,” Soundwave replied. “We are to extract him immediately. Site: geologically unstable. Conclusion: mission will be dangerous.”

“Enter the coordinates,” Starscream ordered, whipping around and snapping something at his troops —a group of almost identical purple mechs —that Jack couldn’t understand.

“Coordinates entered,” came Soundwave’s voice, his harmonics shifting to a tense minor chord. “Stand by for departure.”

There was a burst of crackling energy from the groundbridge, the flashing miniature lightning bolts making it impossible for Jack to tell what was happening.

When at last the cacophony ceased, the room was empty of all full size mechs aside from Knockout, and the lights seemed almost dim compared to the violent light show from the groundbridge.

“That was so cool,” Miko whispered, staring at the now darkened tunnel where the vortex had been. “Did you seriously just teleport them somewhere? Can you teleport us?”

“Yes to the first, yes the second is possible, no, I’m not going to demonstrate,” Knockout replied in quick succession, already wise to Miko’s schemes.

“Aw man,” Miko slumped. 

The mine was empty, as expected. The tunnels and mineshafts were lit only by the scattered remnants of energon crystals that hadn’t been dug out, casting the whole place in a dark, eerie gloom.

As they ventured deeper underground, Thundercracker could sense some of their eradicons’ discomfort at being so far from the sky. Not that he blamed them, of course; he and Starscream were feeling the exact same way. For a flier to be cut off from the open air was to deprive a starving mech of energon.

::Are we moving in the correct direction, Soundwave?:: came a ping from Starscream.

::Radar visual: indicates Skywarp is very near.::

Thundercracker frowned; if Skywarp was near, surely they’d have heard him by now. He wasn’t the most stealthy mech. And surely Thundercracker and Starscream would’ve felt the tug on their sparks.

::There’s something wrong, isn’t there?:: Starscream’s field wavered in concern and anxiety.

::I cannot hear him.::

The entire group froze and Thundercracker could swear he felt the energon in his fuel lines turn to ice.

::What does that mean, Soundwave?!:: Starscream demanded frantically.

The comm line was dead for several klicks, the tension ramping up despite Soundwave’s attempts to soothe it with EM pulses.

::Skywarp: not present.::

The group exchanged confused pings.

::Autobots: have found a way to replicate his outlier signature.::

A wave of fury spilled out from Starscream and Thundercracker both, the intensity of it disorienting those standing closest to them. If the Autobots had replicated the energy signature Skywarp’s overactive spark gave off, that meant they’d had to open him up to find it.

::Where are they.:: it was a demand more than a question, and it was unclear whether Thundercracker or Starscream had said it.

::Team: not prepared to engage the Autobots.:: Soundwave pinged back, followed by a soft chorus of his present cassettes’ agreement.

::What if they’ve offlined him?!:: that was Starscream; Thundercracker was too busy running a bunch of algorithms in his head to see how many Autobots they could feasibly defeat with the present conditions.

His algorithms crashed after a klick, followed by a ping from Soundwave that only displayed a series of glyphs depicting a disapproving expression.

Did he just download a virus into my processor?

::Autobots: seem not to have harmed Skywarp.:: Soundwave stated, enclosing a few audio files with the message. The audio files were nearly incomprehensible, just a bunch of overlapping white noise really, but if Thundercracker listened hard enough he swore he could almost hear voices.

::Mine: geologically unstable.:: Soundwave continued. ::Autobots: lured us here with Skywarp’s signal in an attempted ambush.::

Flashes of anger flickered through the groups’ fields, none as vehement as Thundercracker and Starscream.

::Decepticons: must retreat.::

::Can you get any more information from the Autobots?:: Starscream asked insistently, his message backed by Thundercracker’s pulses of agreement.

::No.:: was Soundwave’s only reply. It was short, but he followed it by brushing fields with both seekers, expressing sorrow-pain-regret.

::Knockout, send a groundbridge to our coordinates.:: Starscream commed back to Outpost Kaon, his field roiling with guilt and anger.

::Groundbridge activating, stand by.:: came the reply.

As they moved to retreat through the vortex, Thundercracker nudged Starscream with both his field and his frame, nearly knocking the smaller seeker off-balance.

::We’re going to rescue him, Stars.::

::I know.::

::It’s hard to look that far ahead right now, isn’t it?::

::...You know me so well, T. C.::

When the rescue party returned in heavy silence and unaccompanied by an additional mech, Jack’s heart fell. 

“What happened?” he asked Breakdown, the closest to him.

“It was a trap, set by the Autobots,” the bulky mech answered. “They’ve somehow managed to replicate Skywarp’s signature, which was why it showed up on our radar, and used it to try and lure us into an ambush.”

“But you guys beat the crap out of those bullies, right?” Miko said, pressing herself against the railing.

“We didn’t even see them, actually,” Breakdown replied wearily. “Soundwave’s got crazy good hearing and EM sensing, so he noticed them long before they knew we were there. A lot of us wanted to go in, guns blazing, but Soundwave said we’d have been scrap if we tried.”

“Oh,” Miko faltered.

“Did you get any information on Skywarp at least?” Raf piped up, readjusting his glasses. “Like, if he’s still…alive?”

“He’s still online,” this time it was Thundercracker who replied, his deep voice sounding strained. “That was all we were able to learn before we had to retreat.”

“Next time, we’re gonna kick those bots’ tailpipes!” Miko said resolutely, slamming her fist down on her palm and staring up at Thundercracker with fire in her eyes. “They’ll regret ever messing with the Decepticons!”

It didn’t escape Jack’s notice that she used ‘we’. 

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, Miko—”

“Thundercracker, why are there human children here?” interrupted a rasping, rather haughty voice. “Soundwave, did you sign off on this?”

Soundwave’s reply was a silent thumbs-up from the console.

“They were caught in the middle of an altercation between Ravage, Knockout, and a pair of Autobot scouts,” said Thundercracker, turning around to face the one who’d spoken; the other flier, Starscream.

“Not surprising that Knockout was involved,” the silver seeker fixed the medic with a disdainful look. “He wouldn’t know subtly if it stuck a syringe in his main fuel line.”

“Just because I like to keep myself in tip top shape does not mean I’m careless, Screamer,” Knockout snorted before freezing, his eyes going wide. “Wait—”

“Not careless, hm?” Starscream hissed out through gritted teeth —why did robots have teeth? —his wings hiking up on his back like some sort of threat display.

“Starscream—” Thundercracker began.

“Open a groundbridge to the Nemesis,” Starscream ordered tonelessly, turning sharply and walking back towards the tunnel, his strange heeled-feet clicking with every step.

Knockout didn’t move from his spot, but Soundwave must’ve done something from his console because only seconds later the bridge fired up, bathing the silo in crackling green light.

“Troops, you are to return with me,” Starscream ordered, and the squad of identical looking purple mechs all gathered behind him, following him through the vortex and out of sight.

Once the electricity had dissipated, Knockout let out a heavy sigh and rubbed at his face with a hand.

“Primus, I forgot,” he said to no one in particular, throwing his hands up in irritation.

“It’s okay, K.O.,” Breakdown reached over and patted his friend’s shoulder. “Everything’s happened suddenly, it’s no wonder some stuff’ll slip your processor every once and a while.”

“I do not like feeling guilty, Breakdown,” Knockout replied with a scowl. “It doesn’t suit me. Red is the color of passion and fire, not guilt and meekness. Ugh.”

The medic stomped off somewhere deeper into the silo, disappearing from sight.

“What…just happened?” Jack asked, staring after Knockout.

“Jack,” Raf tugged on his sleeve, holding up his phone. “I don't have bars in here. If we don’t get him soon, our parents’ll probably have the police out looking for us.”

“You’re right,” Jack turned back to the screens, ready to call out to Soundwave, only to find the mech already hovering nearby, his visor glinting.

“Humans: require immediate transportation to their homes?” his voice shifted between a mix of subtle major chords and suspended harmonies, almost like a question in music.

How does he do that?

“Uh, yeah,” Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “Our parents will be really worried if we don’t get back, like, really soon.”

“Acknowledged,” Soundwave intoned, turning to signal his cassettes. “Rumble, Frenzy: copy Ravage's alt-form scan. Ratbat: transform and remain inside of Rafael's backpack.”

Ratbat chirped in excitement, whizzing over to Raf and bumping his nose against the boy’s leg affectionately.

“Does this mean we get alt-modes?!” Frenzy shouted, his visor brightening.

“Correct,” Soundwave replied.

“Yes!” Rumble and Frenzy high-fived each other, whooping with glee. “You’re the best, Carrier!”

“Soundwave: superior,” Soundwave agreed, a hint of humor to his voice.

“Please don’t make us regret this,” Ravage told the twins, fixing them with an unimpressed stare.

“Stop being such a killjoy, Ravage,” Rumble laughed, trying to reach out and pay Ravage’s head but ended up getting swatted down to the floor by the cat’s paw instead.

“Request: increase speed of departure.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re going.”

“So...uh,” Jack said as he hopped off of Ravage, sticking his hands in his pockets and looking around his garage awkwardly. “Thanks for the ride, I guess?”

“You are welcome,” Ravage replied, his voice clipped but not necessarily unfriendly. “It is unfortunate your introduction to our world was so somber.”

“Yeah,” Jack leaned against his worktable, furrowing his brow. “Hey —what was that thing with Knockout and Starscream earlier? Do they have some sort of history or something?”

Ravage was silent for several seconds.

“Aside from constantly berating the other, no,” he replied. “What happened earlier was a misunderstanding between the two of them; I do not feel comfortable sharing other people’s personal information.”

“That’s fair,” Jack nodded, and was about to say something else when he heard the familiar sound of his mom’s car rolling up into the driveway. “Oh boy. Time to win some acting awards.”

Chapter Text

“So,” Mrs. Fairway began the next morning, glancing out the kitchen window at the shining lavender-blue motorcycle parked next to her SUV. “A motorcycle, hm? It’s very nice.”

Miko nodded eagerly, shoveling cereal into her mouth.

“Isn’t he great?” she sped over to the counter and dumped her bowl and spoon into the sink before grabbing her backpack off the chair. “Me and my friends are gonna go drive around the desert so we’ll be outside service range for a while. Bye!”

Before Mrs. Fairway could protest, Miko was out the door and running towards Rumble, a wide grin on her face.

“Morning, squishy!” Rumble greeted, revving his engine at her. “You ready to rumble?”

“Your puns suck,” Miko replied, giving his handlebars a light smack as she swung her leg over his seat.

“You’re gonna intake those words,” Rumble warned, peeling out of the driveway and shooting off down the street.

This is the best day of my life.

Mornings were Raf’s favorite time of day, even though in his household they were a little hectic. He could already hear his younger siblings thumping up and down the hallways and the stern voice of his mother warning them to knock it off. Ratbat was exactly where Raf had left him last night; halfway poking out of his backpack, still in his alt-mode, and luckily Raf’s younger siblings knew better than to mess with his remote controlled cars, so the tiny mech should be fine when Raf left to freshen up for the day.

As soon as he opened the door to his room, the sound of chatter grew exponentially louder and he had to smile; hearing his family talk and laugh always made him feel warm and fuzzy inside.

He shut the door to his bedroom and quickly made it to the end of the hall, grabbing a towel out of the linen closet as he did.

When he returned, Ratbat was still in the backpack, but upon seeing Raf the mini car’s headlights flickered in greeting.

“Good morning, Ratbat,” Raf said once the door was closed, waving to the mech.

“Good morning,” Ratbat chirped back. “Are you ready to head to base? Ravage said he’d come pick us up.”

“Already?” Raf said, pulling on his socks. “I’ll have to grab breakfast, but then we’ll be good to go.”

Ratbat whirred happily, rolling backwards into the backpack.

“Let’s go!”

“Jack,” came Ravage’s sharp voice, muffled slightly by the door to the garage. “Stop wasting time; we have to go pick up Rafael and Ratbat.”

“But it’s Saturday,” Jack protested, poking his head into the garage. “Do we have to go to base?”

“The rec room is free if you want to continue your recharge there,” Ravage replied. “Though attempting to do so while Rumble and Frenzy are present may be difficult.”

“Oh, joy,” Jack groaned, quickly rushing to the cabinet to grab a granola bar before returning to the garage.

“Let’s get this over with.”

The base was much more hectic than Jack expected or desired to experience on a Saturday morning. Soundwave was busy at work at one of his terminals, Thundercracker was pacing at one side of the room silently answering a comm from someone, and several of the identical purple mechs —vehicons, Ravage supplied —were bustling about, carrying crates and glowing cubes and datapads.

“What’s going on?” Raf asked as he and Jack hopped off of Ravage, allowing the cybercat to transform.

“Soundwave says our readings are picking up a massive energon spike,” Ravage replied, taking the time to stretch out much like an Earth cat would.

“‘A massive energon spike’?” Frenzy sniggered, elbowing his twin and grinning at him.

“You two are so immature,” Ratbat said, poking his head out of Raf’s backpack and giving them both a disdainful look.

“Energon is the stuff that powers you guys, right?” Raf frowned at the twins before looking back at Ravage. “Like fuel?”

“Correct,” Ravage said, slinking towards the tunnel that Jack was pretty sure led to the rec room. “On Earth —and most planets with similar deposits —energon is found in its solid form, typically buried in the ground. Mining operations have to be incredibly precise however, given that even in its less active state, energon is very combustible.”

“Uh, in English please?” Miko rolled her eyes.

“I think what Ravage is trying to say is that mining for energon is tricky because one wrong move and the whole mine would explode,” Raf said, looking to Ravage for confirmation, who nodded. “Also, if there was a massive spike in the energon readings that wasn’t there before, that couldn’t just be another undiscovered deposit, right? If energon is that reactive then exposing a source that large would take a long time if you didn’t want to blow yourself up.”

Ravage blinked slowly, eyeing Raf with curiosity.

“You are a very perceptive child, Rafael,” he said. “Yes; there’s no feasible way that the Autobots uncovered a deposit of that size in such a short amount of time. What is more likely is that they are transporting quantities of raw, refined energon outside of a shielded location.”

“Does refined energon give off stronger readings?”

Raf continued to question Ravage about the properties of energon and other Cybertronian tech, while Miko tried to put Frenzy in a headlock with assistance from Rumble.

“Careful Frenz, don’t pull his hands off,” Rumble said indignantly as Frenzy wrestled with Miko’s arms.

“Miko is a femme,” Ravage commented idly from across the room.

“Oh,” Rumble and Frenzy paused in their struggle, allowing Miko to get her fingers underneath Frenzy’s visor.

“Haha, gotcha now!” Miko laughed mischievously, wrapping her legs around his neck for more security. “Gimme your glasses!”

“Sweet Primus,” Frenzy tried to pull his head away from Miko’s grasp. “Why’re his —slag, her —servos so strong—”

Jack watched in mild concern as the three of them shouted over each other, the noise echoing in the large room.

“Yes!” Miko cried in victory, throwing her hands up in the air. Frenzy scowled in her direction after he’d begrudgingly retracted his visor.

“Is this what Soundwave looks like under his mask stuff too?” Miko asked, leaning down over Frenzy’s head to stare at him.

“Uh, kinda?” Rumble shrugged. “I’ve never really thought about it much.”

“He doesn’t take it off much either,” Frenzy added, pushing Miko’s questing fingers away from his face.

“Update from Soundwave,” Ravage announced, jumping smoothly from his resting place on a crate and slinking towards them. “He, Thundercracker, Breakdown, and a squadron of vehicons are going to investigate the area giving off the readings. Myself, Laserbeak, and Buzzsaw will be accompanying him.”

“We don’t get to go?” Frenzy complained, momentarily forgetting about Miko until she poked his optic. “Ow!”

“Whoops, sorry,” Miko said unapologetically.

“You both and Ratbat are to stay with the humans,” Ravage replied. “And no protesting.”

The twins both grumbled to themselves.

“Do not break anything while we're gone,” Ravage warned before disappearing down the hall.

“Hey, you guys wanna play hide and seek?” Miko suggested, finally having freed Frenzy from her grasp and lowered herself back to the floor. “This place is definitely big enough, and we don’t have anything better to be doing.”

“Sure, I guess,” Jack sighed, resigning himself to being the responsible one now that Ravage was gone.

“What’s ‘hide and seek’?”

The days were starting to blur together. Perhaps it was the deprivation of his senses, perhaps it was the lack of energon; whatever it was, it was causing his processor to become sluggish.

Faintly he heard the sound of pedesteps somewhere out in the hallway, beyond the cell.

There was an itch in his spark chamber, a fizzling staticky feeling that tugged at his underused sensory net, causing a wave of electricity to skitter down his spinal strut. As if to placate the urge, he weakly attempted to focus on the now fading sound, to ground onto it, to pull towards it, but it was gone before he could. Not that it mattered; not really. Even if he’d managed to jump, they’d just stun him back into unconsciousness, and Primus knew if he’d wake up another time.

Guilt and regret welled up in his EM field, stretching out as if to touch something, but only coming back empty. It felt like there was a dead spot in his spark now, dark as Cybertron, the connection severed by whatever shielding these Autobots’ base had.

Primus, he hoped this wasn’t where he offlined. Every time he’d thought about it he’d assume it’d be in battle, side by side with his brothers, not alone in a dark, silent room, stasis cuffs securing his servos and pedes and a clamp locking his wings painfully back.

He wanted to scream, to shout obscenities at the ones who’d dared to chain him up like this, but his voicebox had been run ragged already.

His spark pulsed painfully in his chassis as he tried to lift himself into a more comfortable position, but only succeeded in sending pain shooting down through his arms.

A crackling hiss of pain echoed off the walls of the containment unit, but it fell on deaf audials as the one who’d voiced it had already fallen into forced stasis.

The canyon before them was a terrible sight. Hundreds of fallen Cybertronians littered the dusty ground, half buried, their armor and even in some places their protoform worn away by time. Battles had been so rarely fought out in the far reaches of space like this one; if it hadn’t been for the extensive list of all wins and losses, they’d have never known it was even here.

“How long will this take?” the deep rumbling voice of the Prime resonated through the canyon.

“Hopefully not long at all,” replied a shorter, stocky bot. “Will we be bringing them back to base after?”

“If they are manageable,” the Prime said, frowning at the sight that lay before him. “How has the testing gone?”

“As well as you’d expect,” the smaller bot shrugged, pulling a syringe and vial out of his subspace. "Perceptor banned me from his lab; ya hear about that? Thought he’d be a little more lenient for a fellow Wrecker, but nay.”

“Perhaps he knows you too well,” the barest hint of a smile flickered across the Prime’s usually impassive faceplate. “Something about ‘ruining test engines’?”

“Listen, I didn’t know the stuff was that unstable,” the other protested, sticking the syringe into the vial and withdrawing the substance within. “Regular energon wouldn’t even have melted at that temperature. Didn’t think the stuff’d just explode…”

The conversation dwindled off as the scientist crouched down to one of the husks, holding up the syringe.

“You still sure about this?” he asked his superior, one optical ridge raised. “There’s no going back after we inject it.”

“Continue, Wheeljack,” the Prime commanded, nodding his assent.

“You got it, boss,” Wheeljack carefully inserted the needle in between the husk’s chest plating, trying to pierce as close to the spark chamber as possible. “Here goes nothing…”

They watched as the purple liquid disappeared from the tube of the syringe, flowing into the corpse below. Almost immediately after the last of the alien glow disappeared the two bots released vents they hadn’t realized they’d been holding —one of the side effects they’d catalogued was that prolonged exposure to the substance made a mech uneasy and ill.

Nothing happened for several klicks, Wheeljack crouched beside the husk, servos ready to make a grab for the swords sheathed between his winglets, the Prime watching with narrowed optics over Wheeljack’s shoulder.

A faint pulse lit up their fields.

The familiar purple glow began to emanate from the husk, its optics onlining with a whirr. A low gravelly groan escaped its decrepit voicebox as it began trying to haul itself out of the crumbling rock.

“Primus above,” the Prime murmured, optics going wide.

“I’ll be a rusty driveshaft,” Wheeljack chuckled, optics shining with glee as the reanimated husk continued to dig itself free. “Bulk owes me a couple shanix.”

“Betting on the outcome of scientific testing is discouraged, Wheeljack,” the Prime reprimanded gently.

“It’s barely a bet,” Wheeljack reassured, waving him off. “‘Sides, not like—”

He was cut off as the husk finally ripped itself free, losing a pede in the process, its crackling howl of pain echoing through the canyon. The greyed mech scrabbled against the dirt and soil, optics flickering in and out of focus before it finally fell silent, the violet glow fading from sight.

“Not as impressive as I’d anticipated,” Wheeljack admitted, scowling as he nudged the corpse with the flat of his blade. “Permission to use a higher dose?”

“Permission granted, Wheeljack.”

“Isn’t Knockout supposed to be manning the groundbridge?” Raf asked as the children reentered the main silo, noting that the flashy red mech was nowhere to be seen.

“Probably decided to go buff himself,” Rumble said with a snicker. “I guess humans don’t do that, do you?”

“Nah,” Miko shook her head. “But sometimes we use lotion and stuff on our skin to keep it moisturized.”

“What happens if it dries out?” Rumble asked warily.

“Gets all itchy and flakey I think,” Miko said, frowning. “Similar thing happens if we stay out in the sun too long.”

“You squishies really are fragile, aren’t you?” Frenzy looked Miko up and down with renewed intrigue. “Pretty impressive your species managed to make it this far with all those odds stacked against you.”

“Especially when you take into account people like Miko,” Jack said pointedly, sitting down on the floor of the mezzanine, “who have no self of self preservation.”

“I have plenty of that,” Miko argued, placing her hands on her hips.

Jack opened his mouth to point out that Miko had, without hesitation, revealed her presence to a very large and clearly deadly metal alien cat, on nothing but the grounds that she thought he looked cool, when Raf interrupted.

“What’s that mean?” he asked, pointing at one of the screens where Soundwave usually stood.

“What’s what?” Rumble turned to look where Raf was pointing. “Which screen? I can’t—”

“Distress beacon!” Ratbat shrieked, flying in panicked circles around Raf’s head. “Someone must’ve gotten hurt on the mission—”

“If someone got hurt, they’d have commed the doc and bridged back,” Frenzy pointed out, already making his way over to the console. “And besides, this one is all the way in...uh...a different country.”

“Should we get Knockout?” Raf asked, glancing towards one of the offshoot tunnels. “We don’t know how to work the groundbridge, so we can’t do it ourselves.”

“Hah!” Rumble slapped Frenzy on the shoulder and grinned at the humans. “Me and Frenz here can show you! You should probably stay here anyway, since you’re so breakable anyway.”

“Hold on, you can’t seriously be thinking about going through the bridge or whatever and staging a rescue mission on your own?” Jack scoffed, crossing his arms. “We should get Knockout, he’ll—”

“You’re such a buzzkill, Jack,” Miko whined, peering over the railing at the main console. “We don’t even know who sent the signal, so maybe it’ll just be a recon mission or something! Also, there’s no way I’m staying behind.”

“If there’s a big fight going on, we’ll comm for backup,” Frenzy said placatingly. “But we can’t go until we’re sure there’ll be someone to reopen the groundbridge for us when we come back. So, Raf?”

Raf hesitated, looking up at Jack with a worried expression.

“Jack…” he began.

“Raf, you can't be agreeing—”

“The longer we spend debating it the higher our chances are of losing the person who sent the signal,” Raf insisted, hopping down to where Rumble and Frenzy were standing. “I wanna help, even if it’s just a little bit.”

Jack bit back his sharp reply, taking a deep breath and wiping a hand over his face. Hopefully after this all blew over he could have a serious talk with Raf about putting their own lives in danger. Or maybe he’d ask Soundwave to do that.

“Any sign of danger, at all, and we get Knockout, okay?”

“You got it!” Rumble gave him a thumbs-up before jokingly adding, “‘Boss’.”

“So how do I work it?” Raf asked, taking a seat at one of the human sized computers and pulling his laptop out of his backpack.

“Lemme show you,” Frenzy bent down and tapped several buttons while Miko and Rumble climbed back down to the floor, heading towards the groundbridge tunnel.

“Okay, I think I’ve got it,” Raf said, mimicking Frenzy’s movements.

There was a series of clicks that resounded through the silo before the groundbridge swirled to life, the air filling with static.

“You remember how to shut it off?” Frenzy asked.

“Yep,” Raf nodded.

“Alright!” Frenzy jumped from the mezzanine, jogging over to where Miko and Rumble stood. “You ready? The first couple times you bridge are gonna be weird, squishy, so just be—”

“I’m coming too,” Jack announced, sliding down the ladder and stalking towards them. “There needs to be at least one adult present.”

“We’re both older than you,” Rumble protested.

“Will you be okay staying here with Ratbat, Raf?” Jack called back.

“I’ll be okay,” Raf said. “You guys better hurry!”

“See ya in a klick, bitty!” Frenzy waved as they stepped into the vortex.

Moving through the groundbridge was a strange feeling. Despite the walls and floor appearing to be curved, it felt normal underneath Jack’s feet, if a bit soft. Fingers of electricity grasping at the group as they walked through, though when they connected with Jack's skin they didn't hurt. Instead, the sting felt more like a soft pins-and-needles sensation;  weird, but not altogether unpleasant.

He had to squint his eyes most of the way due to how bright everything around them was, and by the time they'd stepped out —not even a minute later, but it seemed like time stretched on forever inside the groundbridge —-his eyes were beginning to burn and his ears were buzzing.

“That was freaky,” Miko stated once they’d stepped out, the vortex behind them vanishing soon after.

“It takes getting used to,” Frenzy agreed, peering around at their surroundings. “Now, where are we?”

“Looks like a forest,” Jack said, glancing around at the towering trees encircling them, forming a reasonably large clearing. “Doesn’t look like there’s been any disturbances in the clearing, so whoever sent the signal must’ve moved here after being in distress?”

“Maybe,” Frenzy frowned. “I’m picking up faint EM pulses from a couple klicks southwest; you coming, Rumble?”

“Right behind you, bro,” Rumble rubbed his palms together excitedly. “You guys check the clearing for any sign of a fight or something while we go investigate the pulses.”

The twins headed into the treeline, disappearing before Jack could say any in protest.

“C’mon,” Miko waved at Jack and she ran to the edge of the clearing. “See if there are any unrooted trees or maybe tracks on that side, I’ll look on this one!”

Jack groaned, regretting his decision to accompany the three as he made his way to the opposite side of the clearing from Miko and began searching around for anything that could help them.

Prowl stood stiffly by his console, reading Wheeljack’s report over again and curling his servos into tight fists. First, a useless prisoner, and now, Wheeljack’s little pet project had caused their main shielding to glitch out. It would only be a matter of time before the Decepticons located their base now.

I thought banning him from the lab would put an end to these stunts…

“Prowl?”

Prowl exvented heavily, turning slightly to face Jazz.

“Yes, Jazz?”

“Repair crews are working as fast as they can,” Jazz said, crossing the room to stand next to Prowl. “There’s nothing else we can do but wait until they finish.”

“What is the word on Wheeljack’s condition?” Prowl asked, avoiding the other mech’s gaze.

“Prowl—”

“Jazz.”

Jazz gave him an exasperated look, his optics rolling behind his visor.

“Wheeljack’s doing fine,” he said, a pulse of reassurance brushing the edge of Prowl’s field as he did so. “Docbot’s been hard at work fixing him up for the past couple joors.”

“Any word from the supply squad sent out earlier?”

“None so far,” Jazz shook his helm. “Should we send in backup?”

“They’re not scheduled back for another joor at least,” Prowl said, checking the list of arrivals scheduled for that day. “If they don’t comm in within the next several breems, send someone out to investigate. I’m going to update Prime on the base’s status.”

“Will do, Prowler,” Jazz bumped Prowl’s shoulder affectionately, ducking out of the room before the mech could protest.

Noise again.

This time it came from above, and wasn’t terribly far. More importantly, however; it was consistent.

He waited another klick and the scuffling continued. There were the faint hints of quiet conversation as well, though they were even harder to pick up than the other noise.

He latches on to the sounds, visualizing himself wrapping his servos around a cord as an anchor, and allows the energy trapped inside his spark chamber to spill out from his chassis and travel along that imaginary cord, all the way to the end where the noises originated. 

The relief was almost painful. He hadn’t been able to lock on to anything in what felt like stellar-cycles, let alone attempt a jump.

The buildup of static was fast and violent, his frame quaking and the stasis cuffs beginning to crackle and glitch.

He tightened his grip around the cord in his mind, allowing the energy to flow freely from him to the destination and back.

And then he pulled.

“Are you done yet?” Jack asked dully, watching Miko clamber over the same log for the fortieth time.

“No way!” she replied indignantly. “We haven’t found anything yet!”

“Miko, we’ve scoured the entire clearing,” Jack gestured around them. “And, unless you haven’t noticed, it’s not that big!”

“So?” Miko huffed. “Just because we haven’t found something yet doesn’t mean it’s not there!”

“Anything left by cons or bots would be big enough for us to have easily found!” Jack argued.

“Fine, be pessimistic,” Miko said, crossing her arms. “What’re we supposed to do instead then? Order pizza?”

“We—” Jack paused, a sinking realization hitting him. “We don’t have a way to contact the cons.”

“Uh, duh, not like they have phone numbers, doofus,” Miko rolled her eyes.

“No, Miko,” Jack grabbed her by the shoulders. “We can’t contact the cons. If Rumble and Frenzy don’t get back soon —if they get back at all —then we have no way of calling for backup!”

“Scrap,” Miko said, grimacing.

“Yeah, ‘scrap’!” Jack groaned, flopping down onto the log. They were stuck here with no feasible way of getting back to base. “Doesn’t help that we don’t have service out here, and even if we did, we’re out in middle of who knows where—”

“A different country,” Miko supplied helpfully.

“—and there’s no way I’m going to be able to explain that to my mom—”

Jack fell silent as the air grew warmer all of the sudden, a strange pricking sensation dancing up his spine.

“Do you feel that?” he asked, glancing at Miko warily.

“Yeah,” she agreed.

Jack flinched as branches of stinging electricity began crackling across the ground of the clearing, coalescing in the center.

“Is that a groundbridge?” Miko wondered aloud.

The clearing went dark for a second, and just as Jack was about to tell Miko to duck, the clearing lit up again, this time brighter.

It felt like he’d been thrown out of a car going ninety miles an hour; the force of the explosion sent both Jack and Miko flying through the air along with dirt and rocks pulled up from the ground as well as branches that had been ripped from trees. Their momentum was arrested by bush —thankfully not by tree —and luckily neither of them were in particularly rough shape.

Jack groaned, shielding his eyes as the light from the center of the clearing began to fade away, static still skittering across the ground.

“What just happened?” Miko breathed, touching her forehead and wincing.

“I don’t…” Jack’s voice trailed off into nothing as he stared ahead.

The one empty clearing was now occupied by the crumbled form of a large, heavily battered Cybertronian.

“I think we found who the distress signal belongs to,” Miko whispered.

“Yeah,” Jack said, his heart still pounding. “Hey, Miko—”

Miko ignored his protests and scampered over to the prone figure, taking care not to touch them —their body was sizzling with electricity —as she examined their form.

“Don’t worry, Jack,” she called, turning to show Jack the barely visible emblem on the mech’s chassis. “This one’s a con.”

“Are you sure they’re not an Autobot in disguise?” Jack argued, making his way towards the metal giant.

“Look!” Miko, again, ignored Jack and moved around to the mech’s back, pointing eagerly to the bent and twisted metal of what had probably been wings. “Another jet like Thundercracker and that other snooty one!”

“Starscream,” Jack corrected absently, eyes fixed on the mech’s face, slightly twisted in what was most likely pain or discomfort. “Hold on —they said the one who’d gone radio silent was Thundercracker’s brother.”

“Do you think this is him?”

“I don’t know who else it could be.”

“...So how do we wake him up?”

“...Good question.”

Jack turned around to examine the debris that had been thrown up before selecting a moderately large stone and walking over to where the unresponsive mech’s arm lay.

“Here we go,” Jack said, more to himself than anything else, and threw the rock down as hard as he could onto the metal hand before him.

“Hey, Skywarp!”

As soon as Skywarp’s processor onlined, he wanted to scream. A hundred different warning messages were crowding his HUD, alarms were blaring in his internal audials, and most importantly, every single part of his frame hurt like the Pit.

With a bit of trouble he managed to force his sensory net to shut off completely, leaving him in total darkness, while he rapidly tried to stabilize what he could and dismiss all the warning notifications.

Once his HUD was clearer, he hesitantly onlined part of his sensory net, blocking out those around the areas of major injury so the pain wouldn’t hinder him.

He shuddered to think about the fit his trinemates would have when they saw the state of his wings.

His optics and audio receptors onlined slowly, allowing him time to acclimatize to his surroundings.

Curiously, there were two organics standing near one of his servos, their tiny faces seemingly screwing up in worry.

Over me?

He rebooted his systems a few times to flush out any bugs before pushing himself into a sitting position, his struts grinding in protest.

“He’s awake!”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

Skywarp peered down at the tiny humans again, tilting his helm as he studied them.

Shouldn't seeing a Cybertronian cause them to panic?

“What are—” he winced at how grating his voicebox sounded, “—what are you doing here?”

“We could ask you the same thing,” the smaller of the two said. “Although, we should probably get to base before we do any of that. You look terrible.”

“Miko!"”

“What? He does!”

“Why aren’t you running away?” Skywarp asked, resisting the urge to poke them in his curiosity; he didn’t need to expend more energy, nor did he need to scare the humans off.

“Because you need help?” the one called Miko said, seeming confused by his question. “Why—”

“You’re a Decepticon, right?” the other one cut Miko off. “Does that mean you can contact Outpost Kaon?”

::Skywarp?!:: came a very demanding ping.

::Mech, are you alive?!::

Rumble and Frenzy.

The solar-cycle just kept getting weirder.

::Breakdown~:: somehow even over comms Knockout still managed to convey that sing-song tone of his.

::Yeah, K.O.?:: there was a lull in the fight currently, allowing Breakdown a bit of a respite to chat with his conjunx over comms. ::What’s up? Keeping that finish of yours buffed?::

::Always.:: was Knockout's reply. ::But in more important news, I er, seem to have misplaced a few of the humans?::

Breakdown clamped down on his field before his shock and panic could register to any of his surrounding comrades.

::Not to be abrasive, but how do you misplace humans?::

::They’re quite small, you know!:: Knockout huffed. ::Besides, I’m fairly certain those two Unicron-spawn had something to do with it.::

::Don’t insult the cassettes while I’m in range of Soundwave.::

::Do you think he’d disagree?::

::...Fair enough. Do you have—-::

The comms glitched out as a violent wave of jumbled up emotions slammed into Breakdown’s field, nearly knocking him off balance.

::Skywarp: back in range.::

Chapter Text

Much like his brothers, Skywarp was comparatively a very large mech, at least from Jack and Miko’s perspective, even when reduced by the crumpled state of his wings. But unlike his brothers, whose posture and expressions both exuded a certain regality, Skywarp seemed manic and twitchy, stray bits of static crackling across his frame.

“What happened to you?” Miko asked, further ignoring Jack’s attempts to keep her quiet.

“Autobots,” Skywarp replied, flattening himself against the ground so his head was on level with the humans. “I was part of a energon scouting group that got jumped a few decacycles ago. Glitches fragged up my processor and stuck me in a detainment unit. Been trying to broadcast a distress signal ever since, but I figure until now the bots’ shielding must’ve been too thick for it to get through.”

“Can you contact the Outpost?” Jack asked again, irritated and a bit unsettled that his question had been ignored.

He shivered involuntarily as the mech’s red gaze fell on him.

“Already have,” he said, making a small gesture with a servo. “Not that I don’t want to stay and tear those bots to scrap, but—”

He trailed off, looking over his shoulder and grimacing at the state of his wings.

“It’s probably best to head back sooner rather than later,” he continued. “Besides, we don’t have any backup aside from Rumble and Frenzy, and the last time I tried to take them on a mission Soundwave nearly tore my spark out—”

“Skywarp!” came a jubilant cheer from the treeline, signifying the twins’ arrival.

They crashed into the clearing, paint scraped and grinning like idiots.

“You look like slag,” Frenzy commented as they reached the trio, eyeing Skywarp’s wings. “How’d you get out?”

“Did you bust up any Autobots on the way?” Rumble added eagerly.

Jack internally groaned; he was stuck with a bunch of idiots.

The assault on the Autobot caravan had immediately been abandoned upon hearing of Skywarp’s location and enough damage had been done and energon swiped that the mission was technically a success even despite the retreat.

Thundercracker’s spark was pulsing feverishly in his chassis, worry and relief and fear all tangled up together as he stepped through the groundbridge back into the base, optics scanning the silo for any sign of his trinemate. The spark bond he and Skywarp shared was not as strong as that of Soundwave and his cassettes —there was no true communication through it —but it was enough that he could tell Skywarp was inside the mesa somewhere.

Sensing Thundercracker’s worry, Soundwave brushed fields with him, warmth and reassurance flowing into Thundercracker’s own.

He’s okay. He’s okay.

The walk to the Outpost’s Medbay was a blur; the only thing on Thundercracker’s processor was making sure his brother was alive and safe. It didn’t matter that he’d been given Skywarp’s status already —in the form of a comm from Knockout —he needed to see his trinemate with his own optics, feel his field mesh with his.

Skywarp was lying on a medical berth when Thundercracker entered the Medbay, back to the ceiling and wings splayed out to allow Knockout to tend to them. His signature was sluggish and he made no attempt to greet Thundercracker, but Knockout confirmed he was just sedated.

“Operating with him conscious would have been a nightmare,” the medic explained, running a sanitation cloth over the parts of Skywarp’s wings that were still intact. “Especially since his pain-receptor override was already beginning to wear off.”

“What happened?” Thundercracker asked, resting his weight against the side of the berth.

“From what he said before the sedative told hold,” Knockout said, “it seems like whatever sensory deprivation cell they kept him in prevented him from warping out, but also caused the warp charge to build up dangerously; that’s why when he finally achieved teleportation his systems overloaded.”

“But it’s repairable?”

“Yes,” Knockout nodded. “However, some of the damage is more than I know how to fix. The plan is now to get him stable enough here that we can bridge him out to Tarn.”

Thundercracker traced a digit across his trinemate’s arm, sighing.

“Any word from the scouting team?”

“Nothing new,” Knockout said, optical ridges furrowing. “We can only assume wherever they were holding him was far underground, which would add up with the amount of charge he’s exhausted.”

Thundercracker tensed, feeling a sharp tugging sensation in his chassis, followed by a ping from Soundwave.

::Alert: Starscream is bridging in.::

Thundercracker looked down at his unconscious brother and ex-vented.

::Understood.:: 

There was a beat of silence, before:

::Soundwave: emotionally unavailable currently. Request: come get your trinemate before I have to console him.::

He snorted, earning two confused looks from Knockout and Breakdown.

“Starscream’s arriving,” Thundercracker said in explanation, pushing off the berth and heading towards the exit. “Comm me if anything happens while I’m gone.”

“Wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise,” Knockout replied.

The insistent tugging at his spark chamber did not stop even when he reached the main silo, though as the distance decreased the feeling lessened somewhat.

It seemed he had arrived at just the right time as well, as only nanokliks after he entered the room, Starscream stepped out of the groundbridge vortex. His wings were hiked up on his back, his frame stiff, and his optics darted around the room, unable to focus on one thing.

“You got here quickly,” Thundercracker greeted, crossing the space and brushing Starscream’s wing with his own. “Skywarp’s in stasis right now while Knockout operates on his wings.”

“But he’s alright?” Starscream pressed, wings twitching.

“He’s alright,” Thundercracker confirmed, letting his field flare out and encompass Starscream.

The smaller seeker flinched at the contact before begrudgingly accepting it, his own field held tightly to his spark to prevent anything from escaping. Despite this their shared bond overrode his attempts somewhat, allowing flecks of what he felt through.

Turning back towards the tunnel that led to the Medbay, Thundercracker nudged his brother gently with the edge of his wing.

“I will warn you, it’s not a pretty sight,” he said grimly. “I assume you got the report? Energon deficiency, early symptoms of rust —his wings took the worst of the physical damage.”

He could feel Starscream’s shudder of concern as if it were his own.

“Bad enough to ground him?”

“He’ll be grounded for decacycles,” Thundercracker replied.

Starscream’s EM shielding faltered, allowing his horror to bleed through into Thundercracker’s field.

“Has Nickel looked him over yet?”

“No; Knockout said the plan was to stabilize him and then have him bridged to Tarn. I believe Nickel currently has her servos full with the most recent…incident.”

Starscream nodded, his wings lowering slightly from their high stressed position.

“Has he woken up at all?”

“Not since I arrived, no,” Thundercracker placed his servo on Starscream’s back, resting the weight of it between his winglets. “He’ll be fine, Starscream. And worrying yourself over it isn’t going to make him recover any faster.”

Starscream pulsed irritation-guilt-resignation at him, subtly leaning into Thundercracker’s touch.

Thundercracker resisted the urge to continue on; knowing Starscream, he would probably just be tuned  out anyway. Ever since the war began —and certainly ever since becoming Air Commander and subsequently Megatron’s second in command —Starscream had become more and more closed off to those around him, and sometimes even trine bonds couldn’t reach him. Thundercracker suspected he knew the reason for the change, but he’d never brought it up, always hoping Starscream would confide in him himself.

As the years went by, that outcome seemed less and less likely.

Despite it never having been spoken, however, Thundercracker was fairly certain Starscream was aware of his suspicions, especially after Thundercracker’s reframing to a flight build bulkier than most seekers. His reasoning had been that it made sense to equalize the trine, accentuate each member’s strengths. Starscream was small and thin but durable, good for close combat and being the formation leader when flying with a squad; Skywarp was marginally bigger to allow his extra fuel tank space, as well as an increase of energon lines to his spark chamber to match its overactive pace; in comparison to them, Thundercracker was much more heavily armored, though not to the extent of most war builds. 

Starscream had accepted this reasoning, but Thundercracker was sure that wasn’t really why his stress levels had decreased after the reframing.

It was simply that having a large framed mech hover beside him was soothing, even if the size difference between the trinemates wasn’t overly noticeable.

It was only hours after they’d gotten back from their spontaneous excursion that the weight of it had really begun to sink in for Jack. That they’d nearly been killed multiple times by things that wouldn’t even really be considered dangerous by Cybertronian standards, and that it seemed like none of them had a proper grasp on just how much more delicate the humans were.

“That was awesome!” Miko said, using one of the twins as a stepladder as she explored the seating of the rec room. “I mean, I guess I already knew Thundercracker was huge, but seeing Skywarp up close like that was crazy!”

“You should see the warbuild fliers,” Frenzy said. “Some of them are even bigger than Megatron himself.”

“Like the Sixers—” Rumble started.

“Who is Megatron exactly?” Raf asked, sitting crosslegged with Ratbat lounging in his lap. “I know he’s your leader and everything, but what’s he like?”

“Real serious,” Rumble answered. “Big and tough and doesn’t know what humor is. Carrier’s known him for vorns; they fought as gladiators in Kaon before the war.”

“Seems like an intense guy,” Miko said with a grin.

Jack turned out their conversation, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes. How could neither of them be as affected by this as he was? Sure, maybe Miko was just too reckless to understand, but surely Raf knew now how dangerous this all was.

I can’t believe I went with them, Jack thought, rubbing his forehead. What if I hadn’t come back? I can’t leave Mom.

The sound of Miko’s loud laughter broke his train of thought, grating against his eardrums.

“Would you just cut it out?!” Jack snapped, glaring up at where Miko and the twins were sitting. “How can you act like nothing’s wrong?”

Rumble at least had the decency to look guilty, but the other two just stared at him with confused expressions.

“What’re you talking about?” Miko said, raising an eyebrow.

“What am I—” Jack paused, running his hand through his hair. “Miko, we almost died! And that wasn’t even supposed to be a dangerous mission!”

“Yeah, but we rescued Skywarp,” Miko interjected. “I don’t see what the problem is.”

“No, you clearly don’t," Jack said, crossing his arms. “You don’t see anything because you’re too immature to! All you see is—”

“Immature?” Miko scowled. “I am not immature!”

Rumble and Frenzy glanced at each other, unsure of what to do, while Raf just curled around Ratbat quietly, watching the argument in concern.

“Oh, you’re not?” Jack scoffed. “Because running through a wormhole to another country to look around for aliens is a mature thing to do?”

“It was a distress signal,” Miko said through gritted teeth. “We were going to help—”

“Yeah, because we’re trained for search and rescue?” Jack shot back. “Maybe Rumble and Frenzy don’t understand how easily we could’ve gotten killed, but you should!”

Miko opened her mouth to retort, her face screwed up in anger, when heavy metallic footsteps signaled the arrival of Soundwave, Laserbeak and Buzzsaw perched on his shoulders.

“Request: sparklings cease argument,” he said as he entered, ending on a sharp discordant note. He turned to Jack, his expression unreadable behind the visor and mask. “Jackson: wishes to return home?”

Jack blinked in surprise, wondering how the mech could be so perceptive, before nodding.

“Yeah,” he said. “If this is how it’s gonna be hanging around the Decepticons, I don’t want any part in it.”

Miko snorted from somewhere behind him, earning a look from Soundwave.

“Laserbeak, Buzzsaw: remain here with unit,” Soundwave said, the ominous harmonies fading out to be replaced by more melancholy ones. “Jackson: will accompany Soundwave to groundbridge.”

Jack didn’t bother saying goodbye, he simply turned towards the door, grabbed his backpack, and walked out.

Soundwave followed a few seconds later, and a large metal hand was placed on the ground in front of Jack.

“Suggestion: higher elevation may decrease fear of being squished,” Soundwave said.

“What if I’m afraid of heights?” Jack countered.

“Jackson: is not afraid of heights; only spiders.”

Jack turned to stare at the expressionless mech, wondering if that was supposed to be a joke. Not that it wasn’t true —spiders made him deeply uncomfortable —but the tone made it seem almost…lighthearted.

He shrugged and stepped onto the offered hand, crouching down and grasping one of Soundwave’s fingers for balance and support. He did flinch when the hand was raised, but the height of it didn’t bother him. It was strange though, getting accustomed to the steady rise and fall of Soundwave’s movement.

They walked in silence for several minutes, Jack examining the walls of the tunnel and wondering how long it would’ve taken him to map it all out mentally.

“You’re not worried about me telling the world about you guys?” Jack asked, finally breaking the silence.

“No,” was the reply.

“Why not?”

“Jackson: trusts Decepticons to protect Earth; would not endanger the peace.”

Soundwave was right, somehow. It was unsettling hearing almost word for word his own thoughts parroted back at him, but Jack admitted that his level of perception was impressive.

The main room of the silo was mostly empty when they entered it; only a handful of purple vehicons were present, tapping away at consoles. A few turned and saluted Soundwave, but most remained fixed to their posts.

After some button pressing  on the main console by Soundwave, the groundbridge flared to life, green-blue light spilling out into the silo, and Jack was lowered to the ground again.

“Soundwave: regrets to see Jackson leave, but understands his concerns,” Soundwave said. “Cassettes: will be monitoring from afar to ensure no harm comes to you or any associates.”

“Thanks, Soundwave,” Jack gave the towering mech a strained smile, waving as he moved towards the groundbridge and stepped into its vortex.

“You still haven’t explained how you lost the humans,” Breakdown commented, rinsing off the scalpel in his servo before dunking it into the sanitation bath.

Knockout glared at him from across the table.

“Why is this so fascinating to you?” he asked, audial fins twitching. “I told you; they’re tiny. It’s not exactly difficult to misplace them.”

“Yeah,” Breakdown stifled a laugh at his conjunx’s unimpressed stare, “but they were with the twins, who are both pretty loud.”

“Don't remind me,” Knockout grumbled.

They worked in silence for a few breems before Breakdown at last set down the final tool and eyed his partner again.

“So?”

“Breakdown, for Primus’ sake—”

“Hey, you know I’m just messing with you,” Breakdown chuckled, bumping Knockout’s shoulder with his own. “You’re cute when you get all huffy.”

“Oh shush,” Knockout rolled his optics, though the glow of energon was still visible through his faceplate. “If you must know—”

He turned, looking across the Medbay to where the Elite Trine had huddled up together; after Skywarp was stabilized and the most severe of his injuries patched, Starscream and Thundercracker had taken over to tend to his wings and to buff out what scratches they could. Skywarp had woken up a few times —each time very delirious —but for the most part remained in stasis, sprawled across Starscream’s legs.

Currently it seemed Starscream too had fallen into recharge, leaving Thundercracker —who was reading a datapad and absently stroking the wing Starscream had unintentionally shoved in his face —the only one still awake.

“—I was in our habsuite," Knockout said quietly, “thinking about what I’d said.”

Breakdown frowned, reaching out and brushing the back of his knuckles across Knockout’s helm.

“Knock, it’s not your fault—”

“How stupid do you have to be to call someone by the nickname coined by their currently missing-in-action brother?” Knockout rubbed a servo over his face, groaning. “I know I didn’t mean it like that, but—”

“Hey,” Breakdown pulled Knockout’s servo away from his face, leaning down to bump forehelms with him. “Once this whole thing has blown over and Starscream’s less…touchy, you can apologize. Besides, I’m sure Skywarp will find the situation hilarious.”

Knockout ex-vented, blowing warm air over Breakdown’s faceplate.

“You’re right, as usual,” he said, shuttering his optics.

After a moment Knockout pulled away, resetting his voicebox.

“I need to comm Nickel about relocating Skywarp,” he said. “Keep an optic on them for me while I’m busy, will you?”

“Will do, Doc Knock,” Breakdown gave him a mock salute.

“You know, this would be less of a pain if you’d stop squirming.”

The mech currently on the berth fixed the medic with a glare, cradling his servo and trying to lean out of reach.

“I’m fine, Ratchet,” he protested, though his argument was very weak considering the energon he was leaking.

“You are clearly not,” Ratchet replied, “and if you continue to act like a sparkling I’m going to have to put you in stasis.”

“I’m not acting like a sparkling!” Smokescreen huffed, but begrudgingly allowed Ratchet to tend to his servo.

“Yeah, and I’m a spry young warbuild,” Ratchet replied with a snort.

The doors to Medbay opened to reveal Prowl and First-Aid, the former wearing an exhausted look while the latter listed off the designations of all mecha injured in the fight.

“Thank you for the report, First-Aid,” Prowl held up a servo to silence the young medic. “Make sure you log it before you return to your duties.”

“Yes, sir,” First-Aid nodded and darted out of the room, datapad in hand.

Prowl stalked towards the berth, his trademark scowl in place.

“What’s the damage, Doctor?”

“Just a busted servo,” Ratchet answered, drawing his soldering torch to weld the metal back together. “Smokescreen’s lucky; if he were any slower he’d have lost the servo entirely.”

“Yeah,” Smokescreen grinned triumphantly up at Prowl. “I’m the fastest there is! No con’s gonna catch Smokey!”

Prowl raised an optical ridge.

“Admittedly, you performed better than I’d expected,” he said, “but your eagerness to fight seems to be clouding your judgement. Or were you not aware your mission was to defend the convoy and avoid confrontation at all costs?”

Smokescreen’s smile fell and he looked away, flexing his good servo.

“We were outnumbered, so our only option was to hit them hard and fast,” he glanced over at where a few other mechs with minor injuries were being treated by the medical staff. “Besides, it’s not like we took that much damage. A couple bent fenders and scratches that’ll buff out, but we didn’t lose anyone.”

“We may not have lost soldiers, but we certainly lost energon,” Prowl replied, his scowl deepening. “If you had called for backup earlier—”

“What, and let the cons batter our defensive unit?” Smokescreen snorted. 

“Better that than allow them to make off with our supply!” Prowl grit his denta, pressing two digits against the chevron on his forehelm. “Continue, Ratchet; I need to go receive Wheeljack’s report from the science lab.”

Ratchet grunted his acknowledgement, not bothering to look up from his work as Prowl left the bay.

“What’s that mech’s problem?” Smokescreen said to no one in particular. “No matter what I do, it’s never enough.”

Ratchet sighed, flipping on the solvent spray and running it over Smokescreen's servo to cool off the fresh welds.

“He’s just trying to help, if you can believe it,” Ratchet said, glancing at the door and shaking his head. “It’s a high stress job, being Prime’s TIC.”

“S’not a reason to take it out on me,” Smokescreen muttered, gently flexing the fingers of his repaired servo. “Been doing it for ages, ever since I was little. He’s just so —so overbearing.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, kid,” Ratchet said. “Seems to me that he’s worried over you and expresses it abrasively, but it’s not my job to sort out the emotional issues of other mecha. Now shoo; you’re all fixed up and I need the berth free in case of emergency.”

“Right,” Smokescreen hopped down, letting his door-wings relax from the cramped position they’d been in. “I’ll…see you later, Doc.”

Ratchet watched him go, shaking his helm at the young mech’s energy.

What I wouldn't give to feel like that again…

Wheeljack grinned behind his battlemask as he finished welding the final piece of armor onto the frame before him. The husk was motionless and missing a few digits on its left servo, but all its energon lines were intact and painstakingly reinforced to prevent leaking.

“What a marvelous creation,” said Brainstorm, looking quite smug. “We should work together more often, Wheeljack.”

“Not sure if Prime would let us,” Wheeljack chuckled.

It was no secret that both had a penchant for inventing things with varying levels of destructive capabilities, though most of the time Brainstorm’s were intentionally so and Wheeljack’s just ended up that way due to his tendency to disregard safety protocol.

“What Prime doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Brainstorm replied cheerfully, before approaching the husk on the table and clapping his servos together. “Now, how—”

“I should hope that was said in jest,” interrupted the stern voice of Prowl from the doorway.

“Come to socialize with us plebeians, Prowl?” Wheeljack turned towards him, retracting his mask so his mocking grin was visible.

“I came to receive your report, Wheeljack,” was Prowl’s clipped response as he stepped into the room, optics narrowed. “You do have a report for me, don’t you?”

“It’s on the table by the sample vials,” Brainstorm said, gesturing loosely towards the other side of the lab. “Not much to report since all we’ve been doing is cosmetic work.”

Prowl walked over to the indicated table and snatched up the datapad, glaring at the two scientists.

“Complain all you want, Brainstorm,” he said, “but until you’re given the word from Prime, you are not, under any circumstances, allowed to experiment with the unstable energon. Is that clear?”

“Crystal, your highness,” Wheeljack bowed to him mockingly, earning a stifled laugh from Brainstorm.

Prowl spun on his heelstruts and strode out, muttering to himself all the while.

“He’s got one hell of a stick shoved up his tailpipe, hasn’t he,” Brainstorm commented once the door had closed.

“Ain’t that the truth,” Wheeljack snorted, rolling his optics at the empty space where Prowl had been.

The Nemesis was bustling with activity, vehicons and officers alike moving through its decks with fervor. The news of Skywarp's rescue had traveled quickly throughout the ship, even reaching those stationed at other outposts via comms between soldiers.

The command deck was no different, with conversation and activity filling the space, but it was to a lesser extent, given that their leader was in the middle of a call in report from Soundwave.

“How is Skywarp’s condition?” Megatron asked, folding his servos behind his back.

“Stable and ready for transport,” was Soundwave’s reply. “Outpost Tarn: contacted and made aware of the arrangements. Skywarp: will be bridged out within the cycle.”

“Excellent,” Megatron nodded, relief spilling over him at the news. It was bad enough having one of his best soldiers missing, but the toll it took on Starscream and Thundercracker made it even worse.

“Soundwave: has additional information,” Soundwave continued, drawing Megatron’s attention back to the screen before him.

“More regarding the Autobots presence near Outpost Kaon?”

“Negative,” Soundwave replied. “Ravage, Knockout: seen in action by three human adolescents. Decepticon security: intact. Humans: have agreed to maintain our cover.”

“Human children?” Megatron clarified, optical ridges furrowing. “In close proximity to Outpost Kaon I presume —has Agent Fowler been alerted of their presence yet?”

“Negative,” Soundwave said. “Soundwave: wished to consult you before making any decisions. Additionally: one of the humans has decided to distance themselves from our operations. Cassettes: will maintain constant surveillance to ensure no Autobot interference.”

“I see,” Megatron tapped a clawed digit against the console. “Schedule a meeting with Agent Fowler; we shall discuss the matter with him.”

“Acknowledged.”

Had his bike always been this squeaky? Jack scowled at the bike as he aggressively scrubbed the chain with a brush, constantly having to readjust his lamp as no matter where he put it his arms kept getting in the way.

It was very weird to be back in his garage, no Cybertronians in sight. The normalcy felt almost…wrong.

Jack dropped the brush, wiping his hands on a rag and rubbing his eyes with the back of his wrist. There was no point in thinking about all that. Sure, maybe now he knew about a secret alien war, but that didn’t mean he had to let it affect him. The sun would eventually explode, but he didn’t spend all day worrying about that, did he?

Jack sighed, flopping down against the wall. Everything was so quiet now; without Miko or the twins roughhousing in the background, or even just the whirr of machinery that seemed to pervade the silo, the silence seemed empty.

He wondered if Miko and Raf would try and convince him to come back, or even just give him updates on the state of things after school. Maybe he’d ask them next time he saw them. It would probably lessen his anxiety if he at least had reassurance that the protectors of his planet were still alive and well.

Sighing, Jack pushed himself up off the floor and gathered the tools he’d left beside his bike, setting them on the old desk in a pile. He’d finish up working on it later.

As he hit the button to close the garage door, he could’ve sworn he'd seen something glossy and black in the tree across the street, but it was gone before he could examine it further. Perhaps Soundwave was keeping his word and one of the cassettes was tailing him.

It was either that, or an Autobot had just found out where he lived and noticed his Deception guardian was nowhere to be seen.

Pushing that thought away, Jack stepped into his house and headed back to his room. He’d need all the rest he could get if he was going to go back to work the next day.

Chapter Text

At first glance, Outpost Tarn CMO Nickel didn’t look threatening. She was a small, albeit stocky femme, with teal plating and large yellow optics —a signature of the Tarn crew —and her pedes were dual equipped with wheels, allowing her to roll around the base quickly. Given her size and status as a medic, most who didn’t know her assumed she was a gentle spark.

This could have been further from the truth.

“You look like slag,” was the first thing she said upon seeing Skywarp, her tone flat and her expression unfazed. “What’d you do this time? Fall into Scissorsaw or the crews’ grinders?”

“Nickel; charming as ever,” Skywarp rasped, somehow managing to shoot her a grin despite his exhaustion. “How’ve things been here in the frigid Pits?”

“Terrible; and if you don’t offline your voicebox by the next nanoklik, I’m sedating you,” Nickel threatened, pointing a syringe at the berth ridden mech.

Skywarp weakly raised his servos in defense, letting his helm fall unceremoniously to the metal beneath him with a clang.

“Stop fragging hovering, Starscream,” Nickel tossed over her shoulder. “I can’t work with you venting down my neck cables.”

Starscream looked like he wanted to protest, but thought better of it upon seeing Nickel’s expression.

“Ahem,” he reset his voicebox, “any estimate on how long recovery will take? I—”

“I haven’t even looked him over yet,” Nickel interrupted with an exasperated ex-vent. “By the slagging Thirteen; give me some venting room to check his condition, would you?”

Starscream acquiesced, stepping back to stand near the door to the Medbay.

Given the relatively small size of Outpost Tarn’s main crew, it wasn’t surprising that the Medbay was fairly empty —a few vehicons were restocking the med-grade energon cabinets —but it was certainly an adjustment for Starscream, who spent most of his time in very crowded areas. The quiet made him twitchy, like the calm before a storm. His wings were stiff behind him and his field snapped and crackled with anxious energy despite his attempts to reign it in.

He never did like visiting Tarn anyway.

Some combination of the frigid outside temperatures as well as his unique distaste for the mech in charge of the base made it one of his least favorite places on this planet.

Speaking of the mech in charge, Starscream did unfortunately need to speak with him regarding the recent incident…

“I’ll leave you to it,” Starscream said, inclining his helm to Nickel and turning towards the door. “I have other business that needs attending to at the moment.”

“You do that,” Nickel called after him, rolling her optics.

It was easy to fall back into the usual K.O. Burger routine, Jack found. As soon as he stepped into the building with his uniform on it was as if nothing had changed, as if the events of the previous two days had never happened. The relief was like a physical weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

Luckily on weekends he was back to working normal shifts, which meant he’d get off early and be able to make it back home in time to cook dinner for him and his mom, which was a part of his usual schedule he’d missed.

“Basking in the glow of freedom, are you?” came the playful voice of Jack’s manager, Harley.

“Hey,” Jack protested, “I haven’t been able to hang around after shift lately. It’s nice to chat while I’m not watching for customers.”

“That’s the truth,” Harley laughed, patting Jack on the shoulder as they passed him. “By the way, didn’t you ride off on a motorcycle like that one the other day?”

Jack blinked, turning to see where Harley was pointing.

Sure enough, parked just outside the restaurant, was a glossy black motorcycle with red rim lights and a distinct feline look. Unmistakably Ravage.

Only this time, he wasn’t alone. The person that was currently seated on the bike wasn’t someone Jack could remember seeing before, and it was too tall to be Miko or Raf, so who had Ravage brought with him? And why? Wasn’t he just supposed to be there for surveillance?

“Oh, yeah,” Jack stammered, brow furrowing. “Nah, I was borrowing it. Wanted to get a feel for the thing, y’know?”

“Test drive, eh?” Harley gave him a thumbs up as they headed towards the back. “Be cool to have a bike like that.”

“Yeah,” Jack agreed slowly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Harley?”

“Sure thing, man!”

As Jack stepped out of the building the rider pulled off his helmet, revealing the face of a middle-aged man with dark wavy hair and a close cut beard. Jack didn’t recognize him as someone from in town, but there was something about his face —the set of his jaw, the way his brow was furrowed —that felt strangely familiar.

“Uh, hey,” Jack said, awkwardly waving.

What am I doing? he thought to himself, internally panicking. What if that isn’t even Ravage? I mean, his alt-mode had to have been scanned from somewhere—

“Jack,” the man inclined his head in greeting, and Jack noted that his voice sounded just a bit…off. Like it was simultaneously too close and too far. “You left before I had a chance to speak with you.”

“Left where—”

“The holoform is just for show, Jack,” came Ravage’s quiet hiss. “He’s being routed through my comm.”

“What—” Jack blinked and looked back at the man, noticing how his eyes didn’t quite track Jack’s movement and his skin was just a little too smooth. “What’s a holoform?”

“Matter projection,” the man answered. “Like a hologram, but more tactile. Good for recon on organic planets. This is Thundercracker, in case you weren’t aware. I should’ve lead with that, I suppose—”

Jack wasn’t paying attention to his explanation, still reeling with the fact that Cybertronians could disguise themselves not only as vehicles but people too. And now that he was looking for it, he could see that the holoform did hold a bizarre resemblance to Thundercracker, present especially in the way he held his shoulders.

“Why are you here?” Jack blurted, shaking his head. “I don’t understand. I—”

“I’m not here to drag you back, if that’s what’s worrying you,” Thundercracker assured him. “I came to thank you for your part in rescuing my brother. You have no idea how relieving it is to have him back.”

“I—” Jack looked away, unsure how to proceed. “I didn’t do anything —I mean, I know it was mine and Miko’s voices that helped him get out, but that’s hardly worth thanking me. Not that I don’t appreciate it, I do, but—”

“Jack,” Thundercracker gently interrupted, placing a surprisingly solid-feeling hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Regardless of how intentional it was, I am grateful. And in addition to thanking you, I wanted to make sure you knew that there’s not a single one of us who didn’t take that situation seriously —didn’t take the danger you were put in seriously.”

It was strange how despite the obvious difference in how physically intimidating Thundercracker was, his holoform’s presence was equally overwhelming, but not in a threatening way; in a way that reminded Jack a bit of his mother.

“Now,” Thundercracker leaned back, glancing down at Ravage. “I need to get back to base. Raf and Miko both agreed to keep you updated on our situation if you want, so talk to them next time you see them, alright?”

“Yes, sir,” Jack gave him a weak thumbs-up.

Thundercracker smiled, replacing the helmet. Ravage flashed his headlights at Jack in farewell as he drove off, disappearing around the corner.

At least someone understands, I guess.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit, er,” the black mech eyed his superior with wary optics, “too—”

“Gaudy?” interrupted his friend from across the room, grinning at the scene. “Extravagant? Ostentatious—”

“Reading a thesaurus was not what I meant when I told you to familiarize yourself with human speech, Skids,” Shockwave said, fixing said mech with a half-hearted glare.

“He has a point,” said Damus. “I don’t think mint green is a particularly stealthy color—”

“I only rarely go out into the field, therefore I am exempt from field palette regulations,” Shockwave declared, looking as proud as a mech with limited facial capability could.

Skids snickered and Damus just shook his helm, knowing from experience that once Shockwave made a decision there was generally no arguing with him.

“And here I thought my day couldn’t get any worse,” drawled Starscream as he entered the lab. “Are you planning to offline the Autobots with your atrocious color scheme?”

“My choice of palette is none of your concern, Starscream,” Shockwave replied flatly. “And besides; at least I adhere to proper color theory.”

Shockwave gestured to Starscream’s own frame, colored in pale silver and bright reds.

“He’s got a point there,” Skids said quietly, crossing the room to stand beside Damus, still grinning.

“Stop encouraging him,” Damus scolded softly, shifting his arm so his plating didn’t brush against Skids’s.

“Am I wrong?” Skids raised a brow ridge.

“I didn't say that.”

Skids snickered in response, leaning back against the desk behind him.

Starscream loudly interrupted Shockwave’s detailed breakdown of the mech’s flaws with a high pitched vocal reset that left everyone’s audials ringing.

“Now,” Starscream bit out, “let us get to the reason I’m here —the incident.”

The energy in the room went dark as everyone’s fields were flushed with varying levels of anger and betrayal. Skids leaned forward, arms crossing over his chest, while Damus merely frowned, static skittering underneath his armor.

“What information do you require?” Shockwave asked, finials leveling grimly.

“Has the infiltrator been terminated?”

“Yes; by Nickel after he accosted Amp in the communications bay.”

“Do we know how much information he managed to siphon before his termination?”

“Nothing for sure, but given the secluded nature of the base as well as his guise as a domesticated pet, it is unlikely that it was a great deal. He would simply not have had the opportunity.”

“Security of the outpost has not been compromised then?”

“No.”

“And there were no casualties in the altercation that ensued after the attack on Amp?”

“No, only minor injuries.”

Starscream crossed his arms, stepping back from Shockwave with a scowl.

“And work is proceeding as usual, I presume?” he asked, optical ridge raised.

“Yes,” the further flattening of Shockwave’s finials and the winglets on his arms conveyed his rising frustration.

“How greatly will this affect Amp’s ability to monitor communications?”

“How considerate,” Skids muttered, brushing fields with Damus and exchanging irritation and disgust.

“I didn’t ask you,” Starscream narrowed his optics at Skids.

“He wasn’t talking to you,” Damus replied tonelessly.

“Are you going to let your lieutenants talk back to their superior like this, Shockwave?” Starscream huffed.

Shockwave was silent for several nanokliks, his faux-optics staring unblinkingly at the seeker. His cooling fans kicked on after a moment, his frame desperately trying to combat the heat his spark was putting out.

“Damus,” Shockwave said finally, a, finial quirking in his direction. “Remind me why offlining a fellow officer would be an illogical course of action.”

Starscream took that as his cue to leave.

“Any change?” Brainstorm asked, peering over Wheeljack’s shoulder with curious optics.

“Nothing,” Wheeljack replied, prodding the disembodied servo with a pair of forceps. “Guess we still haven’t gotten word from Prime about doing experiments on the spark chamber?”

“Prowl keeps dismissing my petitions,” Brainstorm huffed. “Apparently I’m not enough of a ‘real scientist’. Not like darling Perceptor, who gets everything he wants—”

“I thought you liked Perceptor?” Wheeljack raised an optical ridge.

“I do, but —it’s complicated,” Brainstorm headed over towards the berth where the rest of the husk lay. “He’s a brilliant scientist, sure, but by Primus is working with him tedious.”

“Yeah, he’s a real rule follower.”

“Rule enforcer, too.”

“Sounds like Ultra Magnus,” Wheeljack snorted, refilling his syringe with energon. “He got assigned as the commander of the Wreckers after we assimilated. Perceptor loves him, of course. Magnus’s constantly talking about regulations and the military code; doesn’t realize I guess that the Wreckers are supposed to operate outside military jurisdiction. Primus; makes my circuits burn just to stand in the same room as him.”

“You have my sympathies, friend,” Brainstorm said, nodding in understanding as he ran a servo across the husk. “You know—”

He turned around, tapping his chin thoughtfully.

“We’re not allowed to run experiments with the new energon,” he said, “but Prowl never said anything about other types of energon. We’ve already regular and med-grade, but we haven’t tried high-grade yet.”

“Brainstorm,” Wheeljack’s derma curved upwards into a grin. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.”

The Cybertronians were an incredibly fascinating race. From their ability to transform to their spacebridge technology, everything Raf learned about them was mind-blowing and he couldn’t get enough. He’d talked to Ratbat for hours back at his house —making sure to keep quiet and not alert his mother —and even though Ratbat wasn’t particularly knowledgeable about the scientific aspect of Cybertronian life, he was more than willing to tell Raf everything about a mech’s day to day life, as well as brief history overviews and cultural tidbits.

Through Ratbat’s ramblings, Raf learned about different forms of energon —most notably something called high-grade which was apparently very concentrated and served as the Cybertronian version of alcohol —that the Decepticons’ flagship the Nemesis was once an actual mech of titanic proportions, and various details of Ratbat’s life and family.

Their talks continued even after they’d been picked up by Miko and Rumble —neither of whom were particularly happy with the chatter —up until Ratbat was called away by Soundwave for something called “docking”, which was a quirk of their particular race of Cybertronian. Ratbat described it as a way to exchange new code with their carrier and flush out old outdated code, sort of like going to sleep, only instead of a bed it’s your parent. In order to facilitate that, Soundwave’s chassis had an empty space just under his spark chamber —the Cybertronian equivalent of a heart —which the cassettes could dock inside of.

Ratbat insisted it was a very serious and important affair, but Raf thought it was very cute. It reminded him of a mother kangaroo carrying her baby in her pouch.

Now, without Ratbat to talk to, Raf had wandered into the Medbay to watch the medics work.

“Where’s Knockout?” he asked, noting that the only occupants were vehicons. “I thought he was a medic?”

One of the vehicons —one with white plating and symbols resembling heart monitors on their shoulders —turned to Raf in surprise, seemingly having been unaware of his presence.

“Knockout is good with outer and cosmetic repairs,” the vehicon answered. “He’s only begun to receive proper field medic training recently. I believe he used to be a kibble surgeon before the war.”

“Oh, okay,” Raf said. “Are you in charge of the Medbay, then?”

The vehicon's plating fluffed proudly and their visor brightened.

“I am indeed, thank you for noticing,” they preened. “My serial code is MJ-K38, but you can call me Doctor MJ.”

“I’m Rafael, but I go by Raf,” Raf replied, catching himself before he tried to shake hands. He’d done that previously with both Knockout and Breakdown and had utterly baffled them. “How’re things going in here?”

“Just as planned,” MJ said, nodding to the vehicon sitting up on the nearest berth. “Troops didn’t get too scuffed up on the last mission, but Tripwire here could scratch himself in a padded room.”

The vehicon —Tripwire —spluttered static in protest.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Raf said, smiling. “I can be pretty clumsy, too. Doctor MJ, what exactly are the serial codes? Tripwire doesn’t sound like it’d be one.”

“All of us vehicons have serial codes,” MJ explained. “Most all MTOs do, too. That’s “made-to-order”, by the way. Cold constructed Cybertronian frames for sparks that don’t have housing. Most of us came online after Cybertron had gone dark, so we didn’t have traditional upbringings. Typically you’re given a name by your caretakers and may choose to change it later in life, but since none of us had real caretakers, we either go by our serial codes or some other name or nickname.”

“Yeah, my old squad gave me the name Tripwire,” Tripwire said, swinging his pedes over the side of the berth. “Y’know, since I trip a lot. I like it; it’s pretty funny.”

Raf frowned; Tripwire did honestly seem to like his name, even if Raf did think it was a bit rude. Maybe he was just used to seeing Vince and other kids at school call people names. The concept of MTOs seemed sad, too, but if Cybertron was dark then there wasn’t—

Raf’s train of thought stopped in its tracks. What did Cybertron have that MTOs needed? He could’ve sworn he’d known, but now the information was gone.

“Raf?” MJ asked, the curved plates framing their face twitching. “Are you okay? Your optics look faraway.”

“Oh, sorry,” Raf shook his head. “I was going to say something, but it just completely slipped my mind. I’ll probably remember it later, though.”

“Ah, okay,” MJ nodded. “I didn’t know organic processors did that. How do you store information?”

Raf started on a long explanation of how human brains worked, soon gaining the attention of the rest of the Medbay too.

The sound of an energon cube hitting his desk caused Prowl to look up from his datapad, optics flickering a bit as he tried to refocus.

“Have you refueled at all today?” Jazz asked, raising an optical ridge. “You look like slag, Prowler.”

“I’m fine,” Prowl replied, though he did take the cube. “There’s a lot of work to be done, and an egregious amount of mecha who won’t do their job efficiently.”

“It’s been a stressful decacycle," Jazz agreed, leaning his hip against the desk.. “You should take some time off; your plating’s getting all dull.”

“I don’t have time for that, Jazz,” Prowl said, exasperated. “Do you know how much—”

“Yes, I do,” Jazz reached over and snatched the datapad out of Prowl’s servo, holding it out of his reach. “And I know that you’ve been takin’ on more than your share these past couple solar-cycles. Take a break, Prowl, and relax. You need it.”

Prowl glared, tightening his field to himself as he felt Jazz’s begin to encroach on it.

“Is this still about the containment facility?” Jazz asked, frowning; Primus, the expression didn’t fit him. “Sure, we tried our best, but keeping outliers in line’s always been a hassle—”

“No one has been able to give me a reasonable explanation as to how the con could’ve gotten out,” Prowl interrupted, taking a quick draw from the cube. “The isolation unit should have negated any ability he had to jump—”

“Maybe Perceptor an’ Wheeljack missed something when they ran those tests on ‘em, who knows?” Jazz deftly avoided Prowl’s grab for the datapad. “But you runnin’ yourself ragged trying to figure everything out yourself ain’t gonna help anybot, sweetspark."

Prowl ex-vented, scowling. Jazz frowned back, visored optics bright.

“If I have to get Ironhide in here to help drag you out, so help me Primus I—”

“Fine,” Prowl grunted, finishing the last of the cube and subspacing it before standing. “I’ll take a break.”

Jazz smiled —a warm smile, not a smug one —and offered a servo, doorwings fluttering.

“I think a ‘frag will do you some good.”

“A what!?”

“Defrag, I meant defrag!”

Tick-tick tick, tick-tick tick, tick-tick tick.

It was quiet, too quiet for most of the base to hear, but the communications bay was currently silent and the sound echoed out from the vents in the ceiling.

Tick-tick tick, tick-tick tick, tick-tick tick.

The vent plate was slowly pulled up and slid out the way, thin digits curling over the edge of the now open hole.

The ticking stopped.

A helm poked out of the vent, yellow optics wide and calculating as they scanned the room. It didn’t take them long to spot who they’d come here for; a red mech sitting near a console, his arm propped up on the desk with several wires slotted into it.

The silence was filled with a series of high pitched trills and clicks, interspersed with the lower intonation of the spying mech’s voice.

“What the frag are you doing?”

“Hello, Forestock,” Amp greeted from across the room, helm tilting slightly to indicate he was listening. “You know, the bay has a door. You could use it.”

Forestock rolled his optics —despite the fact that Amp couldn’t see them —and dropped down from the vent, landing lightly on his pedes. As he straightened up he repeated his earlier question, the trills sharper this time in his impatience.

“Because I have work to catch up on,” Amp replied.

Forestock scowled behind his mask, hissing out an accusation, though it lacked bite.

“I have not been avoiding you,” Amp argued, turning around slightly to focus his irritated look at Forestock. “I can hardly ever find you, let alone hide from you.”

“I didn’t say you were avoiding me, I said you were avoiding people,” Forestock corrected. “You haven’t come out of this slagging room for practically the past decacycle.”

Amp sighed, plating flattening as if to make himself smaller.

“I know I haven’t come out much,” he conceded, field hesitantly reaching out to brush Forestock’s. “It’s just — different, I suppose. The base feels… wrong.”

Forestock trilled sympathetically, skittering closer and bumping kibble with Amp. He draped himself over Amp’s shoulders, setting his chin on top of his helm, ignoring the faintly uncomfortable sensation of static electricity dancing over his plating.

“...You can pet me if you want,” Forestock offered quietly. “I know it’s not a replacement for—”

He cut himself off with a hiss, his field colored with hesitance and concern.

“If —if you wouldn’t mind,” Amp said, voice laced with static, “then yes, I —I’d like that.”

Forestock slid down to sit on the floor, leaning his side against Amp’s, taking hold of his friend’s servo and placing it on the top of his helm. They didn’t talk much after that, but they stayed that way for a long time.

Jack yawned as he peddled up to his house, flicking on the garage door opener in his pocket and dismounting the bike. He frowned as he approached the garage, turning to look around at the neighborhood in confusion.

It felt as if he was being watched.

Jack shook his head, remembering with a bit of embarrassment that of course he felt like he was being watched, the cassettes were tailing him.

He pushed his bike into the garage at the same time as his mother pulled up in the driveway behind him.

“How was work today?” June asked as they walked inside together, hanging her keys up in their spot by the door. “I noticed the motorcycle was gone; what’s that about?”

“Oh, uh,” Jack rubbed the back of his neck, thinking quickly. 

Am I really going to do this?

“Work was fine.”

He’d been thinking about it ever since the talk with Thundercracker.

“Harley was there today, so that was nice.”

And it wasn’t like staying away from the cons would make him stop worrying about Raf and Miko’s safety.

“And, uh, about the motorcycle?”

He didn’t have many friends anywhere else either, did he?

“The guy I’m borrowing it from? He had to do some work on it, but he said he’s gonna bring it by tomorrow morning.”

Hopefully one of the cassettes was listening in.

“New info, boss. They’re establishing contact with the kid again.”

“Interesting.”

“Orders?”

“Continue surveillance. Do not engage…yet.”

“Well?”

Nickel offlined her optics for a nanoklik, ex-venting heavily before turning to scowl up at Starscream.

“He’s fine,” she said, wiping her servos on a cloth. “Honestly; if he wasn’t, don’t you think I’d have commed you?”

The seeker’s plating fluffed in irritation.

“I was asking for a damage report,” he snapped, stalking towards the medical berth where his trinemate lay.

“Knockout did a pretty good job with his wings,” Nickel replied, tossing the cloth into a bin and placing her servos on her hips. “But even with the repairs, it’s gonna take Skywarp a while to heal. There were precise welds along his chassis —this side here, see? —and they’re about a decacycle old, meaning it wasn’t Knockout who made them. My best guess is that those Autobots decided to have a look inside him while they could, try and figure out how his ability worked.”

Starscream’s helm jerked towards her, wings flaring.

“Did they take anything?” he asked. “Transformation cog? Cut fuel lines?”

“No,” Nickel shook her head, “nothing. Whoever conducted the procedure did it precisely.”

They were both silent for several moments, frowning at the mech on the berth and listening to the rasping noise of his unconscious vents.

“At least their surgical abilities have improved,” Nickel said, letting out a humorless laugh. “I was getting tired of always cleaning up the sloppy messes they’d leave behind.”

She made her way over to the console beside Skywarp’s berth, optics dull.

“Least Skywarp’s wings’ll heal eventually,” she finished quietly.

The room fell silent again.

“You know, I liked that blaster.”

Damus suppressed a groan at the familiar sound of Skids’s voice from across the room. He set the blaster he’d been polishing down and turned towards his comrade, expression tight.

“What is it now, Skids?”

“Don’t be so hostile,” Skids held up his servos in surrender. “I came to check on you. Haven’t seen you since the debriefing this morning. This where you’ve been holed up?”

“I’ve been to the Medbay a few times,” Damus replied, resigned to having to deal with his friend’s nonsense for the time being. “Skywarp seems to be doing better.”

“Well, he’s in good servos,” Skids remarked. “Nickel’s the best medic there is.”

“She is,” Damus agreed fondly, turning his attention back to the blaster. “And she’ll be sure to tell you, along with several creative insults directed towards your creators.”

“She’s one of a kind, isn’t she?” Skids laughed, leaning his weight against the counter. “We’re lucky to have her.”

They lapsed into companionable silence, Damus working quietly on the blaster while Skids read over some of the report datapads sitting near him.

“Anything from…you know who?” Skids broke the silence, a frown on his faceplate.

“Where do you think I got the blaster?”

“He sent an entire gun?” Skids whistled. “Damn. Guess he’s more useful than I thought.”

“And I guess the Autobots had the same idea,” Damus replied darkly. “Let’s just hope ours is better at maintaining his cover than Ambus was.”

Skids hummed in agreement, brow ridges furrowing.

Discussing the matter of the human children with Agent Fowler went about as well as expected. He was understandably upset by the danger the children had been put in by their association with the cons, and more so by the fact that having their families relocated to a new, safer area would likely only raise more questions.

“So your suggestion is to just let the kids keep coming around the base?” Fowler asked with a raised brow. “Isn’t having them in close proximity more dangerous? What if somebody steps on one of them? I know Soundwave’s kids are small too, but they aren’t nearly as breakable.”

“I understand your concerns,” Megatron said, “but the Autobots employ many questionable forms of warfare, and that could include taking child hostages. Especially after Nickel’s report on how they evidently tried to dissect Skywarp, I wouldn’t put such a thing past them.”

Fowler scowled, crossing his arms and walking towards the window of the office they stood in —Soundwave in his mass-displaced disguise as a tape deck, Megatron in a projected holoform —and looked out across the arid landscape of the Nevada desert.

“I suppose you cons are the best protection those kids are gonna find,” he conceded with a huff. “But you’d better keep a damn good eye on ‘em. I know teenagers can get crafty.”

“Soundwave: understands; has adolescent offspring,” came the voice of Soundwave from his spot on the office desk.

“I hate that even after all we’ve done, civilians still got involved,” Fowler pinched the bridge of his nose.

“We didn’t expect the Autobots to engage us in a populated area,” Megatron said, his holoform mimicking Fowler’s scowl. “We will not make the same mistake again.”

“I’m not blaming you,” Fowler said, turning from the window to face Megatron. “It’s just hard to see the positives when you’re up against an enemy like the Autobots. I wish there could be a diplomatic solution, that way none of us would have to risk our behinds.”

Megatron nodded solemnly, stifling a grimace at the bitter taste those words left in his intake.

“...I wish there could be a diplomatic solution…”

“Any more news on that Skywarp?” Fowler asked, returning to his desk.

“Nothing new, aside from the occasional update from Nickel complaining about how much of a nuisance her patient is.”

“...You’re seeing it all wrong! There’s got to be a diplomatic solution, Megatronus, you’re just choosing not to see it!”

Megatron’s field flickered at the memory’s resurgence, feelings of betrayal and old anger mixing together. 

::He was young and naïve.:: came a quiet ping from Soundwave. ::Megatron: should not dwell on the past.::

::I’m not trying to.:: Megatron replied, only half listening to Fowler now. ::But no matter how much time passes—::

The connection glitched for a moment as Megatron’s field spiked again.

::No matter how much time passes, I still wonder if I could’ve changed his mind.::

::Orion: made his choice.:: Soundwave said softly. ::Megatron: did all you could.::

But could I have done more?

Chapter Text

“Jack! Mr. Carmen dropped the bike off again this morning!”

Pulling his shirt on, Jack grabbed his backpack and jogged into the kitchen, where his mother was finishing her breakfast before she headed to the hospital for work. She handed him a plate of eggs as he entered, nodding her head towards the front window.

“He said you were going over to the shop today to work on your project for Auto Shop?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, taking a bite of egg. “Don’t have work today so I’ve got time in the afternoon. Project’s due by Friday, but I figure having an actual mechanic help me will make it go faster.”

“You’d better not make him do all the work, Jackson Darby,” June scolded lightly. “You do need to learn.”

“I don’t think he’d let me slack off,” Jack chuckled. “What time do you think you’ll be home tonight?”

“Should be the usual,” June said, checking her watch and moving to the sink to wash her plate. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

“‘Kay,” Jack gently nudged her out of the way, taking the plate from her hands. “I’ll take care of this. Good luck at work today.”

“Aw, what a responsible and considerate son I have,” June smiled, giving Jack a squeezing hug before she headed for the door. “Have fun at school!”

“I’ll do my best,” Jack called as he heard the door open and close.

School would drag —it was Monday after all —but he was excited to work on his school project. As far as his mom knew, he was heading out to the auto shop of one Thane Carmen —Thundercracker’s holoform —from whom he’d been renting the motorcycle in exchange for help around the shop. Jack would be forever grateful for Thundercracker and Ravage agreeing to play along with his cover story, even if he’d had to spend quite a bit of time teaching the former how to behave like an actual human.

Jack set the dishes on the rack to dry and twisted off the faucet, wiping his hands on the towel beside the sink before making sure to flip off the kitchen lights as he left. He grabbed his house keys and stuffed them into his pocket as he walked out, locking the door behind him.

Just as his mother had said, Ravage was outside in the driveway in his alt-mode, looking mostly inconspicuous —it was still strange for anyone in this neighborhood to have such a nice vehicle.

“Good morning to you,” Jack greeted, sliding into Ravage’s seat. “Stuff at base all good?”

“Good morning,” Ravage said, engine rumbling to life. “All is well. Skywarp’s recovery is proceeding as expected, Rumble and Frenzy have not burned the base down, and my sanity remains intact.”

“Good to hear,” Jack laughed as they pulled out of the driveway. “I guess Miko’s sort of become a third troublemaker, hasn’t she?”

“Unfortunately,” Ravage grumbled. “But they have been spending most of their time harassing the residents of our Medbay, so I have been spared thus far.”

“How’s Raf?”

“He’s a very curious child,” Ravage said. “He spends most of his time with Soundwave learning about Cybertronian science and culture.”

“Guess I’ve got quite a bit to catch up on, huh?” Jack sighed.

“There’s no need to feel left behind, Jack,” Ravage said, “Primus knows half of us have no knowledge of human culture.”

“Speaking of, I take it Thundercracker did a decent job acting human earlier? Mom didn’t seem suspicious or anything when I talked to her.”

“He did acceptably,” Ravage said slowly. “Only minimal assistance from me was required.”

“I don’t like lying to her,” Jack admitted, frowning. “But I can’t imagine how stressed she’d be if she knew.”

“Sometimes there's no easy solution to an issue,” Ravage agreed solemnly.

Entering the base again after nearly a week without interaction with the cons was almost as surreal as the first time. It was as if being away, even for so short a time, had made the whole event seem like a dream, the memory of the cons’ size seeming unbelievable.

Jack stared up at the towering form of Soundwave, typing at the consoles, and wondered how he’d been so calm while the mech carried him. There was no reason for Soundwave to want to harm him, but the size compared to anything else Jack had interacted with was overwhelming.

“Jackson: is welcomed back to base,” came Soundwave’s musical voice, his head turning slightly to face Jack. “Soundwave: relieved to see you are doing well.”

“Uh, thanks,” Jack said, climbing off of Ravage. “Good to hear you guys are doing well too.”

“Jack!”

Jack turned to see Raf running towards him with a big smile on his face, Ratbat flittering behind him.

“You’re back!” Raf ran right up to Jack and hugged his middle. “You didn’t really talk to us much at school this past week; I’ve been worried.”

“Hey, Raf,” Jack awkwardly hugged him back. “Yeah, sorry about that. Uh, how’ve things been here?”

“They’ve been good,” Raf said, pulling away. “Today especially so; Ratbat and I are gonna make a baking soda volcano for science class.”

“Really?” Jack let his backpack slide off his shoulder onto the stairs leading up to the mezzanine. “I’ve got a project I need to work on too, actually.”

“And what would that be?” Ravage asked as he unfolded from his alt-form, flicking his tail with a metallic crack. “All you mentioned was that it was for ‘Auto Shop’.”

“Supposed to be building an engine,” Jack answered. “I figured since you guys are mechanical, you might be able to help?”

“We can attempt,” Ravage said. “I cannot promise excellent results.”

“I mean unassisted I’d probably get nothing done, so any help is appreciated,” Jack laughed, pulling the requirement sheet from his backpack and showing it to Ravage.

“Children; notify Soundwave if assistance is required,” Soundwave said from the console, receiving a thumbs-up in reply from Raf.

Raf and Ratbat disappeared around the mezzanine, presumably back to wherever they’d been working on their volcano. Ravage settled down on the stairs beside Jack, resting his head on his paws and peering at the page in Jack’s hand.

“I suggest we enlist help from more certified individuals,” Ravage said.

“Probably a good idea,” Jack agreed. “Does anyone here know how to build an engine?”

“MJ-K38 may,” Ravage said, standing up and slinking towards the tunnel that led towards the Medbay. “Knockout would be my next choice, given his obscenely vast knowledge of human automobiles. I believe he is currently in the rec room, if you wish to ask him.”

“Got it,” Jack stuffed the paper back into his bag and set off towards the rec room, hoping his memory of where it was located could be trusted.

Turns out his memory was mostly trustworthy, as he only ended up needing to ask a vehicon for directions once, and once he was in the general vicinity of the rec room it was hard to go the ring direction given the loud conversation coming from the open door.

“So could any mech have one or is it a frame specific thing?” Miko was asking as Jack entered the room, her current perch on the shoulder of Breakdown. “‘Cause you’re the only one I’ve seen with one so far.”

“Uh,” Breakdown was chuckling awkwardly, repeatedly looking to Knockout for help. “I mean—”

“A lot of heavy-duty frames have them,” Knockout interrupted with a smug smile. “Their chassis have to be thick and bulky to support their extra protomass.”

Knockout rapped his knuckles loudly against Breakdown’s chest, startling the larger mech.

“Knockout,” Breakdown chastised, swatting his partner’s hand away.

“What?” Knockout draped his arm across his chest and gave Breakdown a faux innocent look. “I was just answering her question!”

“So it’s more of a structural thing then?” Miko pressed, poking the side of Breakdown’s face to get his attention.

“Yeah, and bigger frames like mine tend to lose heat quicker,” Breakdown explained, “so the additional padding helps keep it in.”

“That makes way more sense than why humans have them,” Miko snorted, grinning and opening her mouth to say something else when she spotted Jack by the door. “Oh, you finally decided to show up?”

Jack groaned internally, having no desire to talk to Miko about his reasons for leaving.

“Hey, Knockout?” he asked, turning his attention to the flashy mech. “Ravage mentioned you might know some stuff about human automobiles, and—”

“I ‘might’? ‘Some’?” Knockout scoffed. “The mech sells me short. I am—”

“Well, height’s never really been your strong suit, KO,” Breakdown teased, earning him a disgruntled glare.

“—Am an automobile enthusiast,” Knockout continued. “There’s no one in this base that knows more about that particular topic than moi.”

“...Anyway,” Jack said slowly, “I need help with a project for school —I’m supposed to build a working engine —and I was wondering if you could help?”

Knockout hesitated, glancing over at Breakdown and Miko, then to where the cassette twins —who Jack hadn’t noticed until then —were arguing over several cans of paint, before landing on Jack again.

“I suppose I don’t have any more pressing matters,” Knockout conceded, crossing the distance between them and waving Jack out of the room.

The coordinates from their informant did not disappoint. Sprawled out before Skids and Damus was one of the largest Autobot controlled energon mines they’d seen on this planet; it was clear they’d been working this one for some time given the size and industrialization of it, and it seemed to be proving quite fruitful if the mecha hauling carts of raw crystals were anything to go by.

::This is definitely the biggest we’ve seen so far,:: Skids said over their commlink. ::None of the others were even half as guarded as this one.::

::Potential diversions?:: Damus mused, yellow optics glinting in the low light. ::They defended them quite fiercely though.::

::Could be,:: Skids turned his attention towards the lift in the center of the main descending tunnel. ::Can’t imagine how else they’d have been able to build this without us knowing.::

::Let’s scout the perimeter,:: Damus said. ::See if the scans come back with anything if we widen our parameters.::

Skids nodded in agreement and carefully made his way around the main cavern, utilizing older tunnels that had since been abandoned by the bots.

Not unsurprisingly, he found himself thinking about how he’d ended up where he was —a soldier in a war rather than the theoretician he’d wanted to be. Fighting was…fine. It was relatively easy, once he’d gotten the hang of it —most things were —but it was very empty. He missed the lightness of his days at the Jhiaxian Academy, where he’d first met Shockwave and the other outliers, when there wasn’t a war hanging over his helm and mechs ready to fire at him around every corner.

Was that ever a time for me, though?

It was hard to say.

Before Skids had been evaluated at the Jhiaxian Academy Of Advanced Technology he’d had no idea he was considered an outlier. He still questioned it some, but whenever he brought it up Shockwave would give him a tired look. His ability was, as Shockwave put it, ‘an unusually hyperactive processor capable of computing and storing information at a rate unheard of by modern science’ , which basically meant he was a fast learner.

Not a particularly exciting ability in Skids’ opinion.

Not like Damus, who’d been nicknamed ‘Glitch’ in their academy days for his power —the ability to render machinery nonfunctional with only a touch, though doing so often had kickback. Damus was also quiet and sometimes seemed to disappear into the background, and that coupled with his ability had made Skids wary of him, leading to the buildup of a schoolmate animosity that had never really faded entirely.

The reframing probably had something to do with it too.

Not that Skids could blame Damus for wanting to get reframed —most empurata victims did —but when Damus was just a slim orange mech with a cheery bright blue optic and a gentle voice, the fact that he could frag up your sensory net with a single touch seemed less frightening. Now, in the broad burnished black of a warframe and a voice like molten steel it was hard to be anything but intimidated by the mech.

Was it insecurity? Envy? Fear? Skids didn't like to dwell on it.

::The entire mine is crisscrossed with a system of support beams,:: came Damus’s voice from across the comm. ::Pressurized air is pumped through to keep the beams from buckling. What have the scans picked up on your side?::

Skids flicked through his databanks before pulling on the code attached to the scanner, the results popping up on his visual display.

::More of the same,:: he replied, ::nothing of note really. How far back have you gone? Have you mapped out your side yet?::

::Everything above the current sea level distance,:: Damus said, pinging Skids a data package with the areas he’d logged. ::The mine goes further down, but I’m not sure how far. They can’t have had time to dig a great deal further—::

::We also didn’t think they’d had time to dig this much,:: Skids pointed out.

Damus’s end of the commlink was silent for a few nanokliks.

::You’re right,:: he said finally, ::we shouldn’t make any assumptions yet. Have you spotted any weak spots or potential points of entry if we decide to stage a break-in?::

::Aside from the top entrance, no,:: Skids shifted, flattening his doorwings as a patrol passed him down below. ::This entire mission’s been—::

He cut himself off, ignoring Damus’s questioning static on the other end, as a flash of bright yellow caught in the peripherals of his vision. He tilted his head, optics searching for the culprit.

Sure enough, standing some levels down with a patrol group, was the black and yellow Autobot scout, Bumblebee. The Prime’s personal watchfox, one of his most loyal followers. He’d earned his name as a scout by spying on the Decepticon ranks, using Megatron’s empathy to worm his way into their fold like a stubborn virus, spending his early days in the war feeding the Autobots information and crippling the Decepticon faction.

He’d caused the deaths of many noble mecha, including some whom Skids had known personally, but what really twisted the blade was that Skids had trusted him. They’d been part of the same task force for a while —they’d both known Optimus Prime and left his side, thus they’d have common ground —and in all those stellar-cycles of fighting, Skids never suspected that the mech would turn out to be a traitor.

When he’d learned of Bumblebee’s treachery he’d attempted to offline him, but couldn’t bring himself to. The best he’d managed to do was reduce the mech’s voicebox to scrap before letting him go, unable to continue fighting.

Vorns of anger and betrayal simmered in Skids’s spark, EM field straining against the confines of the dampener he’d been outfitted with, desperate to lash out in fury.

::We should’ve brought Forestock,:: he growled through the comm, silently drawing his blaster.

::Skids, whatever you’re doing, stop,:: Damus replied. ::Send me your location; I’m coming to find you.::

::We can leave after he’s offline,:: Skids shot back, dismissing Damus’s insistent pings.

::Do not engage,:: Damus said, and Skids flinched back as he felt the pinpricks of ice that foreshadowed Damus’s ability.

Is he trying to shut me down?!

Skids’s mental walls went up, cutting off all communication between the two, his EM field flaring out as if to shield him from the shutdown. Notifications barraged his visual display, letting him know where Damus was relative to him and that the mech was actively trying to reopen the commlink, but Skids dismissed them, clearing his view field for aiming.

The blaster was already primed by the time he’d gotten in position, crouched down with his chassis scraping the rock below him. Bumblebee hadn’t moved, his frame held in just the right way for Skids to get a good lock on his weak points. The blaster’s signal connected with Skids’s HUD, automatically switching open his sniping scope as he took aim despite the fact he was using a short-range gun.

The pings from Damus became increasingly louder and Skids locked his denta together in frustration, focusing on his servos and optics and where he was looking to stave off the shutdown he knew Damus was going to send him into.

His digit hovered over the trigger as the scope narrowed in on the sliver of protoform just between Bumblebee’s pauldron and doorwing; a shot there might not kill him, but it’d certainly wound him and give Skids time to line up for a second shot. His optics narrowed, vents low and quiet.

He pulled back on the trigger just as a servo gripped one of his doorwings and jerked —his systems shorted out, vision going black and his sensory net dropping offline for a nanoklik. His audials rang with the sound of the fired shot and the following clamor of panicking bots below. His spark pulsed furiously in his chassis and his servos clawed at whatever was holding onto his wing.

Why can’t I see?!

Feeling started to return to him as Damus hauled his limp frame towards the crackling light of a groundbridge.

“You…you used your power on me,” Skids accused, digits scrabbling for hold against Damus’s plating, using the leverage to try and push himself away.

He tried to deactivate me.

“I had to—”

Skids wrestled himself free of Damus’s grip just as they stumbled into the groundbridge bay of Outpost Tarn, optical senses still glitching.

“Why did you—” he started, only to be interrupted by a much calmer, clearer voice.

“The coordinates were not what was expected?” Shockwave questioned as he strode across the room to them, eyeing Skids with concern.

“They were,” Damus corrected. “Our informant has proven true to his word yet again.”

“And what happened to you?” Shockwave looked at Skids, audial fins twitching up.

“Damus happened to me,” Skids bit out, narrowing his optics at the mech in question. “I was lined up for a perfect shot and—”

“You were trying to hit a sniper’s target with a shotgun,” Damus interjected, stepping forward and reaching his servo out to grasp Skids’s shoulder.

“Don’t fry my systems again, you glitch,” Skids flinched back from the contact, optics flickering back and forth between Shockwave and Damus, unable to rest in one place.

“I wasn’t trying to—”

“And what were you trying to do?! Deactivate me?!”

Damus went silent, field snapping back in. Skids vaguely registered the look of hurt that washed over Damus’s faceplate before it was gone, replaced by a blank look.

“I’m going to recharge,” Skids muttered, stalking off as his senses began to fully recover and the fury of the fight waned, leaving Shockwave and Damus in the landing bay.

“Alright, now flex out to the furthest they’ll go before you start to feel pain,” Nickel instructed, standing on the berth behind Skywarp as they went through routine wing exercises. He hadn’t been able to flare them out very far, but his range of mobility was steadily increasing with each passing solar-cycle. “That’s it, steady—”

Nickel kept a servo against each wing, aiding Skywarp as he carefully extended his wings from their stiff position, making sure not to break any of the fragile welds that were currently all that was holding certain areas of plating together.

“I think —agh —that’s as far as they’ll go,” Skywarp said. “Is that any better than last time?”

“Bitty steps, Skywarp, bitty steps,” Nickel chided, patting his shoulder as she hopped down from the berth. “But yes, your range of motion is definitely improving. I’d guess your rate of healing probably has something to do with your extra fuel tank and larger energon reserves, but I’m not a scientist. I’ll leave the speculating to Shockwave.”

“Well, what’s next on the itinerary, Doctor?” Skywarp leaned back on his servos and shot Nickel a cheeky smile.

“Skids and Damus just got back from their mission,” she replied, not even looking up for her datapad. “Skids needs to be checked over, but that’s about it. Shockwave says he’s avoiding the Medbay right now, so I’m going to have to go to him.”

She grabbed her medical kit and headed for the door.

“Do not blow anything up while I’m gone, or I’ll peel your paint.”

The base really did seem empty now without the Pet. Amp idly tapped his digits on the desk before him, ex-venting a sigh. Was it an overreaction, his response to the incident? Perhaps. Then again, most mecha didn’t expect their docile pet turbofoxes to go feral and try to slag them.

The Pet had been Amp’s companion for the majority of his time as Shockwave’s Communications Officer, keeping him company while he worked, helping him around base to find things that were otherwise quite difficult for a mech with no vision. 

Amp wasn’t an introverted person, despite spending much of his time alone, but before that time had been made tolerable by the company of the Pet; the clinking of its paws against the ground, and chuffs it’d make when it wanted attention. Now the time spent in either his habsuite or the communications bay was silent and devoid of life, and he was finding it increasingly difficult to get work done in that environment.

It was probably a good thing Forestock had started seeking him out. His visits generally entailed long rambles in the Primal Vernacular about various things that day that had irritated him and occasionally allowing Amp to stroke his plating as if he were the Pet. It was a good substitute, probably better in the long run than hiding himself away, but there was still a part of Amp that just wanted to sink down into the darkness and disappear.

Even existing felt like a burden; how could he consider himself a security and communications mech if he couldn’t even tell his pet was an Autobot spy? How much information had he unintentionally leaked just by way of absently talking to the Pet, no knowing it could understand him?

Shockwave and the others had assured him there was no way for much information to have gotten out given the shielding of the Outpost and the limited time the Pet had unsupervised.

No, not the Pet —Dominus Ambus. That was the mech’s name. A mech with the rare alt-form of a turbofox, making him the perfect unassuming spy.

Amp’s digits curled into a loose fist, his forehelm hitting the desk. He carefully unhooked each of the wires he used to hardline to the console before one of his surges fried the hardware before letting his frame slump, static crackling in his vocalizer as he quietly cried.

At some point all three humans had ended up taking their respective assignments to the rec room to work on them and the mechs assisting them had come along as well, filling the usual quiet industrial storage unit with the sounds of conversation and activity.

Jack was affixing the last few parts to his engine before he’d hook it up to the battery and see if it ran, while Raf had commandeered a group of vehicons to help him with his volcano —Ratbat wasn’t much help given he didn’t really have hands —and Miko was, unsurprisingly, causing mayhem by trying to paint a mustache onto Rumble’s faceplate.

“Ugh, it tastes weird,” Rumble complained, swatting halfheartedly at Miko’s paintbrush.

“Then don’t open your mouth, idiot,” Miko snickered, grabbing his helm to try and steady him. “C’mon, stay still—”

“Aren’t you supposed to be painting the model?” Knockout asked from across the room, idly sipping a cube of energon. He’d left Jack to his own devices about a half hour ago, saying he’d done all he could.

Jack found that rather suspect, but was honestly relieved; Knockout was exhausting.

“I already finished the model,” Miko replied, gesturing absently at where her miniature replica of the solar system was drying. “But I haven’t finished my next work of art—”

She succeeded in painting a splotchy vaguely mustache looking shape onto Rumble’s face before she lost her grip and tumbled to the floor, laughing hysterically. She jumped back to her feet almost immediately, hair, face, clothes and all stained with various colors of paint.

“Got you!” she cheered at Rumble, who was trying in vain to scrub the splotch off. “You’d look a lot more dapper if you hadn’t kept squirming though.”

“I’m not sure any combination of you and paint could result in anything looking ‘dapper’,” Knockout scoffed, rolling his optics.

“Oh yeah?” Miko crossed her arms. “Is that a challenge, Doc Knock?”

Knockout paused, eyeing the girl with thinly veiled suspicion.

“Where is this going?” he asked warily.

“Nowhere,” Miko sang, grinning mischievously before suddenly darting forward, paintbrush in hand. “Now c’mere!”

“Oh no you don’t,” Knockout said, deftly avoiding her brandished brush. “Do you know what happens to fleshies who mar my paint job? I’ll give you a hint —it’s not pretty.”

“What about mechs?” asked Frenzy, sticking his hand into one of the containers of paint and smacking Knockout’s shin with it. It left behind a very vibrant green handprint.

“What—” Knockout froze upon catching sight of the print, optics widening in horror. “You little—”

He made a grab for Frenzy, giving Miko an opening to paint a long black stripe across his other leg before he could stop her.

Jack looked out at the ensuing chaos, sighing. Luckily it seemed that for the moment they were only causing trouble in Miko’s area; Raf was still calmly teaching his vehicon audience about how paper maché was made.

“How’s the project going?”

Jack jumped, dropping the screwdriver in his hand and whirling around to find the massive frame of Thundercracker kneeling beside him.

How did I not hear him come in?

“Oh, uh, it’s going okay,” Jack replied, looking over at his engine.

“The noise doesn’t bother you?”

“Not really,” Jack shrugged. “K.O. Burger’s a lot worse than this at rush hour. Plus it’s kinda nice to have people around, I guess.”

“Reminds me of when my brothers and I were young,” Thundercracker said, amusement glinting in his optics as he watched Rumble try to climb up Knockout’s leg. “Sometimes I miss it.”

“Being a kid’s a lot easier than fighting a war, I guess,” Jack said, fiddling with the screwdriver.

“Undoubtedly,” Thundercracker agreed. “I wish you three didn’t have to go through both at once, especially a war you don’t have a stake in.”

“Well, I mean,” Jack rubbed the back of his neck, “we’ve kinda got a stake in it now, don’t we? Miko’s…Miko’s pretty much become the twins’ best pal, and Raf’s making friends with all the vehicons.”

“And what about you?”

“What?” Jack turned, regretting that decision almost immediately when he was faced with the intensity of Thundercracker’s crimson stare.

“What’s your stake?”

Jack paused, brow furrowing.

“I…I’m the oldest; maybe we’re not siblings, but Miko and Raf need a human to look out for them. It’s…it’s my responsibility.”

Thundercracker rumbled a hum of agreement, shifting his gaze to the others.

“I can understand the feeling,” he murmured, and Jack wasn’t entirely sure if he had been meant to hear it.

The Medbay was in a state. Monitors were beeping, alarms were ringing, mecha all over were groaning and sobbing in pain, and the Medbay staff were doing all they could to stabilize the situation.

There’d been a horrible mine collapse earlier; no one was quite sure what had caused it, only that the pressurized beams supporting the structure had given in to the weight of the earth above, trapping Autobots, offlining some and injuring others. They’d lost six lives from the initial disaster, and thirteen more succumbed to wounds before they were able to receive medical care. Four had offlined during transport and five had died in the Medbay even after being treated.

Ratchet grit his denta as he worked to close off bleeding fuel lines, audials ringing with the sounds of the suffering. His servos were stained with energon, the grey of his plating looking more purple with every klik that passed.

They’d gotten to the scene as fast as they could but still it wasn’t fast enough. It seemed that was becoming more and more usual of Ratchet these cycles; no matter how quickly he responded, how fast he sealed lines, how many mechs’ sparks he saved, he’d still lose more than he could count.

Was he losing his touch?

“Ratchet,” First Aid’s voice came from across the berth. “Bumblebee just got brought in. It’s…it’s bad.”

Ratchet sealed the last line and handed the next few tasks off to one of the other medics, quickly moving to sanitize his servos.

“What do you mean ‘it’s bad’?” he asked, alarmed. “Where’d he get hit?”

“It’s a blaster shot to the shoulder,” First Aid replied as they wove their way through the mess of mecha in the bay. “Caught him just between the plating.”

“It hit protoform?” Ratchet’s field went cold and quiet. “How deep?”

“Pretty deep,” they reached the berth that held the Autobot scout, surrounded by a flurry of medics, as First Aid pulled out a datapad. “No one saw where the shot came from or what sort of blaster was used, but—”

“Out of the way,” Ratchet growled, pushing aside several mechs to reach the medical berth. “How much energon has he lost?”

“A lot,” replied one of them, feverishly working to attach a feed to Bumblebee’s fuel lines. “The hit severed a lot of lines.”

“Unless we get those sealed off it’s not gonna matter how much fuel we pump into him,” Ratchet muttered. “Have you got him sedated? This isn’t gonna be pleasant.”

There was nothing worse than the anxiety of waiting. The stagnation before the next event, the calm before the storm; the worry wormed its way between your plating and into your spark chamber like a slow ooze of scraplets, building up until you were no more than a husk of what you used to be.

Bulkhead hated the feeling.

He’d been in the mine when it collapsed, had helped mecha escape, but he hadn’t been anywhere near where Bee was when the shot had been fired. He’d been on patrol of the west side covering for Seaspray, not realizing that changing his route would leave Bumblebee so unprotected.

Mechs had come by to thank him for holding up the tunnels, giving the miners a chance to escape, but Bulkhead could help feeling like he hadn’t really earned it. It wasn’t as if he could’ve not held up the ceiling —doing so would’ve meant his death too. He hadn’t gone out of his way to help other bots, not like Ironhide and Hauler, he’d only done the bare minimum; just enough to save his own skidplate.

“Not reveling in your success, Bulk?”

Wheeljack had entered the habsuite, two cubes of energon in his servos and a datapad tucked underneath one arm.

“Any word on Bee?” Bulkhead asked as Wheeljack set the cubes and datapad on the table and flopped down onto the sofa beside him.

“Nothing new,” Wheeljack shook his head. “They’re still trying to find out what busted line is causing all the bleeding. The datapad has the report on it, if you want to read it.”

Bulkhead didn’t pick it up. He didn’t want to read the report, didn’t want to hear just how spectacularly he’d screwed up. Instead he reached for the cube, wordlessly bringing it to his intake and taking a draw.

“Did you get your arms repressurized yet?” Wheeljack asked.

“Medics are all busy,” Bulkhead replied, staring into the warm liquid in the cube.

“Guess that’s true,” Wheeljack picked up his own cube and took a sip, optical ridges furrowing, before he looked to Bulkhead and sighed. “Well, sit your big aft up; I’ll repressurize ‘em for you.”

“Jackie,” Bulkhead interrupted, holding out a servo. “You don’t have to—”

“It was a statement, not an offer,” Wheeljack stared him down, mouth set. “I’m not about to leave you here with depressured arms. Sit up.”

Bulkhead sighed, knowing there was no use in arguing, and sat up straighter, holding out an arm for Wheeljack’s access.

“I’m not a medic, but I know my way around your wires well enough,” Wheeljack joked, carefully disengaging the manual locks on Bulkhead’s pauldrons to access the pistons underneath.

“Been at it a long time, haven’t we, Jackie?” Bulkhead mused, taking another drink from his cube.

“Yep,” Wheeljack said, “long enough for me to know when you’re trying to avoid a topic.”

Bulkhead froze, glancing at his partner out of the side of his view. Wheeljack gave him an exasperated look.

“Come on, Bulk,” he said, “you’re looking at the master of avoiding vulnerable situations.”

“Good thing you’re self aware,” Bulkhead snorted.

Wheeljack shook his helm, pinching an energon line as he reset the pistons in place.

“It’s about Bee, isn’t it?” he said. “You were supposed to meet up with him on patrol today.”

“Seaspray asked me to cover for him,” Bulkhead sighed, tracing a digit along the rim of his cube. “I didn’t think—”

“No one ever does,” Wheeljack shrugged. “You can’t predict when something terrible is gonna happen, Bulk. You just gotta roll with the punches thrown.”

“I know,” Bulkhead agreed, “but I just can’t help but wonder—”

“If you could’ve prevented it?”

Bulkhead was silent as Wheeljack got up and moved around him to reach the other arm. He repeated his earlier process, lifting the pauldron and resetting the pistons, though this time it went quicker given that he wasn’t trying to talk at the same time.

“Yeah,” Bulkhead said finally, setting his cube down. His tanks were sloshing uneasily now. “He’s just a kid, Jackie. Remember when we were that age? How all we had to worry about was the scores our instructors handed out? He’s way too young to have to deal with this.”

“I guess that’s the price of war,” Wheeljack said darkly. “We’ve got the cons to thank for that.”

“Yeah,” Bulkhead frowned. “I just hope the kid can pull through.”

“You and me both, Bulk,” Wheeljack agreed solemnly.

“I need another pair of servos over here, now!” Ratchet shouted over the din of the Medbay, wrist-deep in Bumblebee’s circuitry. One of the nurses rushed over, looking to him for directions. “Hold up that plating there, I need to reach inside.”

It wasn’t looking good. The wound had been deep, cut far too many energon lines, and Bee wasn’t old enough to have developed proper self repair protocols. Worse still, there were lines cut and bleeding in places that Ratchet had no way of reaching without cutting the mech open, a process he wasn’t sure his patient would survive.

“Ratchet,” someone’s voice called, a servo gently landing on his shoulder. “You need to take a break, there’s nothing you can—”

“I’ll take a break when I take a break!” he snapped, jerking his shoulder away. “If I stop now, the kid’s as good as gone.”

“There are others that need to be tended to—”

“Then tend to them.”

Ratchet ignored all the pleas that followed, his vision tunneling as he dug his digits into the energon-covered wires and tried to reassemble them.

“...thing I say makes a difference…”

“...handle it, take the datapad to…”

Voices overlapped in the background, becoming staticky white noise. Ratchet’s servos and arms had begun to protest their continued use, energon hardening into the joints and stopping them up. 

Primus above, what sort of a medic am I if I can’t—

A clean pair of dark blue servos invaded his vision, grasping his wrists and dragging them out of Bumblebee’s back firmly. Ratchet tried to resist, to pull himself away, but his attempts were weak, exhaustion beginning to set in.

“... rest, Ratchet, you’re going to go into stasis if you push yourself any further.”

Ratchet rapidly shutters this optics, venting harshly and trying to focus on who’d spoken. First Aid’s visor stared back at him, concern clear even through the mostly opaque lens.

“Bumblebee—” Ratchet began, only to be cut off.

“—Is being sent into forced stasis to prepare for operation,” First Aid finished, pulling on Ratchet’s wrists. “You need to sanitize and take a recharge. You’re dead on your pedes.”

“Operation?” Ratchet’s optics went wide. “Bumblebee's not nearly stable enough to—”

He caught sight of the berth where the unconscious scout lay and the tall, slender frame of the medical flier bent over him.

“When did Pharma get here?” Ratchet wondered aloud as First Aid led him away.

“Less than a breem ago,” the other medic replied. “He’s taking over for you.”

Of course he is.

Ratchet felt a strange conflict of relief and regret flicker through his spark; relief because he trusted Pharma —he was one of the most skilled doctors Ratchet had ever worked with —and regret, because once again, despite his best efforts, Ratchet had come up short.

Perhaps it’s time I stopped trying so hard after all…

Chapter Text

There was a flurry of activity on the bridge of the Nemesis when Megatron arrived. Mecha of all stations were gathered near the navigation and communications consoles, the spacious room filled the feverish chatter and the clicks of servos on keypads.

“What is all the commotion about, Captain?” Megatron addressed the femme standing near the command center.

She looked up from the datapad she was being shown, wings folding back in a salute upon seeing him.

“Decepticon life signs were picked up by the Nemesis’ drone scanners, sir,” Slipstream reported, gesturing to the vehicons beside her who held the datapad she’d been reviewing. “We haven’t been able to make contact with anyone, so it could be a false alarm, but—”

Megatron looked up from the report.

“But what?”

Slipstream’s optical ridges were furrowed, her arms crossed over her chassis.

“Location places it along the trajectory of the Harbinger’s crash course.”

His optics widened; the Decepticon frigate Harbinger had crashed nearly a century before they made contact with humanity, the wreckage thoroughly inspected. Though there had been evidence of lifepods having been ejected, none had been recovered and most were thought to have been ejected prior to entering Earth’s orbit.

How could they have missed one?

“Have scouting teams found anything yet?” he asked, handing the report back to the vehicon.

“We lost contact with the team we sent out about a breem after they were deployed,” Slipstream responded, signaling one of the officers on deck to pull up the last viewfinder footage salvaged. About a minute into the recording, the vehicon filming was knocked off their pedes and the image went blurry and white, before finally cutting out entirely. “We’ve double and triple checked geologic scans of the area —it isn’t tectonically unstable and the ice sheet it rests on is well inland —not a lot of potential for fracturing.”

Megatron furrowed his optical ridges, watching as the footage looped.

“What about the life signs themselves?” he asked. “Has there been any change since the team was deployed?”

“No, sir,” Slipstream shook her helm. “They’ve stayed consistent the entire time we’ve been picking them up.”

“Captain Slipstream,” called an officer, “the last of our recon drones was just shot down.”

Both Slipstream and Megatron turned to face the officer, alarm striking their fields.

“Shot down?” Slipstream repeated.

“Yes, Ma’am,” the officer replied. “A small squad of Autobots was spotted just before the drone went offline.”

Slipstream ex-vented in a long hiss, optics narrowing.

“Call Starscream back from Outpost Tarn,” Megatron ordered, “this just—”

“Call me back for what?”

Megatron turned to see Starscream stride into the room, suspicion etched into his features.

“A recon drone was just shot down,” Slipstream called, not looking up from her datapad.

“Indeed,” Megatron moved to meet Starscream in the center of the room. “I am planning to send out a team to find where the drone was shot and track down the Autobots responsible, but most importantly, investigate the life signs we’ve been receiving.”

“Life signs?” Starscream glanced over to the monitors that lined the walls. “Decepticon life signs? We haven’t had contact with any ships in—”

“We believe it may be a survivor from the Harbinger crash,” Megatron interrupted. “You led the scouting mission to chart the crash site, and now with the threat of Autobot attack, you’re the first choice for mission commander.”

Starscream nodded.

“How far away was the drone? I assume we’ll bridge in from the air, have the element of surprise—” Starscream continued to mutter under his breath, optics flickering back and forth as he looked over information on his HUD.

“Yes, you’ll have to bridge in,” Megatron said, signaling an officer to provide Starscream the appropriate information.

There was a faint flicker in the EM fields.

“When the area is secured, let us know and we’ll send in the mining equipment,” Slipstream said, walking up to the two with her datapad. “Be careful not to take too long; the temperatures up in the Arctic will freeze your fuel lines if you’re not careful.”

Starscream paused in his read-through, a faraway look in his optics.

“Is that everything then, Captain?” an officer addressed Slipstream. “We’ll alert the eradicon barracks that—”

“I will not be leading the mission,” Starscream interrupted stiffly, turning on his heelstruts and making for the exit. “I will forward the information to Thundercracker.”

Megatron and Slipstream watched him go, a frown on the former’s faceplates.

“What was that about?” Slipstream raised an optical ridge.

“Old wounds,” Megatron replied, optics on the place where Starscream had been. “I should’ve remembered. Officer, alert the barracks that Thundercracker will be their mission leader.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jack frowned at the page in front of him, staring at the letters and numbers and feeling like his brain was seconds away from imploding in on itself. Deciding to take a break from math, he closed the book —leaving his pencil in to mark his spot —and set it back on the makeshift table in front of him.

The Kaon rec room had been unofficially designated as the “human area”; Ravage and the other cassettes had scoured the base to find any human sized furniture that remained and brought it in there, and a few vehicons —whose names Jack didn’t remember —had welded some scrap metal together into a table and a some shelves. It was a fairly small space by Cybertronian standards, but for the humans it was more than enough room to relax. What was even better was that the entire area had been constructed using crates and scaffolding, elevating it so that the kids were in less danger of being stepped on. 

Jack, sitting on the couch by the corner, rubbed his eyes before stretching; it felt like he’d been sitting at that table for hours. Raf was close by, sitting crosslegged on a pillow on the floor, playing chess with Ravage. They were an even match for each other, and as of yet neither one had been able to beat the other. Ratbat cheered them on from the side, gasping every time a piece was knocked off the board.

Rumble and Frenzy had apparently been called away to help clean the storage rooms, which they did with quite a bit of grumbling, and Miko was “helping” Knockout in the Medbay.

Standing up from the couch, Jack walked over to the mini fridge sitting by the wall, hooked up with about a dozen extension cords. It was empty —they’d only found it that morning —but upon sticking his hand inside, Jack discovered it had already gotten fairly cold.

“I think the fridge is about done cooling,” he announced, moving towards the chess game. “I figured I could go pick up some stuff for sandwiches and some bottled water to keep here, that way we don’t have to bring our own food every time.”

“A good plan,” Ravage agreed, “I’ll finish this round and notify Soundwave.”

“Will you be able to carry everything back on Ravage?” Raf asked, brow furrowing.

“Yeah, I think so,” Jack shrugged, “I mean, I get groceries all the time just riding my bike, so it shouldn’t be too much different.”

“And this time he won’t have to concentrate on steering,” Ravage added, pushing his rook forward with a paw.

“Who’s winning?” Jack asked, sitting down across from Ratbat.

“I dunno,” Ratbat replied with a helpless shrug. “They move too fast for me to keep up.”

“Ravage has more pieces on the board,” Raf said, “but I’ve put him in check the last couple turns.”

“Raf is very resourceful,” Ravage agreed.

There was a loud clang near the door to the rec room before Rumble and Frenzy came barreling through, grinning.

“I hope you haven’t broken anything,” Ravage said, crimson eyes narrowing at the twins.

Frenzy scoffed as he and Rumble made their way towards the far wall, where several jumbled balls of scrap metal lay in a pile.

“And that is our cue to leave,” said Ravage, standing up and stretching. “Rafael, we can resume our match when Jack and I return.”

“Okay,” Raf agreed, taking the chess board and carefully moving it to the table. “Ratbat needs to dock anyway.”

Ratbat nodded, although he didn’t look terribly pleased, and clambered into Raf’s arms as Jack and Ravage descended the welded stairway.

“Do you have any food allergies I should know about, Raf?” Jack asked, hefting his backpack over his shoulder.

“No,” Raf shook his head. “I’m pretty sure Miko is lactose-intolerant, though.”

“She is?” Jack frowned. “I could’ve sworn I’d seen her with a milkshake from K.O. Burger before.”

“Milkshakes are worth the pain,” said Miko, having just rounded the corner from the Medbay. “And cereal.”

Jack stared at her in astonishment.

“Cereal?” he repeated. “I get the milkshake thing, but cereal?”

Miko snickered at his confused look.

“I like it ‘cause it’s weird,” she said, reaching over towards Raf to give Ratbat a gentle pat. “Like cold soup.”

Raf wrinkled his nose at the comparison and Jack grimaced.

“Well, you’ll have to eat your ‘cold soup’ at home, because I’m not buying utensils or dishes to keep here,” Jack said, “it’ll probably just be paper plates and napkins.”

“I’ll slurp it off the plate.”

“Miko, ew!”

Rest was all well and good, but when had it stopped actually being restful? Ratchet grumbled to himself as he tidied his work area, servos moving out of memory more than actual focus.

After being forcefully evicted from the Medbay the previous solar-cycle, he’d gone back to his habsuite and fallen into recharge almost immediately, but even after eight joors of his defragmentation cycle —according to his internal clock, which did habit of glitching numbers —he still felt just as exhausted. It was an active effort to keep his optics from offlining while he worked.

Perhaps I need a more engaging task…

Ex-venting a sigh, Ratchet moved to one of the sections of cabinets, opening them up and taking stock of everything inside. 

As talented a medic as First Aid was, he had a habit of going through and reorganizing supplies into systems that only he could parse out, especially when it came to Ratchet’s area. First Aid said it was because Ratchet was unorganized —which was most certainly not the case —and having the items rearranged would make it easier for Ratchet to find them. Ratchet said he’d been a medic for longer than First Aid had been online and if there was anyone who knew what worked best for him, it was Ratchet himself.

A tiny part of him begrudgingly admitted he did work faster when the tools were organized, but he kept that to himself. The knowing look in First Aid’s optics indicated he probably knew anyway.

Ratchet began making a list of all the items in the cabinet, noting with amusement that First Aid hadn’t tried to move his wrenches this time —although he did leave a frowny face sticker on one of them —and had instead just gathered them all into a set together near the front.

Easy to access when I need them, Ratchet thought with a small smirk.

Movement from the other side of the Medbay caught Ratchet’s attention.

“First Aid, if you’re here to harass me about the way I organize my desk—”

He turned, expecting to meet optics slightly below his height, but instead he was met with the glossy yellow cockpit and dark blue chassis of a mech who stood a helm or too taller than Ratchet.

“All of First Aid’s hard work, for nothing,” Pharma shot Ratchet a teasing smirk, leaning against the desk with a datapad in his hands.

“Hello to you too, Pharma,” Ratchet groused, turning back to the cabinets. “First Aid knows I don’t like it when he moves my stuff around; if he gets upset about it, it’s on him. He knew what he was setting himself up for —disappointment.”

Pharma laughed, a bright, clear sound that rang out through the mostly silent ward. It was almost jarring; how long had it been since Ratchet had heard someone truly laugh? It seemed like every cycle was spent in the Medbay with the injured and the dying, the atmosphere always either solemn or charged with panic.

“Well, if you’re not too busy un organizing things, I have the report on last solar-cycle’s surgery,” Pharma held out the datapad he’d been holding, optics crinkled in amusement.

Ratchet paused momentarily, quickly running back over the list of patients that had been slated for operation.

“Which one?” Ratchet asked as he took the pad.

Pharma gave him an unreadable look.

“The scout? Bumblebee?” he raised an optical ridge. “How much recharge did you get, Ratchet?”

Ratchet barely caught the last part, waving the fellow medic off as he scanned the datapad’s contents. 

How could he have forgotten about Bumblebee? After the stress of trying to save him? Being servos deep in his circuitry, desperately trying to seal off lines before the bleeding energon flooded his system?

His EM field roiled, and not for the first time he felt jealous of Pharma’s control over his own.

Some of us are just Forged to be medics.

Thundercracker stared at the mission information Starscream had forwarded to him. Recon in the Arctic, Decepticon life signs, potential rescue needed…

He let out a sigh, brow ridges furrowing as he began assigning eradicons to his team.

No wonder Starscream had refused to lead the mission. After over four million years of false leads and crushed hopes, well, one’s spark could only take so much. Especially right after the scare with Skywarp, and how Thundercracker knew Starscream was still blaming himself for allowing that to happen…

At least we rescued Warp.

He pinged the eradicons their mission statements and orders before going back over the area scans and visuals provided of the triangulated signal source. Snow —not his favorite, but could be worse —potentially unstable terrain due to possible calving, and of course, an Autobot scouting party.

He frowned. Hopefully they could reach whoever it was who was giving off the life signs before the Autobots harmed them, but he wasn’t going to hold out hope. If they’d managed to replicate Skywarp’s unique signature that meant their sciences were getting better, and there was a high chance they’d already opened the pod and captured whomever was inside.

Thundercracker pulled up his commlink interface —several of the eradicons he’d pinged earlier had responded with affirmative glyphs —and opened a channel to the Nemesis Medbay.

::Lieutenant Thundercracker to Nemesis Medbay,:: he said, ::patching through a list of—::

::What the frag do you want now?:: came the familiar rasping voice of Hook. ::I’ve got my servos full trying to fix a glitched out displacer unit, so make it quick.::

::Just letting you know my team may require medical assistance in a joor or two,:: Thundercracker replied, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice.

::You’re gonna require more medical assistance if you keep bothering me.::

::Good to know you’ve got my back, Hook.::

Hook grumbled something before shutting off the channel. Thundercracker stifled a laugh as he emerged into the main area of the silo.

Soundwave was working away at his consoles, as usual, Error and Bolts —a pair of vehicons —had a panel on the wall removed and were making repairs on the circuitry, and one of the human children, Rafael, was sitting on the mezzanine, some sort of datapad in his lap.

“Hello, Thundercracker,” the child looked up as he walked in, waving one of his tiny servos in greeting. “Soundwave mentioned there’s a recon mission soon, are you part of that?”

“Yes,” Thundercracker replied, crouching down beside the raised platform so he didn’t loom over the organic quite so much. “We received unidentified lifepod signals so we’re going to check it out.”

“It’s in the Arctic, right?” Raf pushed his optic-wear up his nasal ridge. “Cybertronians still get cold, right? Be careful not to freeze.”

Thundercracker felt some of his tension leave at Raf’s expression of concern.

::Rafael: a very good boy,:: came a sudden ping from Soundwave, accompanied by an image of some —absolutely adorable —fuzzy Earth organism with the word ‘doge’ superimposed over it.

“The cold can be dangerous,” Thundercracker agreed, “but we don’t plan to stay long. Besides, flight frames like mine and the eradicons are more insulated anyway.”

“Okay,” Raf said. “Could you bring me back a picture of some snow or something, please? I’ve never seen real snow before, and certainly not from that far North.”

Thundercracker’s EM field flared out in an emotion he didn’t quite recognize when Raf looked up at him with a small smile, swinging his pedes back and forth gently as they hung off the side of the mezzanine.

::Thundercracker: must not give in to sparkling-fever,:: came another ping from Soundwave.

Thundercracker attempted to send a ping back but it ended up as startled static. Soundwave laughed, his own field reaching out and brushing Thundercracker’s.

“If there aren’t any Autobots firing at me, I’ll get a picture,” Thundercracker promised, the warm feeling in his spark growing when Raf’s face lit up.

“Thanks!” Raf said. “Maybe by the time you get back, I can thank you in Neocybex, too.”

Thundercracker blinked.

“Neocybex?”

“Rafael: wished to learn some of our languages to assist with code translation,” Soundwave said, before pointing to the human sized computers near the groundbridge controls. “Operating system: exceptionally bad.”

"Yeah," Raf giggled, "I can't believe all they gave you was Windows!"

A pint alerted Thundercracker that the eradicon squad was ready for departure.

“Time to go,” he said, rising out of his crouch and stretching out his backstrut.

“Good luck!” Raf called after him.

::Hey,:: Thundercracker opened a channel to the squad. ::Keep an optic out for nice views; Raf’s never seen snow before.::

“What a sight!” Brainstorm exclaimed, servos on his hips. “An intact Decepticon escape pod! How did this manage to slip under our radar?”

“And how’d it manage to slip under theirs?” Wheeljack added, eyeing the ridge to their south with mistrust.

“Hard to say, hard to say,” Brainstorm walked around the excavated pod, tapping his mask thoughtfully. “It wouldn’t make sense for the ice to have blocked the signal from broadcasting…”

“Maybe something happened to knock whoever’s inside out of stasis?” Wheeljack suggested.

“Perhaps,” Brainstorm reemerged from behind the pod. “The Decepticons could also have just recently activated some device that prompted the pod to start transmitting.”

“Trying to collect their lost luggage?” Wheeljack snorted.

Brainstorm’s optics lit up and his wings fluttered in excitement.

“That must be it!” he said. “The last ship of theirs we shot down was a frigate carrying cargo! All the reports I have access to say there was some sort of experimental weapon on board, something of that scientist Shockwave’s, I'd imagine.”

“...And they sent it off in an escape pod so it would survive the crash,” Wheeljack grinned. “Brainstorm, you are a genius.”

“Of course I am.”

“...”

“...”

“Should we comm someone to help us transport it?”

“Yeah, probably.”

Dark grey servos moved over the barrel of the deconstructed gun with precision, skillfully and delicately splitting the seams of the plating with the tips of sharpened claws to reach the sensitive wiring inside. Parts were rearranged, taken apart, then set back into place with a satisfying click. The gun was purposely broken, or maybe just never repaired, rendering it a quite ineffective weapon.

Damus wasn’t using it as a weapon, though.

He’d already taken it apart and put it back together five or six times in the last joor, but it had proved useless in settling his processor. Every time he thought he could return to work he actually had to do —namely making sure no one killed Forestock for being irritating or vice versa —the twitching in his servos and buzzing in his chassis would begin again and he’d be right where he started.

Focus, Damus, focus.

He readjusted the stock for what felt like the millionth time, running his digits over it to check for cracks in the external plating —there weren’t any; there were never any —before popping open the casing and beginning the process of deconstructing it again. Damus wouldn’t say he particularly enjoyed working on guns, but at this point he’d gone through so many different types and models that he could take apart and rebuild almost any kind he was given. It was habit. A distraction.

Shockwave encouraged it; the gun Damus was currently working on was one of his creations, and though he never outright said it, Damus was fairly certain all the added components and complex machinery wasn’t for practical purposes, but instead purely to give him something else to fiddle with when he took it apart.

It was a nice gesture.

Nickel would complain about how dulled his servos’ plating would become from all the work, but would, without fail, offer to help him re-oil the joints. He’d never taken her up on that offer —touching other mecha usually made him anxious —but it always made his spark hum to hear her concern.

Skids would—

Damus’s servos went stiff, the wire he’d hooked with a claw threatening to snap.

He didn’t want to think about Skids.

His optics focused in on the wires, carefully unplugging each one. The spots of transferred dark blue paint on the tips of his claws taunted him.

I was just trying to help.

Skids had no right to have gotten so angry —what else was Damus supposed to have done? Let him give away his position and get killed?

It’s not like I tried to hurt him.

Damus had just been trying to get him to come back to his senses, he didn’t realize he would short out Skids’s systems when he grabbed him.

“Don’t fry my systems again, you glitch.”

Damus set the pieces of the gun back on the table as his voicebox hissed static. He lowered his helm into his servos as tiny pinpricks of cold started to pierce his sensory net. Stiff claws faintly dug into the mesh of his faceplate, his denta gritted as his EM field boiled with some emotion he didn’t want to name.

His plating felt tight, constricting, wrong. The heel of one pede started to tap rhythmically on the floor, his voicebox shorting out again with a distorted cry.

A datapad on the table went dark.

He started frantically going through the data downloaded into his processor, desperate for something to distract him, but the first things that greeted him from his HUD were the notifications from the previous cycle letting him know Skids wasn’t responding to his requests to open a communication channel. His vents grew faster and his voicebox reset with a ragged groan.

A light in the ceiling went out.

His field screamed pain-fear-panic as the feeling of claustrophobia increased, suffocating him.

“Don’t fry my systems again, you glitch.”

Stop stop stop stop—

“—you glitch.”

Something snapped.

Damus’s optics onlined in a flash, venting out a rasping sigh of relief as his plating shifted, opening outwards and folding over on itself, reshaping his arm into the dual fusion cannons of his alt-mode. 

Primus, it felt so freeing.

But the lightweight giddiness didn’t last, seeping out of his frame as cold cloying guilt took its place. He wasn’t supposed to transform outside of regulated training sessions and missions. The gears of his current t-cog —notably not his first —were already becoming worn, and Nickel had threatened to not replace it next time.

But I don’t know what else to do.

Slowly, as if the speed would fool Nickel into not realizing he’d broken the inhibitor, Damus folded his plating back in on itself, focusing on the clicking and whirring of the gears in his arm as it transformed again.

And again.

And again…

RO-413, or Rhodie, looped back towards the squad, dipping down to brush the water with their wing. The cold liquid splattered across their plating, making them shiver, but they didn’t mind.

<data package saved>

EM field bubbling happily, they angled upwards and rejoined the loose flight formation.

::Show off,:: Helium teased when they reopened the communication channel.

::I got the video,:: Rhodie said.

::Isn’t a video overkill?:: Quartz commented from the other flank. ::I thought we just needed a picture.::

::But I like taking flying videos!:: Rhodie replied. ::They’re fun to make and relaxing to watch later.::

::Humans can’t fly, so I think it’s a neat gift,:: Helium agreed.

::Wind’s changing,:: Thundercracker warned. ::Get ready. And Rhodie, I also think the video is nice. I’m sure Raf will love it.::

::Hooray!:: Rhodie synthesized a whistle.

::Heads up, Autolosers on the northeast side,:: came Sawtooth’s voice as he slipped back into formation.

::That’s so —what do the humans call it? “Cringe”?:: Helium snickered. ::“Autolosers”.::

::Great,:: said Thundercracker. ::Everyone, get your weapon systems online and be ready.::

A chorus of affirmatives chimed in the channel as they headed towards the ice sheet below. The cold air buffeted them as they transformed and landed, snowflakes sticking to their armor.

::How many did you see, Sawtooth?:: Thundercracker asked.

::Two, or maybe three,:: he replied. ::Nothing we can’t handle.::

::True enough, but don’t get cocky,:: said Quartz warningly. ::Cocky gets you deactivated.::

Sawtooth gestured at her rudely with a servo.

::Stay close behind me,:: Thundercracker ordered, readying his weapons.

They crept up over the rise, looking down into a shallow basin which looked to have been dug out recently. Sure enough, only two Autobots were currently present; a thin teal-plated flier with white wings, and a stocky grounder with wide grey helm finials.

There was no pod.

::Another trap?:: Helium hissed out just as a bolt shot past her helm, just barely missing.

::Maybe,:: Thundercracker grunted, ducking as another shot was fired.

“Oh Primus, I thought you said they were gone?” the flier cried, frantically gathering up what looked to be some type scanning device.

“I said I shot down all the drones, dumbaft,” the grounder snapped back, not taking his optics off of the squad. “Comm back to base for a bridge —quick!”

“I’m trying,” the flier was crouched behind the grounder for cover now.

::Advance from the sides,:: Thundercracker advised. ::We outnumber them but Wheeljack likes to blow slag up, so be careful.::

Rhodie and Helium took the right side while Quartz and Sawtooth took the left.

::I’ll draw his fire,:: Thundercracker said, leaping over the rise into the basin.

Rhodie and Helium followed suit, leveling their blasters at Wheeljack while he was distracted with Thundercracker.

“Wheeljack, the eradicons!” cried the flier, throwing himself onto the ground to dodge Rhodie and Helium’s blasterfire.

“They’re eradicons, Brainstorm,” Wheeljack scoffed. “They’re a slag shot, you’ll be fine!”

Both Rhodie’s and Helium’s EM fields buzzed with indignation at that comment.

“I don’t fight!” the flier, Brainstorm, squeaked in protest, holding the maybe-scanner over his head.

“I’m starting to understand why Prowl likes Preceptor better than you,” Wheeljack called over his shoulder as he narrowly missed a shot from Thundercracker.

Brainstorm’s wings went stiff and he shot back to his pedes, a furious look on his masked face.

—and was promptly shot in the wing by Sawtooth.

“We need a groundbridge now!” Wheeljack shouted.

“Don’t worry—” Thundercracker growled, “—you won’t need it for much longer.”

“Hah,” Wheeljack sneered. “Got a lot of confidence, eh, con?”

“Just the right amount,” Thundercracker replied coldly.

Quartz and Sawtooth were sliding down into the basin on the opposite side, blasters firing. Bolts of plasma pitted the ground with holes, instantly vaporizing the ice it hit.

Rhodie fired a shot at Wheeljack, hitting him in the arm just where it transitioned to his blaster and knocking him off balance long enough for Thundercracker to land a solid punch to his chassis.

Brainstorm scrambled to his pedes just long enough to grab one of Wheeljack’s doorwings and stumble backwards into a groundbridge that had just swirled into existence, disappearing back to wherever the Autobots’ base was.

“Slag!” Sawtooth stomped his pede onto the pockmarked snow. “The frag do we do now?”

“We comm Megatron with the update,” Thundercracker answered, “and hope we can still track the life signs.”

The trip to get groceries for the mini fridge took slightly longer than expected, due to unforeseen events.

Those events were named Vince.

“What are you out doing now, Darby?” he sneered, leaning against his car as Jack left the small corner store.

“Nothing that involves you, Vince,” Jack replied, keeping his gaze firmly ahead on where Ravage was waiting.

“Running some errands for mommy?” Vince mocked, having noticed the grocery bags in Jack’s hands.

"Nope; just errands for myself," Jack reached Ravage and began carefully loading the items into his backpack.

“Who buys a whole loaf of bread ‘just for themselves’?”

Jack started, turning to see Sierra standing on the sidewalk with her friend, giggling into their hands.

Great.

“Darby here, apparently,” Vince snickered.

Jack grit his teeth as he zipped up his backpack.

“Ignore him, Jack,” came the very faint sound of Ravage’s voice. “He’s not worth it.”

But what about Sierra?

Jack swung a leg over Ravage’s seat, putting his helmet on and making sure his backpack was secure before turning back to Vince.

“Just ‘cause you’re jealous of my bike doesn’t mean you have to insult the fact that I’m running errands, Vince,” Jack said, feeling a twinge of embarrassment when Ravage’s kickstand kicked him in the ankle.

Vince opened his mouth to say something, then shut it, then opened it again.

“Why would I be jealous of a motorcycle?” he scoffed. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I have an actual car, Darby.”

“I guess ‘cause I bought mine with my own money and you got yours through nepotism,” Jack shrugged, glad his face was hidden behind the helmet so Vince couldn’t see how anxious he actually was. “But hey, if you’re cool with your dad having the power to take away your ride whenever, that’s your business. See you at school.”

Jack and Ravage didn’t wait to hear Vince’s response, pulling out of the parking lot and heading towards the mesa where Outpost Kaon was located.

“I told you he wasn’t worth it,” Ravage said after they’d left the city.

“Oh c’mon, Ravage,” Jack complained. “Don’t tell me you didn’t feel any satisfaction at that floundering look on his face.”

“...Just don’t make it a habit, or Soundwave will lecture us both,” Ravage conceded.

Raf looked over the symbols —no, glyphs —displayed on the datapad Soundwave had lent him. They weren’t anything like the alphabet Raf was used to, but for some reason they just sort of…clicked.

It only took a few rounds of repetition before Raf knew which phonetic sounds were ascribed to each glyph, although most were unpronounceable with the human vocal cords, what each of the names were, and which ones had other means outside of spelling.

Now, Raf was going through a few basic phrases in Neocybex with Ratbat, trying to learn syntax. Part of the problem was that spoken Neocybex overlapped; with mechanical voice components, you could make multiple sounds at once, but a human voice couldn’t replicate that. Instead, Raf and Ratbat were sticking with typing for the time being.

“Wow,” Ratbat said, looking over the last sentence Raf had written. “You learn super fast! Especially for someone who can’t just download info into your processor.”

Raf laughed.

“Yeah, everyone says I’m a fast learner, but I think I’ve just had good teachers,” he replied. “My dad is a software engineer and he taught me code when I was really little, and I think I picked it up so fast because I was young; my brain was sort of in ‘learn language’ mode.”

“Rafael: should not downplay his own accomplishments,” Soundwave said from the console nearby. “Rumble and Frenzy: have Soundwave as a sire, still do not know how to code properly.”

Raf and Ratbat both laughed.

“How many other languages do Cybertronians have?” Raf asked as he pulled the datapad back towards him.

“Hm,” Ratbat fluttered his wings as he thought. “There’s Old Cybertronian, Vosian High, a bunch of different Praxian dialects —I bet Shockwave would know.”

“Vosian High? Is that Thundercracker and his brothers’ native language?” Raf asked, noting that it shared a similar name to Vos, where Thundercracker had said he was from. “And who’s Shockwave?”

“Vosian High: predominant language spoken in the Cybertronian citystate Vos,” Soundwave said, the chords of his voice high and light. “Elite Trine: former Vosian nobility.”

“Yeah,” Ratbat nodded, “and Shockwave’s a scientist, probably the best scientist ever. He’s really smart and he’s really nice, not like Starscream.”

Raf paused in his reply to tweak a few parts of the sentence he was writing before passing the datapad back to Ratbat.

“Shockwave sounds really cool,” he said. “He’s a Decepticon too, right?”

“Correct,” Soundwave seemed to have finished whatever it was he was working on, having now turned to face the two kids fully. “Shockwave: joined the rebellion early to protect his students, is now head of Outpost Tarn. Rafael: would get along well with Shockwave.”

“I hope I can meet him sometime, then,” Raf said. “Or, wait—”

Taking the datapad back from Ratbat, Raf quickly wrote out a sentence essentially saying the same thing, but this time in Neocybex.

Ratbat clapped his claws in celebration and Soundwave hummed a cheery set of major chords.

A beeping at Soundwave's console drew their attention and Soundwave stepped away to investigate.

“Probably Thundercracker asking for a groundbridge,” Ratbat said, peering over the mezzanine railing to look at the console.

“Yeah, I think it is,” Raf agreed, recognizing that several of the glyphs on the display spelled out something reminiscent of “communications channel”.

“Lieutenant Thundercracker to Outpost Kaon, do you read me, Outpost Kaon?”

“Officer Soundwave to Lieutenant Thundercracker: request received.”

Raf squealed in excitement when he realized he understood most of that exchange. It was a bit difficult to hear some of the titles and honorifics, since they were spoken at the same time as the name, but Raf was pretty confident he got the gist of it.

“Groundbridge: activating,” Soundwave said, just as the electric whirlwind spun into existence inside the tunnel. “Thundercracker: clear to return to base.”

“Will do, Officer.”

Not a minute later did five silhouettes appear in the vortex, unmistakably those of Thundercracker and his eradicon squadron. They looked a little banged up —Thundercracker notably more so than the others —but they were all still on their feet and in one piece.

“How’d the mission go?” Raf asked, poking his head over the railing.

“The Autobots got to the pod first,” Thundercracker answered tiredly. “And the life signals are no longer transmitting, meaning either wherever they took the pod is shielded or—”

He cut himself off, frowning at Raf.

“Yeah,” Raf said sadly. “But I’m glad you guys are all okay, even if you are a little scratched.”

“Hah!” exclaimed one of the eradicons; dull blue plating and a missing finial. “You should’ve seen the state we left those Autobots in!”

“Sawtooth,” one of the others scolded, bumping Sawtooth with their pede.

“We did manage to injure at least one of the Autobots present,” Thundercracker confirmed.

“Oh! Oh!” one of the other eradicons bounced on their pedes, clicking their servos together excitedly. “Can I show Raf the snow now?”

Raf gasped, looking from them to Thundercracker and back again.

“If Raf’s ready,” Thundercracker said. “You’ll have to find a way to transfer the—”

The eradicon had already pushed past the larger mech and gone to the bottom of the stairs, where they carefully deposited a small pile of fluffy white snow.

Raf and Ratbat both climbed down the stairs quickly to investigate it, while Thundercracker and the rest of the squad stared in confusion.

“Where were you keeping that, Rhodie?” asked the one who’d nudged Sawtooth.

“In my subspace,” Rhodie said sheepishly, finials dipping down. “I thought the pictures and video were cool, but it might be even cooler to have the real thing.”

“Snow: is very cool,” Soundwave stayed from the console, ignoring the exasperated look Thundercracker shot him.

“This is amazing,” Raf said, sticking a hand into the cold powder. “Thank you so much —wait—”

Raf turned around just as Ratbat flew back down with the datapad.

“I figured you’d want it,” Ratbat said with a proud smile.

“Thanks, Ratbat,” Raf took the datapad from him and quickly wrote down a simple phrase, before turning the pad around and showing Thundercracker and the rest of the squad. “See? I told you I’d thank you in Neocybex.”

“It didn’t have a hole when we hauled it in here,” Ironhide said, arms crossed as he frowned at the half-frozen Decepticon life pod. “You sure you didn’t blow somethin’ up near it, Wheeljack?”

“Pretty sure an explosion from the outside doesn’t make metal cave outwards, Ironhide.”

“Just sayin’.”

Chapter Text

Miko grinned in victory as she plugged in her amp. Too much of the morning was spent trying to find a long enough extension cord, not to mention a converter, since the outlets in the silo had absurd ports that probably fit one type of plug, but she did it.

“I hope this was worth all that trouble,” Breakdown said, standing a ways away with a pile of various metal parts.

“Oh, it will be,” Miko replied, setting down her guitar case on the giant shelf. “Do you guys have music on Cybertron?”

“Sure,” Breakdown said. “It’s…pretty different from the human stuff I’ve heard. Humans sing a lot more than we do; most of our music is just the…well, the music part.”

“Techno stuff, I bet?” Miko snickered as she pushed the cluttered guitar case away. “What sort of instruments? Any I could play?”

“Uh,” Breakdown’s metal eyebrows furrowed. “Knocks had a windwhistle back when we lived in Delta, but that was before the war.”

He looked down at Miko and frowned.

“And I don't think a human could play it anyway,” he said.

“Aw, how come?” Miko sat down on the edge of the shelf with her guitar in her lap, getting ready to tune it. 

“Well, for one, it’s an alt-mode attachment,” Breakdown said, “and humans don’t have alt-modes. And in order to get it to even make sound, you have to be moving really fast —they’re notoriously hard to play, but that was the reason Knockout got one to begin with.”

“Oh, so instead of blowing into it, you have to drive super fast to get the air to go through?” Miko asked. “That’s awesome. Does Knockout still have it? I’d totally love to see him play it.”

“He might,” Breakdown shrugged. “You’ll have to ask him. What’s the one you have?”

“This is my super sweet electric guitar!” Miko said proudly, holding it up for Breakdown to admire. “Isn’t it the coolest? You pluck the strings to make them vibrate, which then sends a signal through that cord to the amp, which translates that signal into a sound! And depending on how long or short the string is, the sound changes.”

Miko plucked the low E string a few times with different frets to show how the notes changed.

“Whoa,” Breakdown said. “Humans are way more tactile than mecha. Most Cybertronian musicians just hardline to their terminals.”

“Well, not all of us can just plug stuff into our brains,” Miko teased, pretending to stick one of the unused cords in her ear.

Breakdown looked at her with a mixture of amusement and concern.

“Relax, dude,” Miko snorted, “it’s not plugged in.”

She tossed the cord away and Breakdown seemed to sigh in relief.

“So, what exactly are you doing?” Miko glanced over at the pile of scrap metal.

“Going through this to see if any of it’s worth salvaging,” Breakdown replied. “Old parts from whatever Fowler and his guys used to keep in here. Probably can’t use it for anything more than patches, though.”

“Seriously?” Miko raised an eyebrow. “I mean, some of those pieces are huge! Surely you could use those for more than patches?”

“Well, Cybertronian armor’s not just metal,” Breakdown explained. “It's like a…self repairing metal, or something. Knockout would know. Using regular metal like this for patches is good, because the armor fuses with it and slowly sorta turns it into armor too. But if you’ve got too much, it can actually cause plating diseases and start making it brittle and prone to cracking.”

Miko wrinkled her nose.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t want my skin to start peeling off either,” she agreed, resuming her tuning.

They worked in relative silence for a minute or two, before Miko piped back up with a question she’d been meaning to ask since she met the cons.

“Hey, are you and Knockout like, married?”

Breakdown blinked at her.

“What’s ‘married’?”

Miko snorted a laugh at Breakdown’s confused look.

“Like, you guys are in love?” she clarified, gesturing vaguely with a hand. “Humans get married after they’ve been in love for a bit as a way of like, solidifying that person as their life partner.”

“Oh,” understanding dawned in Breakdown’s eyes. “Like Conjunx Endurae. In that case yeah, I guess we would be ‘married’.”

“That’s so cute,” Miko squealed. “Especially ‘cause you guys are both dudes, and sometimes people think that's weird —wait, you guys do have girl Cybertronians, right? I think Rumble or Frenzy said Laserbeak was a girl—”

“Whoa, whoa,” Breakdown chuckled nervously. “Slow down. Yeah, we have uh…‘girls’, but we call ‘em femmes. And what was that about people finding getting junxed weird?”

“Some humans are really weird about gender,” Miko explained. “Like, they say that only a man and a woman can be in love, and not a man and a man or a woman and a woman. I think it mostly comes from religious people? I dunno though, I just think it’s strange.”

“Ah,” Breakdown’s expression became solemn. “Sounds a bit like Functionism, actually. That was the main ideology back on Cybertron, I think. What you could and couldn’t do was all based on your alt-mode.”

“Can you not choose your alt-mode?” Miko frowned. “Rumble and Frenzy weren't bikes before, and they just copied Ravage.”

“Most of us can’t,” Breakdown answered. “I think that flexibility is just a quirk of whatever Soundwave and his kids are, ‘cause they’re the only mecha I’ve met that don't have concrete alt-modes. Me, for instance; sure, I’ve got different kibble —that’s the extra decorative bits, see? —to match a human car’s design, but I’ve always been a bulky off-road sorta grounder. Believe me, if I could’ve changed I would've; Velocitron wasn’t all that kind to us slower mechs.”

“That’s stupid,” Miko said. “The not-liking-you-cause-you’re-slow thing. I bet they don’t pack nearly as much of a punch as you do! You could pound ‘em all into the dirt!”

Breakdown laughed with her, smiling again.

“You should’ve seen the dents I put in people when I ran with the Wreckers,” he said.

“The Wreckers?!” Miko’s eyes widened. “Holy scrap, that sounds amazing! Who were they?”

“Met them on my first trip off world,” Breakdown said, “in a bar, or rather in a bar fight, roughing up some mecha who’d decided it was a good idea to mock them for not having speedy alt-modes. Guess that kinda appealed to me, so I joined up with them, wreaked some havoc for a couple of stellar-cycles, and then went my own way. Didn’t find out until later that they;d been assimilated into the Autobots’ militia.”

“Oh, well that sucks,” Miko scowled. “Bet you’re still a billion times cooler than they are, though.”

Sitting still was not really one of Bumblebee’s strengths. He was used to being up and about all the time; as a scout you had to be quick on your pedes, always watching for surprise attacks and tracking down Decepticon signals. This planet was especially good for scouting, at least in Bee’s opinion. He loved the smell of the air, the plants that covered almost every inch of the globe, and the briny saltwater oceans. This planet had so many oceans! Cybertron didn't have oceans, as far as Bee could remember, and neither did the moons or any of the colony worlds, but this planet was utterly saturated. Even the air was tangibly wet.

Ignoring the unfortunate aspect of having to constantly have his fans on outside to avoid rusting, this was the best planet Bee had ever been on. Or second best, at least. Cybertron was still in first place.

Bumblebee idly flipped through some of his scouting logs, looking for one with pretty scenery. Anything to distract from the boredom of sitting on a medical berth with cast-plating on his doorwing and shoulder.

::Smokescreen is here to see you,:: came a gentle ping from First Aid, the on-duty nurse. ::Are you comfortable receiving guests?::

::Yeah,:: Bee replied eagerly, sitting up.

::Sending him in now.::

Smokescreen was only a few vorns younger than Bee, making them two of the youngest Autobots in the force, and that camaraderie had helped them through many tough spots. Bee liked his other friends too —he’d had enough missions with the Wreckers to have forged a bond with several of them —but there was just something different about Smokescreen; whenever something happened, they were pretty much the first bot the other sought out. Although in Smokescreen’s case, Prowl usually got to him before Bee did.

“Hey, Bee,” Smokescreen waved as he walked in, smiling. “Bored out of your processor yet?”

Bee whirred a long groan, rolling his optics.

::I’m not supposed to walk until the welds fuse,:: he said, ::don’t want my doorwing falling off randomly.::

Smokescreen laughed, sitting down on the floor beside Bee’s berth.

“Imagine trying to go undercover in human society with a missing door,” he grinned. “‘Just a pristine, custom muscle car with only one door, nothing to see here’.”

Bee laughed too, playfully pushing Smokescreen with his servo.

::‘I spent all my money on detailing, didn’t have enough left for a new door’,:: Bee said. ::‘Besides, it’s on the passenger side! I don’t need that one!’::

“‘What’s that, Officer?’” Smokescreen continued, “‘I’m not supposed to drive with a door missing? Well jokes on you, ‘cause you’ll never catch me with my increased aerodynamics!’ And then you slam the thrust and go flying.”

Bee’s laughter transitioned to hiccuping chirps as his intake pulsed with coolant, trying to cool down his overheating voicebox.

What’s left of it anyway—

::Are we running from a human officer or a Cybertronian?:: Bee managed, resetting his vocalizer a few times.

“Oh, Primus, I hope it’s just human,” Smokescreen wheezed. “I don’t want Prowl on our afts about speeding.”

::We just have to get Jazz in on it,:: Bee said, ::he can distract Prowl while we escape.::

“He’d probably be our only hope,” Smokescreen agreed. “But enough about Prowl —how’s the shoulder?”

Bee made a noncommittal buzz, glancing over at the unarmored joint.

::Hurts less,:: he said. ::Wherever that shot came from, it hit deep. First Aid said it’ll be a while before I’m able to get back out in the field."

“That sucks,” Smokescreen let his helm fall back against the berth. “Both the injury and being on bed rest. I’ll make sure to get some cool photos if I get out before you.”

::What do you mean, ‘out before me’?:: Bee frowned behind his facemask. ::Did you get injured too?::

“No, Prowl put me on probation,” Smokescreen huffed, crossing his arms. “Says he ‘overestimated my maturity’, or some slag like that. All I did was call back our defensive unit so they didn’t get slaughtered.”

::...I don’t like the way Prowl thinks either,:: Bee said solemnly. ::I don’t want to say anything, really, I know he’s your brother—::

“He’s a bother is what he is,” Smokescreen interrupted. “Say whatever you want about him; I’ll probably agree.”

::Okay,:: Bee conceded. ::It almost seems like he just thinks of our soldiers like probabilities —numbers in an equation, forgetting that they’re people. It grates my sense-net. I’ve tried to talk to Optimus about it, but he always insists that Prowl knows what he’s doing and if he greenlights a mission, he’s made sure it’s our best option.::

“I dunno if I trust what Prowl thinks is best,” Smokescreen said.

Bee whistled in somber agreement before the both of them lapsed into companionable silence.

It wasn't that Bee didn’t like Prowl; the mech was Optimus’s third in command, a highly respected figure among the Autobots, and in a sense, like a slightly distant older sibling to him. But he could be…scary. Cold, almost unfeeling, and even though he wasn’t much taller than Bee, he had a certain air about him that made everyone in the room immediately go silent and tense, like the embodiment of the “something bad is about to happen” feeling that would often settle low in Bumblebee’s spark during battle.

Thankfully Jazz offset it somewhat —he had a calming effect on most mechs and it was especially obvious with his conjunx —but even he couldn’t temper all of Prowl’s sharpness.

Maybe it was just because Bumblebee was younger, but he still couldn’t imagine ever being as callus about casualties as Prowl was.

“Yes, I know,” Brainstorm rolled his optics, his wings drooping. “Wheeljack and I have already been over this—”

“Your cavalier attitude towards the situation makes me doubt that,” Perceptor said flatly. “Can I trust you to make the call to the Medbay whilst Ironhide, Wheeljack and I investigate?”

Brainstorm bristled.

“Of course I can,” he snapped, opening a comm channel immediately.

Pretentious fragger.

::Resident genius to Medbay; we may require medical aid shortly, as there appears to be a small scraplet infestation. Naturally, I have everything under control, but Perceptor insists I follow ‘protocol’. Brainstorm out.::

He closed the channel without waiting for a response, turning around to find the groundbridge bay empty.

First, he steals all Prowl’s attention, now he steals my lab partner? Ugh.

Brainstorm glowered at the empty room, servos on his hips.

Fine; if Perceptor doesn’t think I’m capable enough to handle this on my own, I’ll just have to show him up.

A smirk returning to his hidden dermas, Brainstorm quickly made his way out of the room and headed for his lab; time to show that stuck-up microscope who was the number one scientist here.

::Scraplet infestation.::

Plating shifted, almost like liquid, careful to keep the circuitry comprising the frequency receiver from deforming. It wouldn’t do to miss a comm.

::...where…:: they commed back in reply, formless tendrils vaguely resembling servos grasping the vent grate beneath them.

::Groundbridge Bay B-6,:: came the answer.

The mental map they’d composed of this Autobot base flickered in their mind, units clambering over each other to add their memory imprints to the visual.

Several different routes formed in their mind, units debating the quickest, and a decision was made in a few nanokliks. Around eighty percent of them agreed this was the fastest route, and those that didn’t conceded to the majority and took up their part in moving along.

It had been so long since the colony called “Makeshift” had been able to assimilate; the last time must’ve been before this assignment, when they were still being sheltered in Outpost Tarn —sixty-seven percent agreed, twenty-two percent felt that consuming sentio metallico counted, ten percent argued that induced assimilation was invalid, and the last one percent was comprised of varying other opinions.

They all agreed that assimilating this new colony was a good thing.

They slithered through the ventilation system, tracing their way to the groundbridge bays, the only static part of their form the communications array protected in their center. 

It was a strange feeling, letting go of a solid form. Their memory confirmed that they had at one point been amorphous —during their colony’s incubation they hadn’t had enough computing power to conceive of changing shape —but for most of what part of their life they remembered, they’d stuck to more concrete forms. It was easier to interact with Cybertronians that way.

A contingent of scouts broke off from the colony and descended into the bay below with barely a whisper. The rest watched through the sight-bearing units, already feeling the loss of a part of their whole. Makeshift could function without all of the colony, but the less units that were assimilated, the less information could be retained and understood. 

Movement near the far side of the room.

Three mechs entered from a doorway, all of them wearing varying expressions of unease.

The colony roiled in worry; the scouts had an information holder with them to keep them on track with their mission, but the temptation of fresh living metal could prove too distracting. There were already some dissenters among the colony who wanted to feast now.

The mechs spread out, one going to the large pod in the center of the room, another crossing the floor to a different doorway, and the last standing near a raised platform with a frown.

None of them carried any containment devices, which meant they hadn’t found the other scraplet colony.

The mechs below busied themselves with items around the room, luckily distracted enough to allow the scout party to return and reintegrate with the colony easily. According to their findings, there were a few different trails leading away from the pod, but a few were more promising than others. They debated, they reached a consensus, and they departed, anticipating the assimilation.

“Okay, so what does this one mean?” Jack pointed to a set of Cybertronian letters Raf had drawn out in his notebook.

“This is ‘hello’,” Raf replied. “Or, a version of it at least.”

He drew it out again, this time bigger.

“The main word is here in the middle, and the contextual elements are around it. So, for instance, if I were saying hello to you, I’d add this—” Raf tacked on some symbols underneath the word, “—to distinguish it as a short term greeting, since we just saw each other yesterday. Then I’d add this on top, which means I’m addressing a peer. Those lines that go through the main word are inflection indicators; basically a written way of showing how the greeting is said.”

“How do you memorize all this stuff?” Jack asked in astonishment. “You started learning, when, this morning?”

Raf adjusted his glasses, a sheepish smile on his face.

“Soundwave and Ratbat are good teachers,” Raf said. “And I guess I have a knack for remembering stuff, too.”

“It is a good combination,” Ravage agreed, sitting beside the couch. “I am impressed by your ability to grasp certain concepts in Cybertronian languages that don’t exist in any human ones. How difficult was it to understand field contextualizers?”

“Not as hard as I thought it would be,” Raf replied, writing out another set of letters. “It’s weird how much sense it makes, since humans don’t have anything similar to fields. Other than, like, internal emotions and stuff.”

“What are fields exactly?” Jack asked, feeling rather lost.

“Cybertronian sparks are comprised of a type of electro-magnetized plasma, which emits an EM field that reacts to changes in the spark,” Ravage explained.

“Kinda like how you can feel some emotions physically,” Raf added. “Like crying when you’re sad, or having a headache when you get stressed. It’s just a more tangible thing for Cybertronians.”

“Whoa,” Jack sat back, running a hand through his hair. “And you guys can feel each other’s fields? That sounds like a huge invasion of privacy. Although, I guess it would make for less miscommunication.”

“We all have moderate control over our fields,” Ravage said. “Some better than others. People with similar sparks can usually sense each other’s fields better, as in the case of my siblings and I, or seeker trines like Thundercracker and his brothers. I don’t believe I’ve ever come across someone who could hide theirs entirely, though.”

“I guess that would be pretty hard,” Jack agreed, “trying to just bottle everything up.”

“Doctor MJ said medics are usually better with their field control,” Raf said. “According to her it’s so patients don’t react badly to surrounding fields.”

“Especially in emergency situations,” Ravage added. “Patients have a tendency to panic far more if they can feel that the person trying to save them is panicking. The head medic onboard the Nemesis, Hook, is notably good at staying calm in situations like that, even if he is a bit abrasive.”

“Mom’s said similar stuff,” Jack said, peering over Raf’s shoulder to see the words he was writing. “It’s part of her job to make sure people are comfortable —or as comfortable as you can be in a hospital.”

“How is your mom doing, by the way?” Raf asked. “My mom’s always asking where I am, but she’s busy with my siblings most of the time. I don’t know how long I can keep her off my back.”

“She’s doing okay,” Jack replied. “She thinks I’m working at an autoshop out of town, and she’s at work most of the day, so no worrying about her wondering where I am. I think she only believes it ‘cause of Thundercracker using that holoform and pretending to be a human.”

“Oh!” Raf’s eyes lit up. “Do you think someone could do that for me? I know Mom’s not super comfortable with me riding on a motorcycle, or hanging out with just teenagers.”

Jack felt a pang of irritation at another adult thinking he was ‘just a kid’, but quickly shut it down. This was Raf’s mom, and being worried about him hanging out with kids his own age would be understandable, let alone hanging around teenagers. Especially given how stupid some of them were —namely Vince.

“Thundercracker will likely be too busy for the next few decacycles to assist, but I’ve pinged Soundwave about it,” Ravage said, blinking his gleaming red eyes. “Someone may be able to provide extra help.”

“I guess you and Ratbat and your siblings don’t have holoforms?” Jack asked.

“Not at the moment, and I don’t think Rafael’s carrier would trust a talking cat anyway,” Ravage replied, a hint of amusement in the way he flicked his ears. “And none of us would trust Rumble and Frenzy to act like adults.”

“Could you not have a human holoform? I mean, you already turn into a motorcycle,” Jack looked at Ravage with a frown.

“Imagine having to relearn how to walk, this time on a different set of limbs, and your body isn’t actually made out of physical material,” Ravage said. “I’d rather not have to learn how to use a holoform for the first time while in a body I don’t feel comfortable in.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense,” Jack rubbed the back of his head; had that been a weird thing to say? He hadn’t wanted to make Ravage uncomfortable, he’d just been curious.

“How come Rumble and Frenzy are humanoid but your other siblings aren’t?” Raf asked, setting the notebook he’d been writing in on the table. “Sorry to interrupt, I’ve just been wondering about that for a while. I haven’t noticed any other Cybertronians with non-humanoid frames.”

“Rumble and Frenzy are the only two of us whose armor is from Soundwave,” Ravage said. “I was sparked on accident during Soundwave’s days as a gladiator in the slums of Kaon. After you’ve sparked, the protoform has to be given sentio metallico, living metal, in order to be able to produce it themselves. Given the situation Soundwave was in, he didn’t have resources to properly provide armor supplement without causing harm to both of us, so he sourced it from one of the offline mechanimals littering the streets. Their CNA is why my frame formed into a mechanimal.”

“‘Offline’?” Jack winced. “Like…dead?”

“Yes,” Ravage watched Jack with sharp eyes. “I understand humans cannot reuse the frames of your deceased, and most mecha would agree, but in Kaon, especially at that time, it was common and often very necessary.”

“N-no, I get it,” Jack shook his head. “I just…it’s sad that they were just…just left there.”

“But that’s why the Decepticons are fighting,” Raf said quietly. “So that never happens again.”

Jack jumped slightly, having almost forgotten Raf was there. 

Maybe I shouldn’t have brought this up around Raf…

“And if you’re reusing their armor,” Raf continued, “it’s kind of like they’re living on through you. And even if Cybertron’s dark, we can still tell their stories, so their memory never dies.”

Jack stared at Raf silently. How old was he? Twelve? He hadn’t even gone through the groundbridge and nearly gotten stuck like Jack and Miko had; had the fight he’d seen Ravage in affect him that much? Or was he just a bizarrely emotionally mature pre-teen?

“I like that way of looking at it, Rafael,” Ravage said, resting his head on Raf’s knee. “I’m sure Soundwave has stories of past mechanimals if you’d be interested in hearing them. Rumble and Frenzy have always been fond of hearing the ones about the Predacons.”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Jack said, looking over at Raf. “Raf?”

“I’d love to!”

Shockwave didn’t miss Cybertron like most other mecha hailing from the planet did. Of course, the loss of the planet and its resources was unfortunate, but there were plenty of cyberformed planets able to sustain life out there in the galaxy. None of them produced sparks the way Cybertron and its orbiting bodies did, but advances in technology were proving that they were well on their way to creating artificial sparks without the need for a hotspot.

That being said, there were some things Shockwave had been fond of; his extensive laboratory, the Academy, the skylines of Iacon. Nothing that couldn’t be replicated once they’d won the war and nothing he couldn’t live without, but they were small comforts he found himself missing.

He did not find himself missing his old post as a senator, however. While the smartest course of action had been to bide his time and wait, the amount of time spent skirting around laws and sifting through documents to find loopholes was incredibly tedious and he was still impressed he managed to stick it out so long. Admittedly, part of that was likely because it wasn’t just his own life on the line if the Senate got too fed up with him, but his students’ as well. Perhaps it was a good thing the war began in earnest right as he had been subjected to empurata; everyone was far too busy trying to not die to worry about the fact that a high profile senator had gone directly against Functionist doctrine and sheltered outliers.

Of course, no one seemed to pay much attention to other senators committing tax evasion, but that was neither here nor there.

Really, all that mattered now was that Shockwave was free of the Senate’s clutches and his students, his outliers, were at least moderately safe, and in an environment where they wouldn’t be shunned for their inherent abilities.

Well, most of them.

Shockwave’s finials twitched and he vented a heavy sigh, offlining his optical sensors for a nanoklik.

It was difficult enough trying to manage Damus and Skids on a regular basis, but after… whatever happened on their last mission, it was downright impossible. For the most part they both ignored each other —save a few passing icy stares from Damus and bristled plating from Skids —but neither of them were as engaged as they usually were. Especially Damus, who had taken to staying locked in his habsuite most cycles. Skids was somewhat better, he did at least socialize, but Shockwave had known him long enough to be able to tell when he was on edge, and if the subtle twitch in the mesh around his right optic was any indication, he was definitely on edge.

They didn’t share kindred sparks, none of his students had budded their armor from his, but Shockwave still felt responsible for them. It was, in a way, his fault they’d ended up in the situation they were in, even if it was most likely the best outcome possible.

He knew he couldn’t fix every single problem for them, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to.

::Shockwave: in emotional turmoil,:: came a sudden ping from Soundwave, the notification bringing him out of his thoughts. ::Inquiry: what happened?::

::I haven’t mentioned the scouting mission, have I?:: Shockwave asked as he began the careful process of ferrying lab equipment to the sanitation baths. ::Skids and Damus have had a falling out. Again.::

::Consolations,:: Soundwave replied, and despite his clinical way of speaking, Shockwave could feel his sincerity. ::Inquiry: they are safe and home?::

Shockwave paused at Soundwave’s use of the word ‘home’, bringing back his earlier train of thought regarding Cybertron. It wasn’t unusual for Soundwave to refer to wherever their current base was as ‘home’, but it did make Shockwave wonder if his students felt the same way. Perhaps he ought to look into that.

::Yes,:: he said, organizing the equipment on the rack before him. ::Skids had his sensory net shut off for a bit, but he recovered quickly. Both have been looked over by Nickel, of course.::

::Causation: Damus?::

Shockwave sighed again, lowering the rack into the chemical solution.

::Yes,:: he finally said, finials lowering again. ::He reacted out of panic, I believe. Skids cut their communications channel without warning. I have yet to get a clear answer out of either of them as to what caused that.::

Soundwave’s side of the connection hummed in sympathy.

::Inquiry: accurate depiction?:: Soundwave sent a familiar image —Rumble and Frenzy sitting on the floor of their habsuite on the Nemesis, backs to each other and arms crossed.

Shockwave didn’t try to suppress the laugh that got out of him, feeling some of the weight on his spark lift.

::Quite.::

Special Agent William Fowler sighed, flipping through the papers in the folder on his desk. The man sitting across from him shared his tired expression, although on him it had a certain regality about it. Well-combed grey hair, aquiline nose, dark button up shirt and an overcoat, it wasn’t immediately obvious that this man was an alien. And it wasn’t all because of the projected disguise —the strange metal aliens from light years away that called themselves Cybertronian had a bizarre resemblance to humans, both in form and mannerisms.

William wasn’t sure if that made them more or less trustworthy.

Of course, William had been working with the Decepticons stationed in the United States for several years now, and while he wouldn’t say he was chummy with the mechs, he trusted that their intentions were good. Moreover, it was because of the Decepticons and their scientific team that the U.S. had had such a phenomenal technological boom in the last decade or so. 

And it helped that the man —or mech —in charge was quite “down to Earth”, so to speak, and not high and mighty like the leader of the Autobots had been described. William wasn’t sure he’d have been able to stay on as head of this assignment if it hadn’t been for Megatron sharing his constant aura of exhaustion and resignation.

Solidarity was good.

“Skywarp’s in recovery, you’ve recovered energon from an Autobot convoy, potentially discovered the location of a major Autobot mine,” William listed off, rereading the papers again. “Seems our luck is turning for the better.”

“Let us hope it isn’t only short term,” Megatron agreed, his avatar somehow managing to look even more tired. “On the topic of the energy —how have the synthesis trials gone?”

“Better than expected,” William replied honestly. “High ups are planning to ship the stuff out to a more remote facility to continue testing, but all predictions are positive currently.”

“Will you need an escort?” Megatron asked. “I doubt the Autobots know of its existence, but for it to fall into the wrong hands…”

“Potential disaster,” William said darkly. “Probably best to leave this to the Military; they fly training often enough the Autobots will likely not think twice about it. I'll keep you on speed-dial just in case, though.”

They fell into silence as William restacked the papers and stuck them back into their folder. The concept of an alien war had nearly sent governments globally into a state of panic, calmed only by the reassurance that the Decepticons wished to keep them out of their affairs, and the Autobots had no true malicious intent towards humanity. If the Autobots got ahold of experimental weapons tech, there was no telling what could happen.

“I am…truly sorry that you and your people had to become involved in our war,” Megatron said softly, breaking the silence. It wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation. “I didn’t expect the Autobots would follow us when we fled.”

“You did what was best for your people,” William said. “Anyone would’ve. Now, we’ve got to do what’s best for our people. Regardless of intention, Mankind is a part of this now.”

The rogue colony wasn’t hard to find once Makeshift had their scent. They weren’t as accustomed to traversing the inner workings of Cybertronian architecture like Makeshift was, and it showed in how clumsy they were. Units had been scattered in the colony’s haste, scrabbling across the lifeless metal, leaving a clear trail behind. These units didn’t resist the assimilation, simply letting themselves be added to the greater number of the Makeshift colony; it was a better fate than either being left behind or consumed.

::...colony…found…:: they signaled as they rounded a bend and slid into an offshoot vent.

The other colony reacted immediately, hissing and sending out winged drones in defense, but they were smaller than Makeshift and didn’t have nearly as much processing capability, so their attacks were sloppy. Their drones were absorbed into the Makeshift swarm; they wouldn’t be able to assimilate them while the colony was still separate and it would be a waste of units to consume them, so they were simply held at bay while Makeshift advanced on the colony.

Makeshift reached forward with arm-shaped appendages, grasping at the other colony. The loss of units stung them as they plunged their pseudo-limb into the colony, but it was a sacrifice they had to make —eleven percent disagreed and four percent didn’t have opinions.

An information holder traveled through the limb as it made contact with the nucleus of the other colony, assimilating the drones that managed to reach them through the swarm. They joined up with a contingent of other information holders and pushed through into the rogue nucleus, spreading tiny tendrils out to grip onto the opponent units. A second pseudo-limb joined the first, and then a third, all piercing through the rogue swarm and presenting the nucleus with offers of assimilation.

Eighty percent of the units comprising the nucleus agreed to assimilate, twelve refused, and eight didn’t have an opinion.

The complicit eighty-eight percent were joined into the whole, the remaining twelve consumed into fuel. It wasn’t as energizing as feasting on living metal, but it combined with the latent energy inside of the former rogue colony would be more than enough for Makeshift to make it back to the relative safety of the habsuite they shared with their informant.

They began to move again, pulling themselves out of the offshoot and into the main system. They mapped out their route quickly, exchanging information with the new units before setting off. A stasis recharge would be good for the colony after this, especially with the addition of more to their number.

The habsuite was not usually occupied during active solar-cycles, but it would be prudent to remain on alert; they couldn’t afford to blow their or their informant’s cover yet.

“And you’ve spent your time doing what exactly, Brainstorm?” Wheeljack asked as the four mechs reconvened in the groundbridge bay.

“Working on my solo projects,” Brainstorm replied lightly, a smile under his mask. “I don’t suppose you were successful in finding the scraplets?”

He turned gleeful optics to Perceptor, who wasn’t even looking at him.

The audacity of this mech—!

“We have not,” Perceptor said, typing something into a datapad. “I am contacting Nightbeat and sending him a file containing all the relevant information. He will be taking over for the time being unless serious aid is required.”

“Nightbeat?” Brainstorm scoffed —mostly to try and get a rise out of Perceptor, Brainstorm actually quite liked Nightbeat —and crossed his arms. “It’s not a mystery that needs solving. I can build—”

“These are orders backed by Prowl,” Perceptor interrupted, turning his piercing gaze to Brainstorm. “You are not to involve yourself at all in the investigation. Any attempt to will likely result in your lab permissions being revoked. As it is, those permissions are already on thin ice. I would not be surprised if Prowl decides you are more of a liability than an asset. I suggest you rein yourself in.”

With that, Perceptor nodded at Wheeljack and left with Ironhide in tow, returning to his datapad.

“Can you believe that mech?!” Brainstorm exclaimed as soon as they were gone, gathering up the last of the scanning equipment they’d taken to the Arctic. “Every word out of his intake just makes me want to —ugh, I don’t know —design a gun that’ll make him shut up.”

Brainstorm paused.

“That’s probably not—” Wheeljack began, but didn’t get to finish as Brainstorm rushed out of the bay, wings shaking in excitement. “This won’t end well.”

“Beastformers are super rare now, but apparently they were all over the place billions of years ago,” Frenzy said, laying on his back on the mezzanine beside Jack. “I think I heard somewhere that they might’ve even had a Prime, but I don’t know where I read that.”

“What is a Prime?” Jack asked, leaning back on the palms of his hands.

“The leader of the Autobots is one, right?” Raf said, sitting a few feet away with his laptop and Ratbat in his lap. “Optimus Prime?”

“A Prime is typically a title given to the mech who carries the Matrix of Leadership, an artifact said to have been created by Primus himself,” Ravage said. “Primus being the most predominantly worshiped deity among the common Cybertronic pantheon.”

“Oh, so the Autobots are a theocracy?” Raf looked up from his screen, absently patting Ratbat’s head.

“Correct,” came the voice of Soundwave. “Cybertron: has historically been ruled by theocracies for most of recorded time.”

“A Prime can also be a title given to someone who is supposedly ‘chosen’ by Primus,” Ravage continued. “The legends of the Thirteen Primes mention them all existing at the same time, with the Matrix only being carried by their leader Prima. The mythos can become quite jumbled at times.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Miko and Breakdown had just entered the room, the former sitting on Breakdown’s shoulder.

“Well, we were talking about Predacons and beastformers,” Rumble said, flopping over on top of Frenzy, much to the other cassette’s dismay. “But then they started talking about Primus and I stopped listening.”

Ravage rolled his eyes and Soundwave hummed a musical laugh.

“Whoa, Predacons sound cool!” Miko climbed down Breakdown’s arm onto the balcony. “Breakdown told me about some of his adventures before the war with the Wreckers.”

Soundwave and Breakdown exchanged a glance Jack couldn’t read; they were probably talking privately over comms.

“Did he tell you about the races on Velocitron?” Frenzy sat up, pushing Rumble off him with a clang.

“No,” Miko bounced over and flopped —albeit slightly more carefully —onto the cluster of cassettes. “What’s that?”

Jack got up and moved away from the three of them, fairly certain they’d either start shouting or fighting soon and he didn’t want to end up in the middle of it.

“Hey, Soundwave?” he called up to the mech. “I had a question, about the whole no-bars-in-the-base thing.”

“Jackson: wishes to be able to contact the Decepticons via cellphone?”

Jack opened his mouth, then closed it, then frowned.

“Uh, yeah,” he said. “After the whole groundbridge incident, I dunno, I guess I thought it might be good to have a failsafe if it ever happens again? I can’t download it into my head like you guys can, but I’m pretty good at keeping my phone on me at all times.”

“Soundwave: has asked Shockwave to look into it,” Soundwave said, visor gleaming. “Alert: Shockwave may need to examine the cellphone himself in order to make the adjustments. Jackson: would have to visit Outpost Tarn.”

“I guess with a groundbridge it wouldn’t take too long to get there, right?” Jack chuckled. “Let me know if he needs me there, I guess.”

“Noted,” Soundwave turned back to the consoles, leaving Jack feeling a bit awkward. Despite his uncanny ability to guess what Jack was feeling, Soundwave didn’t seem the most socially adept, which made Jack actually feel a bit less intimidated by the prospect of speaking to him.

At least social awkwardness isn’t just a human thing, I guess.

The warehouse was dark, the only lights coming from the meager storm lanterns by the work tables and the eerie glow of golden eyes.

“It is impressive you managed to find one,” the voice was strange, oily and rasping at the same time, the edge laced with static. “And what a specimen you found.”

“Can you work with it?” the second voice was undoubtedly human, stern and dark. “It appears to be in decent condition —if a little scratched from whenever it impacted —and the excavation teams mentioned finding parts of what might’ve been a spaceship in the layers nearby.”

“Tell your teams that they’ve done well, my dear Silas,” a hand that wasn’t quite a hand landed on the human’s shoulder. “Our work begins in earnest now.”

Chittering laughter echoed out into the blackness.

Chapter Text

The sizzling sound of frying eggs and the strong smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the small kitchen as Jack and his mother made breakfast.

“I talked to Luisa —Luisa Esquivel?” June said, removing the filter from the coffee machine. “Raf’s mom. She’s not super happy about Raf being on a motorcycle, but she knows how responsible you are and trusts you to keep him safe. We’d both be more comfortable if you both had helmets, though. I don’t suppose Mr. Carmen has an extra few lying around?”

“I’ll have to ask,” Jack said, turning the stove eye off and dividing the eggs up. “I was thinking the same thing, actually. Feels weird for only one of us to be wearing a helmet. Don’t think I’m gonna have any luck trying to convince Miko to wear one, but I’ll try.”

June shook her head in exasperation, pouring her coffee into a thermos.

“That girl worries me,” she said. “But if she’s at the shop most of the time, there’s at least one adult there to try and rein her in.”

“Aw, do I not count as an adult?” Jack joked, turning the faucet on and grabbing the sponge.

“You know what I mean,” June nudged Jack with her elbow. “Oh, while we’re talking about the shop, could you ask Mr. Carmen if he’d want to stop by for dinner sometime? I feel like I didn’t make the best first impression.”

Jack sucked in a breath, disguised his panic by scrubbing at the frying pan more aggressively. What was he supposed to say? If he said no that’d just make his mom suspicious, but saying yes meant Thundercracker would have to pretend to be human again, and Jack was pretty sure holoforms couldn’t eat food.

“I’ll ask him when I get over there,” he said. Stalling for time was his best option. Hopefully someone at the Outpost had a better idea. “You didn’t make a bad impression, though.”

June sighed, already halfway through her eggs.

“I think I said something to make him uncomfortable,” she said. “I just —am I being silly? Maybe I’ve just forgotten what it’s like to meet new people, being in Jasper for so long.”

Jack chuckled, turning the faucet off and drying his hands.

“I don’t like that feeling either,” Jack said, sitting down across from her with his own plate of eggs. “The whole, not knowing where you stand with somebody. But I’ll ask him today, don’t worry.”

“Thank you,” June smiled, reaching over to pat his hand, “for humoring your stressed out mom.”

“Hey, it’s no problem,” Jack replied. “Besides, I’m doing a public service, right? Making sure our nurses aren’t too panicked to work.”

“Oh, hush,” June laughed. “What time are you going to pick Raf up?”

“About half an hour from now, probably,” Jack said. “Why? Are you gonna be home early? Or working late again?”

“Probably working late,” June said with a rueful smile. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way home.”

“Sounds good,” Jack said, standing up with his empty plate and moving back to the sink. “I’ll be pretty busy today too, I think. The uh, the display on the front of the bike —the one that shows the fuel and speed? —it’s been glitching out a bit and that kinda stuff isn’t Mr. Carmen’s forte, so he called in a friend to help. Gonna learn electric engineering.”

“Oh, exciting,” June sipped her coffee as she gathered her bag. “Engineering and Computer Science? I wonder if school will let us count this as an extra extracurricular.”

Jack laughed, stepping away from the sink to give his mom a hug.

“Hey, you never know,” he shrugged. “Drive safe.”

“I will,” June squeezed him. “Make sure you do, too.”

“I’ve got Raf as a passenger, I don’t think he’d let me even get up to the speed limit.”

Jack waved to his mom as she pulled out of the driveway, leaning on the doorframe. All the lying still left a bad taste in his mouth, but keeping it somewhat close to the truth made it better. Besides, saying “Mr. Carmen” had a friend who was good with computers would make it more believable that Raf hung around with them.

Jack sighed, heading back inside to grab his backpack and phone.

William Fowler was no stranger to dangerous situations, and granted, maybe flying a fighter plane while wearing a suit was asking for trouble, but this was the first time he’d ever been shot out of the sky. Luckily he was an experienced pilot and managed to make a safe enough landing, especially given his cargo, but there was no way that hulk of metal was getting off the ground any time soon.

Just what I needed today, he thought, grunting as he tried to extricate himself from the downed plane, eyes turned up to the sky. Didn’t know the bots had helicopters, too. Can’t catch a break with this job, can I?

The helicopter that had shot him down was nowhere in sight, but William wasn’t about to assume it was gone for good. He needed backup, of the mechanical variety.

He quickly grabbed the radio at his side and set it to the correct frequency.

“Special Agent William Fowler to Air Commander Starscream; I’m in a bit of a pickle, here.”

There were a few seconds of nothing but static.

“This is Air Commander Starscream,” answered a familiar rasping voice. “What is the situation, Agent Fowler?”

“Some bot just shot my aircraft down,” William replied, still watching the sky. “The cargo I’m transporting is extremely finicky; if it gets roughed up too much, it’s nuclear meltdown for this state and the four surrounding it. Mind lending a hand?”

“Soundwave is tracing your coordinates now,” Starscream said. “I am assigning a squad of eradicons to provide protection for you while we look for a safer way to transport the cargo.”

“Roger that,” the promise of assistance lifted some of the weight off of William’s shoulders, but the prospect of a possible confrontation with the Autobots didn’t do much for his mood. “Keep me updated, Commander.”

“Over and out.”

William couldn’t help but crack a smile at the response; using a human phrase was probably the most friendly thing Starscream was capable of.

The feeling of desert wind whipping against his face wasn’t the most pleasant feeling in the world, but Jack had had worse. He did regret not bringing sunglasses or something to limit the amount of stuff getting in his eyes, but he wasn’t about to take the helmet from Raf. Both he and Ravage felt more comfortable if it was Raf wearing the helmet when they rode together.

Entering the Outpost still gave Jack a sense of wonder, going from the mundane human world to the high-tech towering world of Cybertronians, the tunnel opening out into the massive missile silo populated with thirty-foot tall mechanical people.

One of the vehicons waved to them as they entered, sitting on a crate with a datapad.

“Hi, Bolts,” Raf called, hopping off of Ravage and handing the helmet to Jack. “Did you and Error get that system rerouted?”

As Raf walked over to the vehicon —evidently named Bolts —Jack walked towards the stairs, quickly ascending them and making his way across the catwalk by the consoles. Soundwave was standing there, unsurprisingly, and distantly Jack wondered if he ever moved.

“We still on for visiting Outpost Tarn?” Jack asked, resting his elbows on the railing.

“Affirmative,” Soundwave replied, his voice a series of cheerful major chords. “Shockwave: will assist in adapting your communication device for Decepticon frequencies.”

“Ok, cool,” Jack gave him a thumbs up. “Is Thundercracker around? I, uh, I kinda need to talk to him about something.”

Was it just Jack’s imagination or did Soundwave’s visor flicker?

“Thundercracker and Starscream: visiting Skywarp at Outpost Tarn,” Soundwave said. “Thundercracker: has been alerted that you wish to speak with him.”

“Thanks,” Jack said. “Where’s Miko, by the way? Is she coming?”

“I believe Miko is staying here with Rumble and Frenzy,” Ravage called up from where he sat near Soundwave’s feet. “They’ve been banned from Shockwave’s laboratories for vorns.”

“Yeah, that tracks,” Jack snorted, thinking of the messes Vince made in Chemistry. 

“Outpost Tarn: ready for your arrival,” Soundwave said, looking up from his console. “Jackson: wishes to leave now?”

“Yeah, the sooner the better,” Jack nodded, walking back to the stairs. “Hey, Raf, are you coming to Tarn with us?”

“Absolutely,” Raf said, crossing the room with Ratbat in his arms. “Ratbat has to dock, though.”

Ratbat gave a small whine but let himself be transferred to Soundwave’s arms without struggling, crawling up his parent’s plating to his chest. Jack diverted his gaze —he wasn’t sure if docking was like breastfeeding for humans, but regardless it sounded pretty intimate and he didn’t feel comfortable watching it. 

“Groundbridge: activating,” Soundwave announced, and the tunnel crackled to life. “Stand by for departure.”

Jack squinted against the bright green light pouring out from the bridge, feeling the static skitter across the back of his neck and make his hair stand on end. He fidgeted with the cuff of one of his sleeves, taking a deep breath before starting forward.

Ravage came up beside him, brushing his metal plating against Jack’s side.

“Thanks,” Jack said quietly, gently resting his hand on Ravage’s back.

“I understand the last time you went through wasn’t the most pleasant,” Ravage murmured. “I am happy to offer my assistance.”

Raf jogged up to them, slotting his hand into Jack’s.

“This’ll be my first time going through a groundbridge,” he said, looking up at Jack. “What is it gonna feel like?”

“Kinda tingly,” Jack replied as they stepped into the swirling vortex. “The lightning-looking stuff doesn’t actually hurt, feels more like when your arm or leg falls asleep.”

“Whoa,” Raf stretched out his other arm, watching the sporadic tendrils latch onto his fingers. “It tickles.”

“Human tactile senses are more sensitive than Cybertronian ones, I suppose,” Ravage commented.

Much like the first time Jack had gone through a groundbridge, time seemed to move weird while in it. It felt like he’d been walking for hours, even though he didn’t feel tired, his memory of the previous conversation seeming far away. The ground beneath him seemed to almost bend under his feet, like it was made out of something plush or rubbery, but it didn’t feel unsteady.

“Weird,” Raf said from beside him, eyes wide behind his glasses.

The sound of his voice was strange inside the tunnel, like the walls just absorbed it into their colorful whorls. Jack lifted his hand from Ravage’s back and reached out, letting the tips of his fingers brush the side of the bridge. A tremor ran up his arm and suddenly the colors seemed brighter, the threads of light that made up the walls almost appearing like pictures, like finding shapes in the clouds. He breathed out, feeling the charge move through him like a wave crashing against the shore of a beach.

It’s so peaceful in here.

And then Jack’s awareness of time snapped back to him and he felt firm solid ground under his feet and the static in the air dissipated, taking the bright colors of the groundbridge with it.

“That was so cool,” Raf whispered, his head turned to look back at where the portal had been.

“Yeah,” Jack agreed, turning around to look at the room they’d arrived in.

If Jack had thought the silo room in Outpost Kaon was big, then Outpost Tarn was massive. The room they stood in was wide and open, the high ceiling supported by crisscrossing metal beams and inset with the distinct geometric neon lights of Cybertronian technology. It looked like it might have once been an aircraft hangar, but now it had been converted into a Cybertronian living space, clear by the inhumanly large tables and consoles.

“Primus, you are tiny,” came a voice from across the hangar; it reminded Jack a bit of the narrators of nature documentaries, soft-spoken, dry, and for some reason vaguely British —weren’t they in Russia now? —like the voice of a librarian or professor in a Disney movie. “I suppose human youths would be smaller than their adult counterparts, but—”

A mech walked out from behind one of the consoles and crossed the room towards them, and it took Jack a moment to realize this was the person who’d been speaking; for someone who sounded like a tired scholar, they really didn’t look it. They were about as tall as Soundwave, maybe a bit taller, with pale mint green plating that was striped with gold and white. Fins, longer even than Knockout’s, stuck out from the sides of the mech’s head, mirroring the fins sprouting from their elbows and back. They didn’t seem quite broad enough to be considered wings, so Jack didn’t think this was another flier, but he couldn’t be sure. The most notable feature of this mech was their face however; they had a visor like Soundwave, but instead of just covering their eyes, it spanned their entire face. And unlike Soundwave, this mech’s visor seemed to be mostly see-through, as Jack could clearly see their face through it,  illuminated by yellow backlighting.

“You’re even smaller than the cassettes,” they said, crouching down.

“Perhaps not as small as Ratbat,” Ravage said, gently flicking Raf with the smooth part of his tail. “Jack, Rafael, this is Shockwave, Outpost Tarn head of staff.”

Shockwave smiled at them, raising his hand in a partial wave.

“Soundwave mentioned you wanted to link your cellphones with Decepticon frequencies to communicate while inside of shielded areas, correct?” Shockwave asked. “I believe I should be able to do that. If it wouldn’t make either of you uncomfortable, I would like to carry you to my lab. It’ll make the trip quicker and have less chance of anyone getting stepped on.”

“Sounds good to me,” Raf said, stepping forward.

Shockwave lowered his hand to the ground, allowing Jack and Raf to climb on.

“You may wish to hold on to my digits, rising may be unsteady,” Shockwave warned, giving them time to grab onto his metal fingers before he stood up. “Soundwave also mentioned you wished to speak with Thundercracker, Jack, so I will comm him and let him know you’ve arrived.”

“Thanks,” Jack said, settling down against the bend of Shockwave’s index and middle fingers. “How’s Skywarp doing, by the way?”

“As well as can be,” Shockwave replied, a sigh blowing out from the vents on his shoulders. “He was kept in an isolation unit and his sensory network hasn’t yet fully recuperated, but he is recovering. Of course, recovery would go quicker if he wasn’t so restless, but after such an experience I can’t blame him. And it’s not like dealing with hyperactive mecha is unusual for any of us here—”

As if on cue, they heard shouting from down one of the hallways splitting off from the hangar.

“I’m not hooking slag onto my bumper.”

“Do you even have a bumper to hook slag onto?”

There was a metallic clamor.

“Oi, not the wings—!”

“You set yourself up for that one, Skids.”

Three mechs rounded the corner. The largest was also the bulkiest, with black plating and an orange visor over his eyes, and he was walking a few steps in front of the other two, one of whom had the other in a headlock.

“Morning, Professor,” the black mech said to Shockwave, waving and smiling sheepishly.

“Good morning, Trailbreaker,” Shockwave replied.

Upon hearing that Shockwave was there the other two quickly broke out of their wrestling match and the shorter of the two —grey and red-orange —tried to run forward, but somehow got their leg caught on the other’s and they both crashed to the ground with a loud clang.

“We’re still magnetized, you idiot,” the other said, sitting up. His plating was blue with red trim, and even though he looked like he had a car alt-mode, he also had wings on his back, albeit considerably smaller than Thundercracker’s.

“Give me a klik and I’d have remembered,” the grey one reached over to where their legs were stuck together and did something that caused them to release.

“Yeah, after you sent us both to the floor.”

“I’ll magnetize your wings again, Skids—”

“I take it back, I take it back—”

Shockwave made a loud static-buzzing noise, interrupting their argument.

“Please don’t preemptively injure yourselves,” he said, and despite the tired tone of voice, Jack could tell he was smiling. “I don’t imagine driving across a country with sore joints would be pleasant.”

“We’re fine,” said the mech Jack was pretty sure was called Skids, helping his friend up. “Hey, what’s with—”

His yellow eyes fell on Jack and Raf sitting in Shockwave’s palm, the wings on his back —which Jack just realized were actually the doors of his alt-mode —hiking up in surprise.

“What’re humans doing here?”

“Shockwave is going to see about connecting them to our communications system,” Ravage said, weaving between Shockwave’s legs much like a housecat with their owner.

“Can’t resist picking up more strays, can you, Prof?” the grey mech asked with a grin.

“Soundwave sent them over from Outpost Kaon,” Shockwave replied, rolling his eyes. “Jack, Rafael, allow me to introduce you to three of my students; Trailbreaker—”

The bulky mech gave them a friendly smile.

“—Windcharger—”

The grey and red mech waved.

“—and Skids.”

Skids grinned, leaning down slightly.

“Welcome to Outpost Tarn,” he said brightly. “I’d shake your servos, but I think you’re a bit too small.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Raf stood up and walked towards the edge of Shockwave’s hand. “I’m Raf and this is Jack. Shockwave said you’re his students? Does that mean you’re all scientists too?”

“Eh, sort of,” Skids looked over at Windcharger, who shrugged. “We were a part of the academy he ran before the war.”

“Which was actually a front,” Windcharger interrupted. “We didn’t learn that until it was too late. He’d already got us.”

“Yes, I’d trapped you in a diabolical prison of self-acceptance and support,” Shockwave said dryly. “The worst of my crimes against the Senate.”

“Is it funny or sad that the Senate actually did consider that a crime?” Trailbreaker said, and evidently the answer was “funny” because both Windcharger and Skids laughed.

“What did the Senate consider a crime?” Jack asked, looking back and forth between the mechs.

“I will explain in a moment, but first—” Shockwave said, “—unless I am mistaken, you three do have a mission, and it would be best not to keep Agent Fowler waiting. Amp has already pinged me asking why you all haven’t bridged out.”

“Right,” Skids’s doorwings twitched. “Just us, right?”

Shockwave fixed him with a look Jack couldn’t read.

“Yes,” he said slowly, narrowing his eyes. “However when you return, once Nickel has made sure you are still functional, I have something I wish to discuss with you.”

Skids looked very much like a child being told that their parent was “not mad, just disappointed”, while Trailbreaker and Windcharger looked on with intrigue and concern.

“We’ll bring him back in one piece, Prof,” Trailbreaker promised, clapping Skids on the shoulder.

“Hey, since the drive’ll be a while, why don’t you entertain us with whatever it is you did, Skids?” Windcharger added, following along behind them as they walked back in the direction of the hangar.

“I’m not telling either of you slag,” Skids’s voice slowly faded out as they walked away.

“I apologize if their enthusiasm startled you,” Shockwave said as he continued down the hallway, doing a remarkable job of keeping his hand steady so as to not knock Jack and Raf off-balance. “All three of them are quite sociable.”

“They seemed nice,” Raf said, sitting back down.

“Far too loud for my tastes,” Ravage said. “Trailbreaker not as much, I suppose, but the other two…”

Ravage trailed off with a low hiss and Shockwave laughed goodnaturedly.

“The only time Windcharger isn’t bouncing off the walls is when he’s in recharge,” Shockwave agreed.

“So,” Jack started, running his hands through his hair. “What was that thing Windcharger mentioned? About the Senate?”

“Ah, yes, the Senate,” Shockwave’s voice was thick with distaste. “I went behind their backs to shelter mecha called ‘outliers’ at my academy. Given that the majority of the Senate was staunchly Functionist, they wouldn’t have approved.”

“Thundercracker mentioned something about a caste system,” Raf said, “and I think I heard Miko talking to Breakdown about Functionism. What exactly is it?”

Shockwave sighed, pushing open a Cybertronian-sized door with his free hand.

“An ideology common back on Cybertron,” he said, crossing the room they’d entered and lowering his hand to a desk. “Here; you may disembark now.”

Jack and Raf hopped off of the metal hand and onto the desk, where they were quickly joined by Ravage, who’d climbed up using a stool and some crates.

“According to Functionist doctrine, your alt-mode determines your life path,” Shockwave continued, crouching down. “Jack, if you wouldn’t mind showing me the cellphone?”

“Oh, right,” Jack reached into his pocket and pulled the phone out. “Uh, are you sure you’ll be able to work on it? It’s…pretty small compared to you.”

“No need to worry,” Shockwave assured him, before there was a flicker of light on the desk before them and a human materialized in front of them. “I will utilize my holoform.”

“Whoa,” Raf said, pushing his glasses up. “That’s incredible.”

“An impressive feat of technology, I agree,” said Shockwave, though this time his voice came from both the mech and the human projection. “Sources are mixed about when exactly it was developed, but general consensus among the scientific community is that it was a gift from a more technologically advanced race.”

“More advanced than you guys? Wow,” Jack took a step closer to the holoform. He’d seen Thundercracker’s before, but he’d never seen it activate or deactivate. It was a bit jarring.

The holoform smiled; warm brown eyes stared back at him from the face of someone probably about his mom’s age, with dark skin and dyed locs the same color as Shockwave’s plating.

“Old as we are, we aren’t the first species to achieve space flight,” Shockwave said, taking the offered cellphone. “But on the topic of Functionism —while yes, generally speaking most mecha did do well in what their alt-mode assigned classes were, some did not and others had abilities that were completely unrelated to their alt-modes.”

“Guess that kinda threw a wrench in the Senate’s beliefs,” Jack said, watching as Shockwave moved both his actual body and the holoform independently —the mech retrieving what might’ve been a very small set of tools while the holoform flipped open Jack’s phone and peered at it curiously.

“The Senate was also not particularly fond of mechanimals,” Ravage growled quietly, resting his head on the ground beside Raf.

“They were infuriatingly close-minded,” Shockwave agreed. “But like I said, on occasion mechs were sparked that had abilities unrelated to their alt-modes, and the Senate hated that. Thundercracker and Skywarp got lucky —their outlier abilities were at least somewhat useful with their alt-modes —but mechs like Trailbreaker, a truck who can produce stasis forcefields, had a harder time staying on the Senate’s good side. I opened my academy for a few reasons, but providing a shelter for outliers was one of the main ones. And I did it right under the Senate’s receptors.”

“Would you have been arrested if they’d found out?” Raf asked, wandering over to where Shockwave was working and pulling out his laptop. “I guess they’d shut down your school, too.”

Shockwave stared long and hard at Raf with his electronic eyes, while his holoform merely paused in his perusal of the phone. There was a strange sense of deep melancholy emanating from the illuminated edges of his features, the metal face behind the visor somehow soft enough for his brow to crease, the glowing light of his eyes dimming slightly.

“Yes,” Shockwave replied finally, his voice tinged with more static than before. “And I was. Although it wasn’t long after that that the war began in earnest and I was rescued, so their attempt at punishment wasn’t very effective.”

Although he ended lightly, his smile seemed a tad strained, and Jack could sense he was uncomfortable. Thankfully, it seemed Raf could also sense this, because he changed the topic.

“So, do Windcharger and Skids have abilities too?”

Jack could almost feel Shockwave’s sigh of relief.

“Lovely parking job, Agent,” Skids said, servos on his hips. 

“I’d like to see one of you cons try and fly one of these,” Agent Fowler replied, scowling at the crashed aircraft. “Now, are you hunks of metal going to help me load this cargo or what?”

Windcharger helped remove the…whatever it was, given that he had the smallest hands of the three mechs as well as his self-proclaimed “magic arms”, while Skids helped Trailbreaker hook the trailer to his alt-mode.

“I’ll never get used to having stuff like this attached to me,” Trailbreaker grumbled.

“Well, hopefully next time we have to haul something it won’t be nearly as tedious and we can have Breakdown do it or something,” Skids said, patting Trailbreaker’s canopy.

“Yeah, don’t worry too much, Teebs,” Windcharger said, setting the metal crate inside the trailer. “We’ll keep you distracted; Skids still hasn’t told us what he did to piss off Shockwave.”

“It’s none of your slagging business,” Skids smacked the back of Windcharger’s helm lightly. “I don’t even know what I did.”

“Why’d you freeze up like that then?” Trailbreaker said teasingly. “Unless you’ve got something to hide.”

“Oh, yeah,” Skids said, “let’s see you do better when Shockwave gives you The Look.”

“What in Uncle Sam’s beard are the three of you talking about?” Fowler emerged from the trailer, having secured the crate with cords. “We need to get on the road, pronto.”

Skids and Windcharger both transformed, the former opening his driver’s side door to allow Fowler to climb inside. It was… weird having someone ride inside of his alt-mode, but the kibble that made up the inside of his cab wasn’t particularly sensitive, so it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just…weird. Skids wasn’t a cargo-class mecha and his frame wasn’t big enough to carry other mecha, even minibots, so he wasn’t used to having actual people inside his cab.

“Strap in, Agent, might be a bit bumpy before we get back to the road,” Skids warned.

“Keep your eyes open,” Fowler warned, leaning towards Skids’s window. “Who knows when those bots’ll show back up.”

“Don’t worry, Agent,” Windcharger’s voice came over the comms, rerouted through Skids’s internal radio. “We’ve got it under control.”

The shriek of metal on metal was painful, even from behind the thick glass window of the observational balcony. The creature in the room below struggled against its bonds, emitting electronic screeches as it tried to free its arms. It was massive, as big as a fighter jet with what might’ve been the remains of wings to match, and a body that —although made out of metal —was surprisingly humanoid.

Silas had always thought that if aliens were to visit Earth the likelihood of them looking even remotely like humans was next to zero, and yet the first extraterrestrial species they encountered was nearly identical. Convergent evolution, perhaps? Was the human shape simply ideal for technologically advanced races? Or had humans and these robotic titans been engineered by a greater, even more advanced third party?

The door to his left slid open smoothly, despite the fact that it was several inches thick and made of titanium.

“Quite an excitable specimen,” the thing that entered the room was grotesque, humanoid only in the most generous sense of the word; bipedal, a torso that widened at the chest, a head set on a short neck above shoulders. It was a bastardization of nature, with extra limbs sprouting from its back, its body comprised of some horrible mix of exoskeleton and metal armor, covered in dark coarse hairs. “They burn out sedatives very quickly.”

“But you can sedate it?” Silas said, steeling himself as he turned to face the abomination beside him.

Yellow light gleamed from the multiple optics on the thing’s head and from behind the glass band replacing the thing’s eyes.

“Oh, my dear Silas, you have so little faith in me,” its many mandibles clicked together as it cackled at him. “Of course I can. The newest iteration of the chemical is being injected now —see? They’ve already gotten quieter.”

Silas looked back down at the restrained creature. It wasn’t screaming or struggling anymore, but the lights in its eyes indicated it was still awake.

“And how long will it take you to extract the…”

“CNA?” the static oily voice finished for him, humid air blowing over Silas’s neck as the thing took rattling breaths. “It shouldn’t take long. I do wish to run more experiments on this test subject, but their presence will not be required for the latter parts of our project. Perhaps a decacycle at most —slightly more than a week, for you humans. I will need to harvest their sentio metallico as well, and I don’t imagine they will last long after that, not without fuel.”

“It can’t consume the fuel you use?” Silas turned slightly, shoving the disgust he felt down so it didn’t show on his face.

“The synthesized fuel I consume is tailored specifically to my frame,” it gestured to its hideous body, shifting its mandibles in a way that Silas assumed was an attempt at a smile. “The organic components of my body have different requirements than most Cybertronians. I doubt our subject could properly process any of it.”

“What about nuclear energy?”

“Would it be able to power a Cybertronian?” it looked out over the restrained creature. “I do believe so. They’ll have to be kept in a low power stasis, but it would give us more time to work with. Do you require more time to… acquire our asset?”

“‘Our’?” a muscle ticked in Silas’s jaw.

“Yes,” its voice remained cheery, but its segments puffed up, the limbs on its back curling forward threateningly. “Our asset, Silas. You provide the human factor, I provide the Cybertronian. I would’ve thought that concept would be easy for a human to accept —do organics like you not require two participants to reproduce? Sharing this should be natural for you.”

Silas grimaced, unable to suppress the urge to step away from the thing. As if this creature knew what “natural” was, this horrifying amalgamation of alien and familiar, metal and organic. 

“Well, I look forward to being introduced to your asset, then,” it chittered a laugh, ducking out of the room and leaving Silas alone.

It wasn't too long before Thundercracker entered the lab and reminded Jack of just how big the mechs could get. His head didn't reach the ceiling, but he had to flatten his wings back so they didn't get caught on the beams above, and he stood far taller than Shockwave's tables. He made a similar static-buzz sound to the one Shockwave had made earlier, and Jack wondered if that was the Cybertronian equivalent of clearing your throat.

“Jack?” he asked, crossing the room. “You wanted to talk to me?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jack stood up from where he'd been sitting —on the edge of a short stack of datapads —and walked over to the end of the desk. “In private? If that's cool, that is.”

“Of course,” Thundercracker paused, before lowering his hand, palm side up. “Are you comfortable with being carried? I don’t want to overstep any boundaries—”

“No, it’s okay,” Jack interrupted, carefully moving from the desk to Thundercracker’s hand, all too aware of how far the drop was if he fell. “Soundwave said you were visiting Skywarp?”

“Yes,” Thundercracker lifted his hand up again, seeming almost overly conscious of Jack being in his palm. “It’s not the first time one of us has had a bad injury, but it is the first time it’s happened while on Earth. It’s stressful, all of us being in separate places.”

He fell silent as they exited Shockwave’s lab, his face pensive.

“I’m sorry; I’m sure you didn’t want to listen to my problems,” Thundercracker said. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”

“Hey, it’s okay to vent to me,” Jack told him, leaning back and sort of awkwardly patting his thumb. “I don’t know how much I’d understand, since I’m human, but I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”

It could’ve been Jack’s imagination, but it seemed like Thundercracker relaxed a bit after that.

“...Thank you, Jack,” he said. “I…I appreciate that offer. But what was it you wanted to ask?”

“Oh, yeah, right,” Jack rubbed the back of his neck, sighing. “It’s about my mom.”

“What about her?” Thundercracker’s metal brows furrowed. “Is she sick? Is—”

“She thinks she made a bad impression on you,” Jack said quickly. “O-on your holoform, I mean. She asked me to invite you to dinner, but I don’t think holoforms can eat, and—”

Jack cut himself off, every word making him wish more and more that this conversation never had to happen. Why did his explanation make it sound like his mom was trying to ask Thundercracker out?

…Wait, was she?

That led to a whole slew of other problems, not the least of which was because Thundercracker wasn’t a human.

“I…have you discussed this with Soundwave?” Thundercracker asked, doing a poor job of concealing his discomfort with the topic. “No, I don’t think holoforms can consume human food, and more importantly, I barely got through two breems talking to June, I don’t think I could make it —how long does ‘dinner’ usually last?”

“An hour or more if you’ve got company,” Jack shared Thundercracker’s grimace. “Would it be easier if it wasn’t just one on one? I figured I’d be there, to redirect some of her attention—”

Jack sighed, fidgeting with his sleeve.

“I hate asking you to do this after you’ve all done so much for me and Raf and Miko already,” he said, frowning at his hands.

“I do want to help, Jack,” Thundercracker raised his hand so that Jack was more or less on eye level with him. “I’m not all that familiar with human culture, but if June can be swayed away from anything fuel —sorry, food —related, I think Soundwave can give me a decent enough crash course to pass.”

“Are you sure?” Jack tried to maintain eye contact, but it was difficult when the other person had glowing red eyes that were probably the size of your entire head.

“It’s the least I can do,” Thundercracker said. “And if anything goes wrong, I’m sure Miko can barge in and interrupt any awkwardness.”

Jack laughed, the dread that had been accumulating over the last few hours seeming to lift slightly. Thundercracker smiled, and Jack was struck again with how weirdly similar the Cybertronians were to humans. Visually, at least —why wasn’t the metal on their faces stiff like the rest of their plating?

Before Jack could articulate that question, however, they were joined by a third party.

“Why are you holding one of the human children, Thundercracker?” it was Starscream, Thundercracker’s brother.

“This is Jack,” Thundercracker replied. “He had something to discuss with me in private.”

“Why is he here?” Starscream narrowed his eyes, and Jack shrunk back at his terse tone. “I'm sure you're more than aware of the rules in Nickel's Medbay.”

“I wasn't planning to take him to the Medbay, Starscream,” Thundercracker said, pulling his hand in closer to his torso. “Like I said, he had something he wanted to talk to me about.”

“And what could a human child possibly have to discuss with you?” Starscream scoffed.

Starscream was really living up to the “haughty aristocrat” energy he'd given off when Jack had first seen him. 

“You know, the ‘human child’ is right here,” Jack said, crossing his arms.

Starscream glanced down at him, scowling.

“Jack, do you think you can make it to the lab on your own?” Thundercracker asked, crouching down and lowering his hand. “I need to talk to Starscream."

Thundercracker looked back at Starscream with a frown.

“Yeah, I'll be fine,” Jack hopped off onto the ground. “I'll ask my mom about the —you know.”

“Once Shockwave has patched you into our comm network you can let me know,” Thundercracker said.

Jack nodded, waving farewell to him and ignoring Starscream's irate expression.

What was that guy's problem? Jack thought the Decepticons were the people that didn’t dislike humans. Maybe not everyone was as open to meeting new species as the mechs at Outpost Kaon? Shockwave and his students had seemed nice though, and so had those winged vehicons Raf had somehow acquired snow from the other day. Maybe it was just because Jack was a kid.

Jack scoffed to himself, rolling his eyes. He’d had enough human adults treat him like a child, did the alien adults have to be that way too? He hadn’t even done anything to make Starscream assume he was just a kid, aside from going through the groundbridge, but Thundercracker seemed to understand that Jack had only gone through out of concern and necessity, not impulsivity.

Jack scuffed the toe of his sneaker on the concrete floor, shoving his hands into his pockets. Being treated like a kid was one of the things he hated most. He wondered if working in retail made it worse or if it was because Jasper was such a small town and everyone knew who he was.

Everyone except for Sierra, apparently.

That sting still hadn’t gone away.

It was ridiculous; they’d gone to school together for years, even hung out at some of the same events, how could she not know who he was? Sure, he wasn’t all charming and popular like Vince —God knew how Vince was considered “charming” —but he wasn’t a wallflower, was he? He worked at K. O. Burger, had steadily good grades, was pretty much everyone in the neighborhood’s go-to mow-the-lawn guy in the summer; how could Sierra not know who he was?

Jack was too busy muttering to himself to realize that one, he’d managed to walk past the hallway leading to Shockwave’s lab, and two, there was a mech in front of him. In fact, he didn’t see the mech until he’d run face-first into solid metal and had to stumble backwards. Rubbing at his bruised nose, Jack looked up at whoever it was he’d run into, assuming it would be Shockwave or a vehicon.

It was not.

He was greeted by a towering mass of black plating, with tank treads for shoulders and what looked like a two barreled cannon attached to one arm. They weren’t as tall as Thundercracker, but the breadth of their shoulders combined with the fact that that cannon was probably as big around as Jack’s entire body was enough to suck the air out of  Jack’s lungs.

Jack backed up quickly, knowing that even accidentally they could step on him and crush him instantly, but before he was a comfortable distance away they turned their head to look at him. They had the same yellow eyes as Shockwave and his students had —except for Trailbreaker, Jack couldn’t see his eyes under the visor —but combined with their frame and the stern look on their face, the electronic glow was terrifying.

They both stared at each other in silence for several seconds, before the mech spoke.

“What are you doing here?”

There was something about their voice —maybe it was the emotionless tone, the low pitch, the fact that Jack could almost feel it rattle his bones —that made the hair on Jack’s neck stand up and his heart rate spike violently. He tried to form words to answer but his mouth was suddenly dry and his lungs didn’t seem to want to exhale.

Oh God, a panic attack? Right here?

Jack sank to the floor, wrapping his arms around his knees and trying to take deep breaths. Heavy emphasis on trying, because his heart felt like it was trying to jump out of his chest and he couldn’t manage anything better than a shallow wheeze.

“Are you —are you alright?” the mech’s voice was closer, and Jack could hear the scrape of metal as they bent down.

Jack felt something like a hot knife plunged into his chest and his limbs started to feel tingly, as if they’d all fallen asleep at the same time.

Is this what it feels like to stay in the groundbridge for too long? Jack wondered to himself, remembering his explanation to Raf. How ironic.

“I’m going to pick you up,” came the mech’s voice before dark metal surrounded Jack and he was lifted off of the ground.

It was weird how the Cybertronians didn’t feel cold to the touch like most mechanical things. Jack had noticed that Ravage’s breaths —vents, he mentally corrected himself —were always quite warm, almost hot, which made Jack wonder if Cybertronians had to run hot to burn their fuel.

Jack was halfway through his next set of breathing exercises when another wave of panic-adrenaline hit him and he curled in on himself even tighter.

“Shockwave,” the mech’s voice was quiet, but there was a definite edge of urgency to their voice.

“Damus? What are you—” that was Shockwave’s voice, followed by the sounds of heavy metal footsteps. “What happened?”

“I —they ran into me in the hall,” the mech —Damus —explained, “I don’t know what’s wrong with them.”

Damus’s voice had gone very quiet at the end, barely above a whisper.

“Professor, please,” Damus said, “I don’t want to touch them any longer than I have to.”

Jack would have been offended if he wasn’t busy trying to make sure his heart didn’t explode. He could feel himself being passed from one pair of large metal hands to another, and somehow the movement seemed to provide Jack with an anchor that allowed him to finally catch his breath.

“Jack?” Shockwave’s voice came from somewhere above him. “Jack, can you hear me?”

“Y-yeah,” Jack managed to croak out weakly.

He slowly uncurled, counting his breaths as he did. His heart rate seemed to have gone down, and although Jack could still tell it was higher than normal, it wasn’t pounding in his ears like it had been.

“Yeah,” Jack said again, putting a hand on one of Shockwave’s fingers and gripping it tightly.

“I’m going to set you on the desk beside Rafael, is that okay?” Shockwave asked.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Jack replied, his throat feeling painfully dry. “Do you have any water?”

“I brought a few bottles in my backpack,” Raf said as Jack was placed next to him. “I’ll get them for you.”

“Thanks, Raf,” Jack said. “And thanks Shockwave. What—”

He looked around, noticing that the other mech —Damus —was nowhere to be seen.

“Where did…”

“He left pretty much as soon as he handed you to Shockwave,” Raf said, holding a plastic water bottle out to him. “He seems…”

“Rude,” Jack interrupted, twisting off the cap of the bottle and taking a long drink. “Like Starscream. Can’t seem to handle humans existing.”

“I mean, it would be—”

“What makes you think that?” Shockwave said, peering down at Jack with a frown.

“What?” Jack blinked.

“I don’t know what Starsceam has said to or about you, but I can assure you Damus holds nothing against humans,” Shockwave said.

Jack wilted a bit under Shockwave’s gaze; he had just insulted one of the mech’s students, but hadn’t Shockwave heard what Damus had said?

“Seemed like he couldn’t wait to be rid of me,” Jack muttered, taking another long drink from the bottle.

“Ah,” understanding dawned on Shockwave’s face. “Because he didn’t want to touch you. I can see how that might be misconstrued. Damus goes out of his way to avoid touching other mecha due to his—”

Shockwave paused, sighing.

“Due to his ability,” he said. “Arguably the most controversial of all the outliers I took in at the Academy. He possesses some form of acute electro-magnetic manipulation, on a far greater level than just his EM field. It manifested first as machinery malfunctioning when he came into direct contact with it, and yes, that includes other mecha.”

Movement in Jack’s peripheral vision made him turn to see Shockwave’s holoform sitting on the desk only a few feet away, Jack’s phone and some kind of tool in his hands.

“The potential danger of his ability made the Senate nervous,” Shockwave continued, his actual body typing away at a computer. “And subsequently, made my other students nervous as well. What I mean to say is, he has been conditioned since being Forged to believe he is inferior to other mecha and a danger to them. I have tried my best to quash that belief, but healing takes time, especially from trauma like his.”

Jack looked at the bottle in his hands, feeling guilty. His mom taught him never to judge a person too quickly, but what had he just done? And who was he to say the same thing about Starscream? Jack had no idea what horrible things he’d been through, and if Thundercracker was any indication, the stress over his brother almost dying would have been bad enough. The Decepticons had been through thousands of years of war and death, and what had Jack been through, sixteen years of boring human life?

“Is it…is it involuntary?” Raf asked, frowning.

“Not entirely, no,” Shockwave said. “To truly utilize it he has to concentrate, but it can and has happened on accident.”

“That’s so sad,” Raf said, handing Jack a second water bottle.

Jack just nodded, silently opening the bottle.

No wonder Damus had run off, then. In all likelihood his touch wouldn’t affect Jack because he wasn’t mechanical, but if he’d been told his whole life that his touch only broke things then his desire to stop touching Jack as quickly as possible made perfect sense.

I should thank him for bringing me to Shockwave’s lab, Jack thought, but the prospect of approaching Damus filled him with anxiety all over again. Maybe when Shockwave gave him his phone back he could text him or something.

Fowler was a pretty alright guy, Skids had decided. A bit serious, but who wasn’t when stressed? Besides, he liked listening to music and had pretty good taste in Skids’s opinion. The only problem was—

“Move it, Gramps!” Fowler glared ahead at the old truck in front of them, aggressively honking the horn.

“Oi, that is still a part of me,” Skids protested. “Besides, we’re not on a huge time crunch, are we?”

“If the Dingus explodes, it’s not just me that’ll get irradiated,” Fowler replied, but eased off on the horn-blowing.

Skids paused.

“The…the what?”

Fowler sighed.

“Dynamic Nuclear Generation System, a. k. a., Dingus,” he explained. “There’s not a lot of humor in this line of work, so I take what I can get.”

“You should visit Outpost Tarn,” Windcharger said. “There’s plenty of humor to be found there!”

“Aerial patrol says they’ve got optics on a ‘copter,” Trailbreaker warned. “It doesn’t match any Cybertronian signatures, though. Patrol says it’s dark green; ring any bells, Agent?”

“So you’re saying the guy that shot me down wasn’t a bot?” Fowler frowned.

“It’s possible that they could be concealing their signature,” Skids said, sharing Fowler’s relief when they finally managed to pass the old truck.

“We’ve got more company,” Windcharger said, pinging Skids a visual of several dark colored vans behind them. “I got close enough to see they’re armed.”

“Armed mechs?” Fowler asked.

“Armed humans,” Windcharger said. “Looks like rifles from what I can see, but they’ve probably got people in the backs of those cargo-classes too.”

“Great, just great,” Fowler muttered. “First Autobots, now humans?”

“Do not engage,” Skids ordered, ignoring the part of his processor that told him he sounded just like Damus. 

“If they shoot us, I’m shooting back,” Windcharger replied.

“Keep them off my tailpipe, would you?” Trailbreaker added.

“Fine; don’t engage unless provoked,” Skids amended. “Aerial patrol’s still in position, they’ll give us backup if there’s a shootout, but if this goes bad we’re gonna need somewhere to stash the Dingus.”

“We really can’t just groundbridge it?” Windcharger asked. 

“Shockwave said it’d be too risky,” Skids said. “No way of know how the thing’d react to it.”

“There’s a railway that runs parallel to this road,” Fowler said. “If we can make it to the tunnel it runs through just as the train gets there, we can transfer the Dingus to a railcar and maybe throw off our pursuers.”

“Good plan, I—” Skids was cut off by the sound of sharp gunfire. “Slag, they’re shooting.”

“On defensive,” Windcharger said, and the familiar sound of a plasma blaster entered the cacophony. “There’s five of the carriers and aerial patrol says there’s only one ‘copter.”

“Keep your shield up and pass me, Trailbreaker,” Skids said. “You just concentrate on getting the Dingus to safety —I’ve pinged you the rendezvous coordinates.”

“Got it, Skids,” Trailbreaker replied, speeding up.

Skids slowed down to let him by, transforming out two of the blasters he could access in alt-mode and taking aim.

“Oh, ah—” Skids hesitated. “These are your people, Agent; permission to use deadly force?”

“Permission granted, soldier,” Fowler replied, messing with his handheld communicator.

“Let’s teach ‘em not to mess with Decepticons!” Windcharger hung back and bashed one of the vans in the side, leaving a sizable dent in the vehicle.

“Hang on, Agent,” Skids warned, “if it was bumpy before, it’ll be solar-wind turbulence now.”

“Jack,” Shockwave’s holoform gently nudged Jack’s shoulder. “I believe I’ve connected your phone to our system, but it would be best if you tested it to make sure. I didn’t feel comfortable testing it myself —I don’t know how humans are with their communications devices, but a Cybertronian’s contact files are a very private matter.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Jack took the phone and flipped it open. “What should I look for?”

“I believe it should read Cybertronian contact access codes as phone numbers,” Shockwave said. “I can give you my code to test.”

“I’ll help,” Raf said, scooting over. “I know which numbers and letters in Cybertronian correlate to which in the English alphabet.”

“Soundwave mentioned you had been learning Neocybex,” Shockwave said, looking at Raf. “An impressive feat, I must say.”

Raf adjusted his glasses, a small smile on his face.

“Thanks,” he said. “Okay, so what’s the code?”

With the help of Raf, Jack managed to input the code Shockwave gave him —he had to pick an option that changed the regular phone number to one that would allow him to put in more numbers —and add Shockwave to his contacts list. He did think it would be a bit suspect if the name displayed was “Shockwave” though, so he changed it to read “Professor S”. That was more believable.

[ :) ] - Professor S

“Seems like it works,” Jack laughed.

[ :) ] - You

“I find all these expression glyphs very amusing,” Shockwave said, proceeding to send Jack several more happy faces.

“I guess Cybertronians don’t have those in comms?” Raf asked.

“No, since we have words that convey the same meaning,” Shockwave replied. “Essentially, those words are the equivalent of a change in EM field frequency, which you can’t feel over long distances. Unless you’re bonded.”

“Like Thundercracker and his brothers?” Jack looked up from his phone. “They’ve got like, linked sparks or something, right?”

“Yeah, I think Ravage mentioned something like that,” Raf said. “They’re more attuned to each other’s sparks since they’re a trine.”

“You are correct,” Shockwave said, his holoform approaching Raf. “I assume you also wish to be patched into our communications network?”

“Oh, yes, please,” Raf pulled out his phone and handed it over to Shockwave. “Thank you.”

“You are very welcome,” Shockwave smiled as he took the phone, returning to his slightly haphazard work area.

Jack looked down at his phone, scrolling through the few names in his contacts. Shockwave had said comm access between Cybertronians was a pretty private thing, so would it be inappropriate to ask him for Damus’s code? Jack really didn’t want to have to ask Damus himself; he didn’t even know where to find the guy let alone how to politely ask. Moreover, talking to Damus directly would defeat the entire purpose of getting his communications code.

“Shockwave?” Jack decided it was best to just ask and get it over with.

“Yes?”

“Is it okay to ask you for another mech’s comm code?” Jack asked. “Or is that rude?”

“I suppose it depends on whose code you—” Shockwave paused, the glowing eyes of his mechanical body widening. “Oh. You need Thundercracker’s code, don’t you?”

“Y-yeah,” Jack said, wondering if he should just pretend that was what he had been asking about the whole time. No, he needed to bite the bullet and ask. “What about —what about Damus’s? I-I wanted to thank him for carrying me earlier.”

To his credit, Shockwave didn’t seem terribly thrown off by the request.

“I’ll ask him,” he said, “but you don’t need to talk to him if you don’t want to, Jack. When I told you about his ability I didn’t do so with the intent of making you feel guilty.”

“Yeah, but,” Jack sighed. “I think I would’ve felt guilty anyway. You guys have been alive for longer than the human race has existed —I’m sure you’ve all had to go through stuff, and I need to keep that in mind when I meet new mechs. Mom always told me not to judge people too quickly.”

That answer seemed to satisfy Shockwave, and only minutes later he relayed both Thundercracker’s and Damus’s communications codes.

[ Hey, this is Jack, the human who had a panic attack in the hall? Sorry I bumped into you. I wanted to say thank you for bringing me to Shockwave’s lab, I really appreciate it. ] - You

“Dingus transferred,” Trailbreaker called cheerfully over the comms. “How are things back there?”

“Scrapped ‘em good,” Windcharger replied.

“Still being pursued in the air,” Skids said. “They’re awfully good at dodging fire.”

“Could be ex-military,” Fowler said, glancing in Skids’s side mirror. “The American government makes quite a few enemies, even of its own people.”

“Happens to every power, doesn’t it?” Skids said, turning sharply at an empty intersection. “Hang on, Agent—”

“Are—” Fowler grunted, “—all you cons such reckless drivers?”

“It’s not reckless if you know what you’re doing,” Skids replied with a laugh. “Trust me, Agent, you’re in very capable servos —er, hands.”

Speeding down the road faster than was probably legal, Skids quickly caught back up with Windcharger and Trailbreaker, the latter of which seemed marginally more relaxed now that he didn’t have a weapon of mass destruction attached to his alt-mode.

“‘Copter’s still tailing us,” Skids said. “Somebody take Fowler —I’m gonna try and shoot them down.”

“What exactly do you mean, ‘somebody take Fowler’?” Fowler asked indignantly, but Skids was already transforming. He carefully removed Fowler from his cab mid-transformation, setting him down by where Windcharger was, still in alt-mode. “A little more warning would be nice.”

“I like to be spontaneous,” Skids replied with a shrug, readying his blasters and locking onto the helicopter. “Sticking to plans stifles my creativity.”

“So, you are living machines.”

Both Windcharger and Fowler started at the voice, but Skids was too busy concentrating on aiming.

“How did you get this frequency?” Fowler demanded, holding his communicator up to his intake. “And who are you?”

“I am Silas,” the voice on the other end of the line said, their voice dark and smug. “But of more importance to you —we are M.E.C.H.. Mechanical Evolution for a Cybernetic Humanity.”

“Nice acronym,” Skids said, the scope on his HUD indicating the target was in range. “Very creative.”

“Flattery will—”

Skids pulled the trigger, the blaster shot barely audible over the sound of rotating helicopter blades. It hit right on target, shearing straight through the tail boom.

Windcharger synthesized an approving whistle.

“I told you I knew what I was doing, didn’t I?” Skids grinned down at Fowler, who merely gave him a resigned nod. “They won’t be getting back in the air anytime soon.”

“If they’ve got the resources for military equipment, I doubt this is the last we’ll see of ‘M.E.C.H.,’” Fowler said darkly.

“Well, we’ll be ready for them next time,” Skids said, watching the trail of smoke disappear behind a hill. “Come on; we’ve still got to get that Dingus to where it’s supposed to go.”

[ You’re welcome, Jack. I am very sorry if I frightened you. Are you doing alright now? ] - Damus

Chapter Text

Raf didn’t mind having to wait for Jack and Ravage. It gave him time to sort through his schoolwork and make sure he had everything in order —he had several different binders for his papers, one for each of his classes, so he could keep all of his work arranged by subject. He didn’t necessarily need to, but Raf liked having all his stuff organized. It made it easier to find things when he needed them.

While he was putting his math homework into its respective binder, his cellphone vibrated in his pocket.

[ Is school out? ] - Solver

Raf smiled and slid his binder back into his backpack.

[ Yep. Just waiting on Jack and Ravage now. ] - You

[ I’m so glad you’re in the network now! ] - Bolts

Raf had been on and off chatting with several of his vehicon friends since he’d gotten their comm codes, and they’d decided to add him to one of their group comm frequencies. It was really cool to have people to talk to that weren’t his family and weren’t weirded out by his intelligence.

[ Hey, I messed with one of the spare datapads and I think I got it to interact with your human systems better, Raf. ] - Error

[ Wait, is that what you’ve been doing this early-cycle? Breakdown was looking for you :( ] - Solver

Error, Solver, and Bolts were all engineers, and they’d helped Raf learn some of the more technical aspects of Neocybex while Soundwave was busy. There was so much in the language that was different from Spanish and English, the other two languages Raf knew. For instance, Raf learned that the first Cybertronian languages were actually written before they were spoken, and spoken language only came about when solar interference started messing with their signals, which was why it had so many tone indicators. Otherwise, it would be almost impossible to judge someone’s emotions.

[ Someone moved my stack of cubes. ] - Bolts

[ I think that was Quickpede? They said they got tired of it sitting there. ] - Solver

[ I was going to clean it up! ] - Bolts

[ It’s been there for almost a decacycle. ] - Error

Raf giggled. Apparently the way Cybertronians consumed their food source —energon —was by melting the mineral and storing it in “cubes”, which they then drank from like a geometric cup. Bolts had a habit of forgetting to put his empty cubes in the recycler.

Raf was pretty sure Cybertronians didn’t just consume energon though; from the datapads he’d borrowed from Shockwave, it seemed like they also had to eat a variety of metals and other minerals for their self-repair systems to function properly. While they burned the energon as fuel, the metals were broken down and used to strengthen their plating, like how a human’s skin would heal from a scrape.

“Hey, Raf,” Jack coasted over to him, motorcycle helmet in his lap. “Ready to head out?”

“Yep,” Raf closed his phone and zipped his backpack shut, slinging it over his shoulder and hopping off the curb. “How did your classes go?”

“Alright,” Jack shrugged, handing Raf the helmet. “Been a bit distracted all day, though. How about you? You always seem to get out before I do.”

“I think it went pretty well,” Raf replied, securing the helmet on. “Most of the curriculum is easy, though.”

“That’s just ‘cause you’re a tiny genius, Raf,” Jack teased. “I mean, you’re a twelve year old in high school.”

“Twelve and a quarter,” Raf corrected.

“Close enough,” Jack said as they turned onto the main road, heading out of Jasper.

Some people said there wasn’t a lot to look at when you drove through the desert, but Raf had to disagree. Sure, it was pretty flat and dry, but there were so many different kinds of grasses and geological formations, not to mention the hundreds of thousands of different animal species that called the desert home. Raf was particularly fond of desert tarantulas —some people thought they were creepy, but Raf thought they were cute, especially the ones that kept frogs as pets.

I wonder if Cybertron has arthropod analogues, Raf wondered. He knew they had some kind of animals —ones that didn’t talk, unlike Ratbat and Ravage —but he hadn’t heard anyone talk about tiny organisms.

And then there was the desert horizon —mesas and cliffsides, a big bright blue sky in the day and a whole explosion of stars at night. Raf wondered if it was possible to see Cybertron from Earth.

The sky disappeared as they entered the tunnel, replaced by concrete and incandescent lights.

“I’m going to go find Miko,” Jack said as the both of them dismounted Ravage. “I need to ask her if she can help with the whole ‘pretending Thundercracker is a human’ thing. I figured she might have some ideas.”

“Now that I think about it, a lot of human culture is centered around food, isn’t it?” Raf said, unzipping his backpack to let Ratbat out.

“Yeah, and holoforms can’t eat,” Jack sighed, turning towards one of the hallways. “I’m guessing Miko’s in the rec room?”

“Correct,” Soundwave confirmed. “Rumble and Frenzy: also present.”

“Oh joy,” Jack said with fake excitement.

“I will accompany you,” Ravage said, walking past Raf.

Ratbat poked his head out of the backpack, resting his chin on Raf’s shoulder.

“Are we gonna play that game with the cars?” he asked.

“The racing game?” Raf said, crossing the floor. “I figured we’d play that a bit later, since the twins and Miko are in the rec room right now.”

“Oh, yeah,” Ratbat made a disapproving squeak. “They’re always so loud.”

Avoiding Shockwave was not an easy task, and Skids would know, as he’d been doing it for vorns. No matter where he went, what he did, Shockwave would find him and watch him with that disappointed look until he caved. It had been easier to remain hidden when they had been on the Nemesis and the vents were large enough to fit his frame, but in the manmade Outpost Tarn, only Forestock —and probably Nickel —was able to squeeze into them. And, even then, Shockwave never really went looking for him. He just waited until Skids inevitably came out to socialize and silently judged him.

Evidently Skids’s ability to master any skill almost immediately didn’t apply to hiding from the consequences of his actions.

Skids stared into the cube of energon in front of him, idly tracing the rim with a finger. Shockwave sat opposite him at the table in the makeshift mess hall, nursing his own cube; half his visor was retracted so he could drink, revealing the stiff plates and tubing of what was left of his intake. Skids remembered when it looked much worse, when there’d just been a gaping hole where his mouth should’ve been.

“Are we just going to sit here in silence?” Skids said, finally taking a drink from his cube.

“If you wish to,” Shockwave replied. “I’m not going to force you to talk.”

Skids scowled; it would’ve been easier if Shockwave did, if he’d yelled and berated him. At least then Skids would have something else to occupy his mind with than his thoughts.

“What is there to talk about?” it was a weak deflection, and the look in Shockwave’s faux-optics said as much.

“Skids,” there it was —that pitying look, the tired sigh. Shockwave set his cube down, now empty, and reset his visor.

“I gave you a report on the mission, didn’t I?” Skids said. “I can look over it again —I’m sure I didn’t miss anything—”

“Skids—”

“Our informant’s been good on his word,” Skids continued. “Still don’t know how he smuggled  a gun out, but I’m not complaining. Whatever fuel the Autobots are synthesizing with what they’ve dug up from those mines is a fantastic alternative to using energon —did you see Forestock in the shooting range earlier? Excellent fuel-to-shot ratio.”

Shockwave’s projected mouth opened to say something but Skids interrupted him again.

“And the coordinates he gave were good, too,” Skids gestured with the servo not holding his cube. “I hope he’s as good at lying as he is at observing, otherwise the Autobots are going to figure him out any cycle—”

“Skids.”

Skids fell silent, avoiding Shockwave's gaze.

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong,” Shockwave said, frowning.

“Who said there was anything wrong?” Skids set his cube down, crossing his arms over his chassis protectively. “The mission got a bit stressful, but everything’s fine now, right?”

Shockwave didn’t say anything.

“Look, you saw what happened,” Skids said. “What else do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know what I saw,” Shockwave said. “I had to ask Nickel about it because neither one of you will tell me anything.”

“I’m not the one who thought it was a brilliant idea to frag up my sensory net!” Skids slapped a servo down on the table, nearly knocking over the cubes. “If you really want an explanation, maybe you should ask him.”

“I’m not asking you about Damus’s reasoning,” Shockwave caught Skids’s half-filled cube. “I’m asking you what happened on the mission before that.”

“Why does that matter?” Skids stood up, doorwings flaring out. “Why is it always my fault when Damus hurts someone?”

“I didn’t say that—”

“You’re always defending him!” Skids shot back. “He could’ve killed me, and all you want to know is what I did to deserve it?!”

“That’s not what I—”

“No, I’m not done,” Skids snapped. “Why is it that he gets special treatment? Everytime he frags something up is always ‘well, Damus didn't mean to’ or ‘he’s just trying to help’ —whenever I frag something up I get publicly shamed for it. It’s been like this ever since the Academy; Damus is so fragging special just because he got on the Senate’s bad side.”

Skids noticed how Shockwave stiffened, his finials flattening against his helm, but he ignored it. Shockwave needed to hear this and if it made him uncomfortable, that was his own fault.

“You’re always on me about honing my skills, but what about Damus?” Skids demanded, leaning over the table. “Shouldn’t we be more worried about him accidentally killing someone?”

“I’m not the one who tried to hit a sniper’s target with a shotgun,” the voice sent shivers up Skids’s spinal strut, the deep timbre seeming to seep into the cracks in his plating and suck out all the heat, leaving him stiff and cold.

“I could’ve hit him,” Skids hissed through clenched denta. “I would’ve hit him if you hadn’t interrupted.”

“And gotten yourself and me killed or taken prisoner by the Autobots?” Damus said, close enough that Skids could feel heat from his frame touching the tips of his doorwings. “You’re impulsive.”

“And you’re insufferable,” Skids whirled, plating and kibble puffed up.

“Oh, I’m insufferable?” Damus’s voice lowered in pitch even more, yellow optics glaring furiously. “I turn your optics off for a klik and you lose your Primus-damned processor! I wouldn’t even have had to touch you if you had stuck to plan—”

“What, you can’t handle improvisation?” Skids sneered, shoving a digit into Damus’s chassis and deliberately ignoring the sharp stab of ice he felt when he made contact. “And I didn’t ask for your help, you gearstick! You’re always sticking your receptors in places they don’t belong!”

“When have I ever stuck my receptors anywhere near your business?” Damus took a step forward, vents blasting burning hot air onto Skids’s freezing plating. “If I never had to work with you again, it would be too soon.”

A set of pistons in Skids’s left pede locked up as if they’d been frozen in their casing, preventing him from stepping back as he’d intended.

“Changed your tune since the Academy, huh?” Skids lifted his chin in both defiance and also because Damus was so close now that the height disparity between them required it for Skids to look him in the optic. “I remember you following me around all the slagging time like some lost turbofox pup. Is it ‘cause you got reframed? You think that just because you’re a warbuild now that  you can push me around?”

“When have I ever used that against you?!” Damus snarled, and Skids saw the lights flicker. “Are you sure you aren’t just bitter because you’re scared?”

Damus’s voice went dark on the last word, his optics narrowing as he loomed over Skids.

“I’m not scared of you,” Skids snapped, doorwings hiked up on his back. “I’m just pissed.”

“Liar,” Damus’s voice was like ice, as if he plunged his servo straight into Skids’s chest and grabbed his spark in his fist. “You’re terrified. And you hate it.”

Skids’s armor seemed to feel a thousand times heavier, his arms going limp at his sides and his doorwings drooping. Every time he vented in it felt like he was trying to lift a boulder, and even when he got air in it felt ragged and the wrong temperature.

Frame temperature dropping rapidly; what the hell?!

His vision flickered out for a moment.

He isn’t even touching me and he’s still shutting me down—

Out of fear and panic Skids —with more effort than it should’ve taken —drew his arms up and shoved. He succeeded more in pushing himself back than pushing Damus away, but it’d interrupted whatever the other mech had been saying, giving Skids a brief respite.

“I’m starting to think the Senate had the right idea when they took your face away,” Skids spit, voice full of static.

A clawed servo wrapped around his throat and dragged him forward, sharp pinpricks of ice spearing into the unprotected protoform of his neck.

“Take it back,” Damus snarled into his audial, ignoring Skids’s desperate attempts to dislodge his grip. “Take it back, you—”

“That is ENOUGH.”

The two of them were shoved apart, Skids stumbling backwards and nearly collapsing. Shockwave stood in between them, arms outstretched to keep them apart; part of his face was glitching, a sign he wasn’t immune to Damus’s ability.

“Skids, go to the Medbay, now,” Shockwave ordered, his voice severe.

Skids nodded, giving the two of them a wide berth as he exited the mess hall, not breaking optic-contact with Damus until he was out of sight.

Primus, everywhere hurt. His joints ached as if he’d been holding up a mountain, warmth only just beginning to return to his frame. His spark pulsed offbeat in his chassis, his field sharp with the aftertaste of terror. His vision swam, optics cycling repeatedly to try and focus, but his processor kept dragging him away from reality and back to the mess hall, Damus’s hand around his throat.

Skids leaned against the wall, holding his helm in his hands, the sensation of energon dribbling down his neck making him feel sick.

He wasn’t entirely aware that he hadn’t gone to the Medbay until he was stumbling loudly into the communications bay, startling poor Amp who was plugged into his console.

“Skids?” Amp’s voice was soft, his head turning towards the door with a look of concern. “Are you alright? Shouldn’t Nickel take a look at you?”

“I don’t want to see Nickel right now,” Skids rasped, his voicebox still glitching. “Just —don’t tell anyone I’m in here, please?”

Amp wordlessly shut the door with a command from his console and unhooked the cables from his arm, replacing them inside the desk. He stood up from his chair and made his way towards Skids, his face a mixture of worry and confusion.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, sitting down on the floor beside Skids.

Skids was silent, just staring blankly ahead as he pulled his plating into his frame as close as he could, drawing his knees up to his chassis and wrapping his arms around them.

“Not really,” he said finally, voice breaking.

Amp slowly leant closer, giving Skids time to move away if he wanted to —he didn’t —before looping his arm around Skids’s and holding tight. Amp didn’t need the tactile stimulation anymore —it had been vorns since he’d had his audials upgraded and learned to echolocate —but now it was simply habit to lean against or hold hands with whichever mech was closest, and Skids was grateful for it. The static-tingle that followed Amp’s touch helped ground him and drive away the coldness left by Damus’s voice.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Amp let his helm fall against Skids’s shoulder.

“I don’t know if I can,” Skids replied, but relinquished his tight hold on his EM field, letting it flow out into Amp’s.

Immediately he felt a blanket of calm settle over him, Amp’s field pulsing sympathy-comfort-safety at him.

“You don’t have to,” Amp said. “We can just sit here together until you feel better.”

“Thanks,” Skids whispered, pushing gratitude-safety-calm through his field.

They both lapsed into silence, the only sounds the warm hum of the generator in Amp’s torso and the faint rumble of the Outpost’s ventilation systems.

Breakdown held up the handheld scanner, frowning at the readings on its screen. He and a squad of vehicons were scouting out an area where humans had evidently hit an energon vein, but now that he was there he was wondering how exactly they were supposed to extract said energon.

They were right smack dab in the center of some old human ruins, stone pillars and pathways littering the area, but even though this place wasn’t currently inhabited by people, Breakdown had been instructed to leave it as intact as possible. This was going to be a precarious mission, but luckily Breakdown and his squad didn’t really have any other pressing matters, so they were free to take their time.

“So, where’s the energon supposed to be?” Chipper said, hands on his hips. “I’m seeing a lot of just rock.”

“Holy slag, they have tiny seats!” Tripwire said, crouching beside a staggered terrace. “It’s like a human version of the gladiator pits!”

“I wonder if they actually had fights here,” Quirk said as they carefully made their way down the small steps. “What would a human fight look like? They don’t have blasters or anything.”

“They did have fights, but I don’t think this is a fighting pit,” Jerry announced, having returned from searching the humans’ network for information. “I think this is an auditorium.”

“Whoa, so they had plays here?” Tripwire joined Quirk in the center of the amphitheater. “We should tell Thundercracker; didn’t he used to write plays or something?”

“Is the vein underneath us?” Chipper asked Breakdown.

“I think so,” Breakdown replied, sighing. “We’ll have to excavate it; I don’t know how the humans found it, but I don’t think we’ll be able to fit in any of their tunnels.”

“True—”

They both jumped when a helm popped up from behind a fallen pillar.

“Wings of Solomus!” Chipper exclaimed, smacking a servo to his chassis in surprise. “Scavenger; you scared the scrap out of us.”

“I found the vein,” Scavenger said, pointing to the ravine he was currently standing in.

“Huh,” Breakdown said, subspacing the scanner. “I guess I should’ve known you’d be out here too. How’s the unit?”

“Mixmaster’s still berth-ridden because Hook refuses to treat him,” Scavenger replied. “Scrapper told me to tell you he says ‘hi’.”

The three of them stood in silence for a few klicks.

“So, uh…the energon?” Breakdown prompted.

“It’s down here,” Scavenger said, pointing again. “There’s not that much. I thought you’d be here because of the harvester.”

“The what?” Chipper cocked his head.

“The energon harvester, on the wall over there,” Scavenger clambered up out of the ravine, his shovel scraping the paved ground.

Breakdown and Chipper turned, looking back towards the amphitheater where Tripwire and Quirk were still goofing off. Sure enough, on a crumbling stone wall, was an old painting of some human god holding aloft an orb that was undoubtedly an energon harvester.

“I thought those were only myth,” Chipper said, tapping his pede. “What would one be doing out here?”

Breakdown edged closer to the fresco, careful not to crush anything. The image was worn and discolored with age, but the symbols on the depiction of the harvester were unmistakable. Breakdown wasn’t a master of Old Cybertronian, but he was pretty sure those glyphs said something along the lines of “this is an energon harvester, handle with care”.

“The god depicted is an ocean deity,” Jerry piped up. “I don’t know if that’s relevant or not, though. I just thought it was interesting.”

“What’s more interesting is why you cons are here in the first place,” came a gruff voice from behind them.

Breakdown turned, his weapon systems onlining, and Chipper whirled with him, signaling the others to get ready. Scavenger ducked back into the ravine, out of sight.

A bulky green-plated Autobot stood near the other side of the valley, flanked on both sides, all three of them with blasters drawn.

“Bulkhead,” Breakdown called, scowling. “Fancy seeing you here, old buddy.”

“Could say the same to you, Breakdown,” Bulkhead replied. “What the frag are you doing here?”

“Cultural appreciation,” Breakdown said with a shrug. “You seen the stuff humans build? I’m sure a construction bot like you could appreciate it.”

“Surprised a Velocitronian would like plain old buildings like this,” Bulkhead scoffed. “Where’s your sparkly junx? Hiding somewhere taking care of his finish?”

“Least Knock has taste,” Breakdown said. “What’s Wheeljack up to? Blowing slag up and being a nuisance?”

Bulkhead opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by one his allies. Breakdown didn’t recognize them —a short masked grounder and a taller, slender bot with bright yellow kibble —they must’ve joined up with the Wreckers after he’d left.

“Bulkhead, look at that!” the masked one pointed to the fresco. “Why would the humans have a painting of an energon harvester?”

“Hey, I saw it first!” Scavenger complained from his hiding spot.

“An energon harvester?” Bulkhead looked alarmed —good to know he had some sense about him, even if he didn’t show it often.

::Should we engage?:: Chipper pinged Breakdown. 

::Scavenger, how much energon is down there?:: Breakdown asked. ::I don’t want this place to get turned into a crater if we end up in a shootout.::

::Not much, but it’ll definitely blow the ruins apart if it gets ignited,:: Scavenger replied, sending a data package containing visuals. ::I can probably dig it out and subspace it without the ground collapsing though. I’m gonna do that.::

Breakdown knew from experience that once Scavenger put his mind to something there wasn’t any stopping him, so he just pinged an affirmative glyph back in reply.

::We’ll keep the Autobots off your tailpipe while you work,:: Chipper said, taking position behind Breakdown. ::Quirk, Tripwire —keep an eye on the short one, Jerry and I will handle the other.::

“Could the harvester be what the scanners were picking up?” the mech with yellow kibble mused, and Breakdown was pretty sure that was a Polyhexian accent.

“All the records of them say they have shielding,” the short one said, peering at the fresco with narrowed optics.

“Well, we’re not letting any Decepticons make off with something like that,” Bulkhead growled, raising his blaster. “Crush ‘em, mechs!”

Damus was not a stranger to wishing he didn’t exist. In fact, it was a fairly regular thought for him. Wouldn’t everything just be easier if he wasn’t there? Nickel wouldn’t be happy about it, and neither would Shockwave or Amp, but wouldn’t they be better off in the long run without him? And other than them, what friends did Damus have that would miss him? He never talked to people out of fear he’d hurt them, so friendships weren’t something he’d cultivated. 

Besides, did he even deserve them?

Good people had friends, and Damus had never been a good person. Good people cared about their friends and protected them, and what had Damus done? The exact opposite.

Good people didn’t grab their friends by the throat and threaten to kill them.

Good people didn’t grab their friends by the throat and  want to kill them.

Damus was not a good person.

Skids was right —even if he hadn’t said it outright, he knew Damus was a liability. Shockwave spent far too much time and effort on trying to make him comfortable and the rest of the crew suffered for it.

Shockwave was a good person. Shockwave took him in even when he’d been marked and cast away by society, gave him a home, gave him a family. And all Damus had done in return was hurt people. Hurt the family he’d been given.

Damus hated sitting alone, even though his isolation was self-imposed, but who was there to talk to? Shockwave wouldn’t understand; he’d insist that Damus was worth the trouble and never acknowledge all the horrible things he’d done or caused. Maybe this would make him finally see.

His HUD flickered as a notification popped up in the corner of his vision.

::Hey, it’s Jack again. How are you doing today? I’ve been spending my morning chasing the twins and Miko around.::

Jack.

Maybe the only person —aside from Shockwave —who initiated interaction with him, even though the first time they’d met Jack had seen Damus and immediately had a panic attack.

Why does he want to be around me at all?

He’d asked and Jack said that he knew about Damus’s ability, but didn’t see how that mattered in regards to wanting to talk to him. Maybe it was because Jack was organic and Damus’s ability didn’t work on him, so he didn’t see Damus as a threat. Still, Damus was most likely one of the largest mecha Jack had met, not to mention probably the only warbuild —was he really not afraid of him?

It would be rude not to reply.

::Hello, Jack,:: Damus paused; what else should he say? Jack might’ve asked how he was doing, but he seriously doubted Jack wanted to hear about how Damus had nearly killed his—

Don’t —don’t think about that. Just focus on pinging Jack.

::I am doing as well as can be expected,:: he finally settled on. ::The twins I am assuming are Rumble and Frenzy? I don’t believe I know who Miko is, though.::

That was okay, right?

The dread in his spark increased when Jack didn’t reply as quickly as he’d expected, but he had to remind himself that humans didn’t have comm systems built into their processors like Cybertronians did. 

::Yeah,:: Jack replied, the notification startling Damus. ::Miko’s another human. She didn’t come to visit yesterday because Rumble and Frenzy are apparently banned from any lab of Shockwave’s. Gonna have to get her phone patched in at some point, though.::

Some of the tension bled out of Damus’s field, the pressure in his plating releasing with a quiet hiss. It was nice to talk about something not related to his ability or the war. It felt…good.

::Probably for the best,:: Damus lamented the lack of useful tonal indicators in human language. ::They have even less impulse control than Windcharger, which an impressive feat.::

Jack pinged back a string of amused glyphs —or what constituted as the human equivalent.

::When I was there yesterday,:: Jack said, ::Windcharger had one of the other guys in a headlock. They came stumbling around the corner and ended up on the floor in a heap. I think they saw Shockwave and panicked.::

Damus couldn’t help his small smile at that.

::That sounds like Windcharger, alright.::

::You’re another one of Shockwave’s students, right?:: Jack asked. ::What did you study there? I’m thinking I’m going to pursue engineering in college.::

Damus hesitated, running the edge of his claws along the ridges in his shoulder-treads. How was he going to explain why he was at the Jhiaxian Academy without explaining empurata? He didn’t want to lie to Jack, but empurata was horrific to hear about even to battle-hardened war veterans; was it okay to tell him? Did he even want to know? He’d just asked about what Damus studied, not his life story, but the reason he’d ended up learning under Shockwave in the first place was so entangled with his history with the Functionist Senate —was it possible to separate it?

::Damus?:: came another ping from Jack. ::Sorry if that made you uncomfortable or anything. I was just curious. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.::

::No, that’s not—:: Damus in-vented deeply, trying to settle the anxious pulse of his spark. ::The circumstances under which I ended up at the Jhiaxian Academy were…not…the best. But I studied engineering as well, actually. I don’t know how much overlap there is between human and Cybertronian technology, however.::

::Cool!:: Jack said. ::About the engineering, that is. I don’t know what circumstances those were, but I’m sorry you had to go through them. If you ever need to talk about them, or anything else really, I’m here to listen.::

Damus curled his servos into fists; would Jack still say that if he knew what Damus had done to Skids? Primus, he wanted to talk about it, but he was so scared. He’d already destroyed one friendship today —if he and Skids had ever actually been friends, that is —and Damus didn’t think he was prepared to lose another.

::Thank you, Jack,:: he said sincerely. ::I…I was not entirely truthful earlier —I am not doing particularly well, but I don’t know if I can talk about it yet.::

His vents stalled as he waited for a reply.

::That’s totally okay! Talking about it before you’re ready isn’t going to help, so don’t feel pressured to at all!::

Although some part of Damus’s processor pointed out that Shockwave would’ve said the exact same things, somehow hearing it from someone else made it seem more real, more genuine. Jack didn’t have any reason to be nice to him, but he still was.

::Do you wanna talk about other stuff?:: Jack asked. ::Help distract you a bit or something?::

::Yes, I’d like that.::

“That game is super duper fun!” Ratbat exclaimed, crawling back over to sit in Raf’s lap. “I don’t even need thumbs for it!”

Raf laughed.

“Yeah, Chip’s Challenge is one of my favorite computer games,” he agreed, navigating his pixelated character through the level. “Technically the one I have is an open-source clone, and I can actually switch out the graphics to custom ones if I want.”

“Whoa!” Ratbat’s ears twitched, bumping into Raf’s glasses. “Oops, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Raf said, leaning over so his head was resting on top of Ratbat’s. “Here; this should help.”

Ratbat made a warbling giggle, clicking his small claws together.

“Could we make custom ones?” he asked, watching Raf scroll through his collection of random tilesets. “We could make one where you’re the little guy and all the monsters are Autobots or something!”

“I like that idea,” Raf said. “I’m not much of an artist though; do you wanna make them?”

“Ooh, yes!” Ratbat bounced in place, fans whirring in excitement.

“Okay, let me make a copy of the basic tileset,” Raf said. “All I have on here is Microsoft Paint, but it works pretty well for pixel art so you shouldn’t have much trouble.”

Raf opened the duplicate tileset in the program, zooming in so they could see all the pixels better.

“Those boxes up there are the default colors,” Raf explained, pointing to the palette in the top right corner, “but you can make custom ones with this tool here.”

Ratbat picked up on Microsoft Paint’s interface pretty easily, quickly filling up the custom color slots with his own shades.

Raf looked up when one of Soundwave’s consoles chimed, its display reading groundbridge request.

“This is Commander Breakdown to Outpost Kaon,” it was neat hearing how different the cons’ voices were when they spoke Neocybex as opposed to English. Breakdown’s Neocybex had a different accent than Soundwave and Ratbat’s; the subtones Raf could hear had heavier vibratos, and he seemed to use vocal resets —something in between a glottal stop and clearing your throat —more often too.

“Officer Soundwave to Commander Breakdown: request received,” Soundwave answered, metal fingers moving quickly over the holographic keyboard —Raf wondered what the formatting system was for how they arranged their letters. “Groundbridge: activating. Breakdown and company: clear to return to base.”

“We’re on our way.”

Raf watched as the groundbridge whirled in the tunnel, green light illuminating the entire room. No matter how many times he saw it, it always amazed him. Especially going through it, that had been a very bizarre experience.

Within a minute or so Breakdown and a squad of vehicons emerged from the bridge, looking a little battered and scorched.

“What happened?” Raf asked, frowning.

“Autobots showed up,” Tripwire said with a huff. “But we got to see a human theatre! It had all these tiny seats in a wedge around a stage, and this neat painting on the wall—”

“Had being the key word in that sentence,” Quirk interrupted, crossing their arms. “The wall got busted during the fight.”

“Aw, that’s too bad,” Raf said, moving Ratbat and his laptop off of his lap so he could stand up. “What did the painting look like? Anything super neat?”

“It had an energon harvester on it!” Tripwire exclaimed. “A human god, holding an energon harvester! Jerry was looking up stuff about the god, but none of the stuff he’s found has anything to do with pulling energon out of the ground or anything.”

“Trips,” Quirk’s finials leveled. “Don’t you think you should explain what an energon harvester is first?”

“No, it’s okay,” Raf said. “I already know what a harvester is anyway. It’s the sphere with the words on it —you point it at energon and the other side opens out sort of like a flower I think? I don’t remember how it works though—”

Raf paused, noticing Tripwire and Quirk were looking at him weird.

“What?” he asked, confused.

“Where’d you learn that?” Quirk asked, finials perking up again. “It’s more of a piece of mythology than history.”

Raf opened his mouth to reply before he realized he didn’t remember where he’d read about the harvester. He just sort of…knew. It must’ve been in one of the datapads he’d gotten from Shockwave, but he couldn’t remember which one exactly. Maybe it was the one on energon and its uses in Cybertronian physiology? No, that didn’t sound right.

“Rafael: does not remember where he learned about the harvester?” Soundwave asked, tilting his head slightly.

“No,” Raf laughed sheepishly. “I’m sure I read it in one of the datapads I have, though. I’ll have to check later. But why did ancient humans have a depiction of one in their painting?”

“Answer: unclear,” Soundwave said, turning back to his console. “Hypothesis: Cybertronians attempted to hide one on this planet and left the painting as a sign.”

“What god was the painting of? I might be able to help find something,” Raf said, jogging over to Soundwave’s console.

“I think Jerry said it was a water deity or something?” Breakdown said.

“Yes,” Jerry poked his helm around Breakdown’s shoulder. “The articles I found referred to him as ‘Poseidon’,  I think. One of a set of gods from an older human religion?”

“Oh, yeah,” Raf nodded. “Poseidon’s from Greek mythology. And —hey, aren’t there a few statues of him in the National Archaeological Museum? I feel like I remember seeing a picture of one of him where he’s holding some kind of sphere along with his trident.”

“Do you think—” Jerry started, but was cut off.

“Rafael: is correct,” Soundwave announced, pointing to the image that had appeared on the holographic screen; a photo of a statue carved out of marble, a trident in one hand and a shimmering gold orb held aloft in the other. “Energon harvester: located.”

“That’s it?” Breakdown said, metal eyebrows rising up. “It’s just out in the open?”

“Humans wouldn’t be able to activate it,” Chipper pointed out. “Likely they don’t know what it is.”

“We should contact Agent Fowler, right?” Breakdown said.

“Soundwave: has already transmitted a request for assistance to Agent Fowler,” Soundwave said. “Agent Wells: has also been informed.”

“Who’s Agent Wells?” Raf asked; he’d already heard about Agent Fowler —the Decepticons’ liaison to the American government —but Wells was a new name.

“Agent Wells is in charge of the group of liaisons to the European Union,” Jerry replied, resting his servos on the balcony railing. “There’s several of them, one for each of the…are they called countries? I was going to call them city states, since they remind me of how Cybertronian unions worked, but I believe they’re called countries.”

“I guess I hadn’t thought about you guys needing contacts with other governments before,” Raf said. “Are you going to go get the harvester?”

“Affirmative,” Soundwave replied. “Agent Wells: will arrange its retrieval.”

“If we were able to find it so easily, the Autobots probably can as well,” Breakdown said with a frown. “Might be good to have some cons back up Agent Wells.”

“Soundwave: agrees,” Soundwave said. “Alert: has been sent to all Outposts.”

“Guess all we can do now is wait,” Quirk blew air out of their vents in a sharp sigh.

“And go to the Medbay,” Chipper said loudly, putting his servos on Quirk and Tripwire’s backs. “You too, Breakdown; Knockout will have all our helms if you don’t buff those scratches out immediately.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Breakdown chuckled, following him towards the Medbay tunnel. “See you later, Raf!”

“Bye!” Raf waved to him, before walking back to where Ratbat was with the laptop. “How’s it going, Ratbat?”

“I already finished all the ones of you,” Ratbat said, pointing with one of his claws to the sprite on the screen. “I’ve been trying to decide which Autobots to make which monsters.”

“Hmm,” Raf sat down beside him. “Any ideas yet?”

“A few,” Ratbat nodded. “Maybe the paramecia and the bugs can be Rewind and Eject —they’re also cassettes like us.”

“I didn’t know there were Autobot cassettes,” Raf said. “I mean, I guess it makes sense, if cassette is just the first life stage for you guys.”

“Yeah, I don’t think Blaster’s their carrier though,” Ratbat said, ears flicking. “Because Blaster’s not as old as Soundwave and all of his cassettes are older than us.”

“Blaster: metamorphosed before the war,” Soundwave said. “Cassettes: did not have access to any of the Forges, and subsequently could not metamorphose.”

“Cybertronians go through metamorphosis?” Raf looked up at Soundwave in curiosity. “Like some insects do?”

“Soundwave and cassettes: are Old Kaonian,” Soundwave replied. “Old Kaonians: begin with very small protoforms, but undergo a natural reframing or ‘metamorphosis’ when they reach a certain maturity. Metamorphosis: requires access to a Forge or database containing reframing instructions.”

“Oh,” Raf hummed. So it was sort of like getting your driver’s license; you had to wait until a certain age to do it, but it could only happen if you went to a specific place that taught you how. “I guess all the Forges are gone now?”

“Forges: became inactive when Cybertron went dark,” Soundwave agreed solemnly.

Raf looked down, sharing Soundwave’s sadness.

“Is Blaster the oldest of their unit then?” Ratbat piped up. “Like Ravage is?”

“Affirmative,” Soundwave nodded.

“So it’d be like if you guys docked with Ravage instead of Soundwave?” Raf asked Ratbat, who nodded emphatically.

“I hope we find another database sometime,” Ratbat said. “I really wanna see what Ravage’s adult frame looks like.”

“Oh yeah, I guess he’d still be a beastformer, right?” Raf said. “Just bigger?”

“I think so,” Ratbat replied. “I think it’s just Rumble and Frenzy that’ll look like Carrier when they metamorphose.”

“That’s really neat,” Raf said, settling back against the side of the silo to watch Ratbat work. “So, the paramecia and bugs have been decided, who’s next?”

Bulkhead groaned as he stepped through the groundbridge, rubbing a servo over his helm. Of course, he’d had to go and break the wall with the image of the harvester on it. Now how were they supposed to investigate it? Sure, Cybertronian memories were good and all, but even they weren’t infallible, and none of them had gotten particularly close to the wall before they’d destroyed it.

“That went poorly,” Seaspray said tiredly. “I’m sorry, you two. I’m not very good on land.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Ironfist bumped him with his shoulder. “We might not have gotten the energon, but we saw that energon harvester! If we can find that, mining won’t be nearly as much of a hassle.”

“Do you think Jazz would know anything about it?” Seaspray wondered aloud. “I know he’s quite intrigued by human culture.”

“I’ll comm him,” Ironfist said. “He can meet us in the Medbay.”

“I’ll catch up with you guys,” Bulkhead said, pausing in the hallway. “I’ve got to go give the mission report.”

“Ah, right,” Seaspray nodded, reaching over to pat Bulkhead’s shoulder. “Make sure you have a medic look over you after you’re done, alright?”

“I’ll be there,” Bulkhead assured him, waving to the both of them as he walked away.

He sighed once they were out of sight, his plating sagging. What a disaster that mission had been. Yet another thing he’d fragged up.

Why do I keep getting sent out on these missions?

Bulkhead shouldered his way into the room the Wreckers had claimed as their personal briefing room, announcing his presence with a quiet knock on the wall beside the door. The only other mech in the room looked up from his datapad, using a green-plated pede to spin his chair around to face Bulkhead. As soon as he saw who was at the door, he grinned and jumped up from his seat, optics bright.

“Bulkhead!” Springer exclaimed. “You’re back already! How’d it go?”

“Cons were already there,” Bulkhead said wearily. “Don’t think there was much energon there anyway, though.”

Springer’s smile faded; no matter how many vorns Bulkhead had spent working under the mech, the sight of Springer frowning always made his spark ache. He was older than Bumblebee and most of the other young bots, but Bulkhead could never shake the feeling when looking at Springer that he was looking at a kid.

“Is everyone okay?” Springer asked, his optic ridges furrowing.

Bulkhead felt his spark warm a bit —no matter the situation, Springer’s first concern was always the safety of his fellow Autobots. He was a good leader.

“A little scuffed up, but nothing Ratchet and the medics can’t fix,” Bulkhead replied. “Ironfist noticed something about the ruins —the humans had a painting of an energon harvester.”

“A what?” Springer blinked at him. “Also, shouldn’t you be in the Medbay too? Come on, you can tell me on the way.”

Springer didn’t give Bulkhead time to protest before he was pulling him out the door and down the hall.

“Now what’s this energon harvesting thing?” he asked.

“You haven’t heard of—?” Bulkhead paused. “Oh, right. I forgot; you were reared by Kup. He probably didn’t tell you much about spirituality or religion, did he?”

“No?” Springer looked at him with a bemused expression. “What does religion have to do with something humans painted?”

“Harvesters are a pretty common relic in a lot of old stories,” Bulkhead explained. “Something about being a gift from Adaptus to make transforming easier —I’m a little rusty on the details; if you want the full story, you’d better go to Magnus.”

Springer made a weird face.

“Did Magnus tell you that you had to report before seeing a medic?” he asked, his field buzzing with worry. “You don’t have to listen to that. I’d rather you get medical attention and have reports be a bit late than you try to give me or Magnus a briefing while your limbs are falling off.”

“My limbs aren’t—” Bulkhead started to protest, but found that when faced with Springer’s concerned frown he couldn’t continue.

“We’re almost to the Medbay,” Springer said, releasing Bulkhead’s servo from his grasp. “You go get checked over, I’m going to go tell Magnus about this ‘energon harvester’ thing. I’ll be back in a bit to check on you guys, alright?”

He waved to Bulkhead before running off back in the direction of the Wreckers’ briefing room, leaving Bulkhead alone in the hallway.

Just another kid who got dragged into this slagging war.

“Bulkhead?” First Aid stepped out of the Medbay, a datapad in his hand. “Seaspray and Ironfist mentioned you’d be arriving. Was —was that Springer?”

Bulkhead had to resist the urge to smile at the hopeful look in First Aid’s optics.

“Yeah, he went to get Ultra Magnus,” he answered. “Got some stuff to update him on.”

“Ah, of course,” First Aid’s EM field flickered with an emotion Bulkhead wasn’t quick enough to place. “Now. Any injuries I should be worried about?”

“Nah, nothing serious,” Bulkhead replied, following First Aid into the room. “Cons roughed us up a bit, but we roughed ‘em up in return.”

“I would expect nothing less from the Wreckers,” First Aid said, the glint in his optics indicating he was smiling behind the mask. “Now, have a seat on that berth and I’ll—”

“First Aid!”

First Aid jumped at the stern voice, his field spiking with panic and embarrassment.

“Oh Primus, hide me,” he whispered, ducking around to crouch behind the berth Bulkhead had seated himself on.

“What are you—?” Bulkhead raised an optical ridge at the nurse.

First Aid just shook his head and sank further behind the berth.

“First Aid,” a mech rounded the bend into the ward, looking so profoundly tired he could’ve given Ratchet a run for his shanix. “First Aid, you’re supposed to be looking at Bumblebee.”

First Aid stood back up, wringing his servos and laughing nervously.

“Hi, Ambulon,” he waved to the other medic. “I thought you were busy, so I was—”

“First Aid,” Ambulon interrupted flatly. “I know you are quite possibly the biggest fan of the Wreckers I’ve ever met, but I’d appreciate it if you kept your fanmeching to times you’re off-duty.”

First Aid made a noise that was somewhere between a huff and a whine, crossing his arms.

“You were busy,” he protested. “There was no one else in the ward —what was I supposed to do, make them wait? And Bumblebee’s doing fine, I checked on him before I saw Seaspray and Ironfist.”

Ambulon ex-vented, pinching his split chevron with two digits.

“You’re supposed to report it when mecha check in,” he said. “Hoist is  on-duty today; he could’ve looked them over.”

First Aid’s plating wilted.

“I know,” he said, looking down at the datapad in his hands. “I’ll make sure to do it next time.”

“Take Bulkhead with you and go to Bumblebee,” Ambulon said, crossing the room and taking the datapad from First Aid. “You can multitask, can’t you?”

“Yes,” First Aid said indignantly, before gesturing for Bulkhead to get up. “Come on; you can chat with Bumblebee while I work on your plating.”

Great, Bulkhead thought. He still hadn’t spoken to Bumblebee since the mine collapse. Guess it’s now or never.

Slender white digits tapped repeatedly the desk beside the hologram, the light from the projection highlighting the ligaments in each finger. Machinery whirred softly, prompting optical sensors to attempt to focus on the schematics before them, each miniscule tubular lens shifting its position to catch the light it received. The hologram cycled through its preset images —several different types of Cybertronian frames and their respective cross sections, a diagram of scraplet anatomy, a collection of graphs showing electro-magnetic fluctuations —but the information provided was not being absorbed by its viewer.

Shockwave ex-vented heavily, offlining his optical sensors and resting his chin on the knuckles of one of his servos.

Everything seemed like it was falling apart. By the Thirteen, Damus had nearly killed Skids, and Shockwave wasn’t sure if there was any way either of them could forgive each other for that argument. Shockwave honestly didn’t know if either one deserved to be forgiven by the other for the argument. He knew logically that both of them had reasons for what they’d done —Skids, as much as he hid it, had never quite grown out of his fear and paranoia, and Damus wanted so desperately to be accepted that he overcompensated and came off as stern and aloof and that just added to his trauma from the empurata —but knowing why someone did something didn’t really help him figure out how to fix the fallout.

Should he assign one of them to a different outpost? Wouldn’t that just increase the rift between the two of them, if one of them thought the other was being favored by Shockwave? Could he send both to other outposts? Outpost Tesarus was always short on staff and could use more mech-power, especially with their volatile residents, but Shockwave didn’t like the idea of not having all of his students nearby.

::Shockwave: in emotional turmoil,:: Soundwave pinged. ::Inquiry: are you alright?::

Shockwave didn’t answer immediately, not because he didn’t feel comfortable doing so, but rather because he simply didn’t know how to explain it succinctly. He pulsed a jumbled mess of pain-sorrow-regret across the tether connecting them.

::Inquiry: are Skids and Damus alright?::

::No, not in the slightest,:: Shockwave said, flooding the connection with horrible spark-wrenching guilt, his helm falling into his servos. ::By the Thirteen, Sound, I don’t even know where to begin.::

Soundwave hummed in response, letting his own field stretch over the space between them and envelop Shockwave, a blanket of sorrow-love-comfort washing over him. Shockwave didn’t wish to have his old frame back very often —he’d made his peace with it a long time ago —but sitting there, helm in his hands, feeling hopeless and helpless, he wished he had his optics so he could just sob. His vents were sharp, the steady exhale of air becoming rough and shallow.

::Shockwave: requires Soundwave’s presence?:: Soundwave asked softly.

::I don’t want to drag you away from Kaon,:: Shockwave replied, grateful they were speaking over comms so the static glitching his vocaliser wasn’t audible.

::Soundwave: cannot read you from this distance,:: Soundwave said. ::Could provide better comfort if in close proximity.::

::I won’t stop you,:: Shockwave didn’t move from his spot hunched over his desk, even though he knew someone would have to accept the groundbridge request. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to think. It felt like if he got up he’d have to acknowledge everything that had gone wrong, but sitting here in silence he could just ignore it all.

I just wanted to help them.

Shockwave’s processor insisted he’d done the best he could with the circumstances he’d been given, but if this was awful now, how much worse was the alternative? What would have happened to his outliers if he’d never taken them in? Could they have stayed away from the Senate on their own? Skids might have, since his ability wasn’t as obvious, and Thundercracker and Skywarp would’ve still been protected by being Starscream’s trine, but Damus, who’d already been subjected to empurata before Shockwave had found him, would have surely ended up somewhere worse. If he even managed to stay online.

I should’ve stamped out that “Glitch” nonsense when it first began.

Damus’s old frame was small and unassuming, even with the long stiff claws that had replaced his servos, and that with his bright orange plating and cheerful blue optic made him look harmless. Mecha found his appearance cute and charming and were always gentle with him —Skywarp was always carrying him around on his back —but once they found out about his ability they’d chafe and back off. Even the ones who weren’t scared off treated him differently, and the nickname “Glitch” was coined. 

Shockwave was ashamed to say he’d used it too, not realizing Damus didn’t like it. All the other students —even the ones who didn’t mean any harm —used it to refer to Damus, and Damus never corrected them. Shockwave hadn’t gotten a complete answer out of him, but he suspected Damus just didn’t want to lose the few friends he had. It was only after Shockwave had built his new frame and he’d gotten comfortable with his new body that he’d told Shockwave he didn’t want to be called “Glitch”.

In retrospect, Shockwave should have known it wasn’t a nickname given in good fun. Not with the way some of the students used it; a memory of Skids —Shockwave felt his spark clench —yelling at Damus for bumping into him on accident and jamming the joint of his doorwing resurfaced..

“Hey, watch where you’re going, Glitch.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Skids—”

“Apologies aren’t going to fix my fragged up doorwing, are they?”

“N-no, I suppose not.”

Why hadn’t Shockwave said anything? That interaction was obviously hostile, but he hadn’t done a thing about it.

Logically, he knew that at the time he’d been preoccupied with trying to undermine the Senate and help Orion Pax —the name still stung —and he just hadn’t realized how tense the situation between his students was, but looking back on it he wished he’d done more.

Orion Pax.

Shockwave rerouted signals from his vocaliser to his optical sensors; he’d rather be staring blankly at nothing than have someone hear him scream in frustration and come to investigate. He didn’t think he could handle speaking to people at the moment.

Anger roiled in his EM field —anger at Pax for accepting the Matrix, anger at the Council for offering it, anger at himself for not stopping it—

He hadn’t been terribly close with Pax. They were close allies, yes, and Shockwave certainly would’ve called him a friend, but there had always been a space separating them. Perhaps it was Shockwave’s own fault for effectively adopting Pax as another one of his students and not seeing him as a peer. But still, regardless of his foggy relationship with him, there were very few things that truly hurt Shockwave more than seeing Orion Pax become Optimus Prime. A part of him was proud of course —to be accepted as a bearer of the Matrix was incredibly rare —but it didn’t stop the feelings of horror when he realized that the mech that had been Orion Pax was gone. The Matrix altered parts of a mech’s code to make them more suitable to be a Prime, but Shockwave had no idea it could be so drastic. 

Was it worse to know the fate, however horrible, of a former friend, or to not know at all?

In all his years as a senator, there had only been one other mech on the Senate Shockwave could truly call a friend; Dai Atlas.

And he was gone, too.

Disappeared after the war began, sometime during Shockwave’s shadowplay induced blackouts, and was never seen or heard from again. Not reliably, at least; there were rumors, whispers of a utopian society where war was only a distant memory and mecha of all alt-modes and classes lived peacefully under Dai Atlas’s rule, but Shockwave didn’t hold onto his hope.

He’d lived through enough war and seen enough friends die to know a lost cause.

But Primus, did it hurt.

“Dai Atlas: a good mech,” came Soundwave’s voice from somewhere off to Shockwave’s left. “Would be proud of Shockwave.”

Shockwave let out a silent, dry sob as Soundwave’s arms wrapped around his hunched frame.

::Keep a low profile for as long as you can,:: Prowl’s voice ordered over the comm channel. ::If you alert the humans, the Decepticons will be right behind them.::

::Hear ya loud and clear, Prowl,:: Cliffjumper replied. ::We’ll nab that harvester for you before the humans even know what hit ‘em.::

::You’re not even going in!:: Tailgate whined, the wipers on his windshield vibrating.

::Both of you,:: Arcee interrupted, pulling into the parking lot of the human museum. ::The place is closed now; are you ready?::

::Yep!:: Tailgate bounced slightly on his wheels. ::How are we gonna get in?::

::First we figure out where the harvester is,:: Arcee said, coasting towards the building. ::Visuals provided seem to place it near the front, so I think our best bet is breaking the glass, grabbing the harvester, and getting out before they call for backup.::

::Sounds good to me,:: Cliffjumper sent an affirmative glyph, shutting his headlights off. ::I’ll be here if you need me.::

::Let’s go!:: Tailgate cheered.

Arcee scanned the front of the building, noting all the weak points of the glass grid that made up the front wall. It seemed poorly designed to Arcee —not that she was a construction bot by any means —but perhaps it made more sense for a species of tiny squishy creatures.

She peered through the glass, optics searching for the golden sphere. It should be held in the hand of a large statue of a human god, one with a weapon in its other hand. Finding the statue was actually fairly simple, given its large size compared to the room it was contained in, but there was no energon harvester in its palm.

::Bad news,:: Arcee said. ::No sign of the harvester.::

Her companions’ fields both pulsed with unease.

::Cons get here first again?:: Cliff asked.

::Surely not,:: Arcee vented out, reversing away from the doors. ::Could they have had time to notify the humans?::

Arcee began rounding the side of the building, headlights off and motor quiet, searching for any sign of humans or cons.

::Maybe they just moved it further into the building?:: Tailgate suggested. 

::Hang on,:: Arcee said as she came around to the back of the building.

A single vehicle was parked there with its human leaning against the door, a tiny, human-sized cygar between their derma, smoke flowing out from their bizarre hollow nasal ridge.

Quickly checking her surroundings and alerting her companions to be on the lookout, Arcee activated her holoform and edged towards the human, flickering her headlights at them.

“Museum’s closed, miss,” the human said, looking at her holoform wearily. “You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

“I noticed the orb that one statue was holding is gone,” Arcee said, taking extra effort to reroute her voice to her external speakers so it sounded a little more human. “Doing renovations, I guess?”

“Aye, why do you ask?”

::Coast’s all clear, ‘Cee,:: came Cliffjumper’s ping.

Arcee let go of her holoform and transformed back to her root form, aiming her blaster at the human below her.

“Where’s the orb?” she demanded, optics narrowing.

“Long gone, Autobot,” the human replied, expression hardening.

Slag, they were prepared.

“That’s not what I asked, human,” she hissed, pressing the blaster closer.

The car behind the human suddenly roared to life, the hiss of pressurized air and pistons filling Arcee’s audio receptors as he transformed as well, plating unfolding and realigning to fit a broad mech frame. Yellow optics burned into Arcee’s, his face —although masked —clearly twisted in a scowl.

“Weapons down, Autobot,” Barricade growled, his own blasters primed. “I’ve got reinforcements on the way, and even if you tear this museum down, you won’t find the harvester.”

Arcee glared at him, air rushing out of her vents.

“You slagger.”

::Cons have the harvester,:: Arcee pinged to the channel. ::Barricade’s here and he’s called in backup.::

::Do we stay and fight?:: Cliffjumper asked, his voice eager, and Tailgate seconded his question albeit with less enthusiasm.

Arcee locked optics with Barricade, field pulled in tight to her chassis.

::I don’t think we’d win,:: Arcee grit her denta, plating puffing up in fury. ::We’re going to have to retreat.::

::Aw, alright,:: Cliffjumper sighed. ::I’m calling for a groundbridge; you coming back out?::

::Yeah,:: Arcee slowly backed away from Barricade and his little human pet, not lowering her blasters until she was hidden behind the wall again.

::We’ll get the cons back for this!:: Tailgate piped up, his cheery voice lightening the weight on Arcee’s spark.

::Let’s go bring Prowl the slag news,:: she said as she transformed, driving towards the groundbridge.

Chapter Text

Miko rubbed her eyes with the back of one hand as she walked out of school, sighing in relief as she felt the hot sun on her skin. It wasn’t super comfortable by any means, but it was way better than the stale air of the classrooms and the feeling of teachers constantly scowling in her direction. Technically she’d been supposed to stay after class, but Miko was very experienced in avoiding things adults told her she had to do, so she’d slipped out when the teacher was busy.

Rumble was waiting in the parking lot, lavender-blue paint shining in the sun. Miko wished she had the mechs’ ability to stand the direct sunlight for so long, but luckily since he was a pretty light color Rumble’s plating shouldn’t be too hot to the touch when she got on. She wondered if that was the reason Soundwave had assigned him to be her on-duty cassette instead of Frenzy, or if there was some other reason.

“‘Sup, squishy,” Rumble said as Miko got close. “Ready to go? If we go quick enough, we’ll beat Ravage and Jack to base.”

Miko snickered, but shook her head.

“Nah, I got something better we can do,” she grinned at him, swinging herself onto his seat. “Drive around to the front and look for the black car with the tacky flame decals; that’s Vince’s. I’m gonna key it.”

“I got no idea what ‘keying’ it means, but it sounds fun,” Rumble replied, following Miko’s instructions.

Unfortunately for Miko, Vince was already standing by his car when they got there, and while it would’ve been funny, Miko wasn’t stupid enough to key it while he was watching.

“Oh, look who it is, Darby,” Vince said, noticing Miko.

“Vince,” Jack, who’d just come into view, glanced over tiredly. “What do you want now?”

“Gonna go hang out with your little punk girlfriend?” Vince sneered, crossing his arms and leaning back against his stupid garish car.

“What’s a girlfriend—” Rumble whispered, but Miko ignored him in favor of flipping Vince off and giving him a sneer of her own.

“You’re just jealous, carrot-top,” she called back. “Are those flames on your car for the aesthetic or are you trying to convince yourself orange actually is your color?”

Vince glared at her, pushing off his car and stalking towards her.

“Yeah, ‘cause that shade of purple totally goes with you dumb pink hair,” he shot back, scowling.

“How mad d’you think Soundwave’ll be if I run him over?” Rumble asked quietly, doing his best to not draw Vince’s attention.

“Yeah, I’m borrowing it, dumbass,” Miko rolled her eyes, the fabricated story coming to her easily; she’d had lots of practice. “I know it’s kinda crazy for you to imagine a person having hobbies outside of being a little shit, but I’m sure your tiny brain can handle it.”

“You’ve got a lot of confidence for a girl on just two wheels,” Vince said. “You wouldn’t stand a chance against my ride.”

“You wanna put your money where your mouth is, loser?” Miko smirked.

“Yeah,” Vince replied. “The old dirt road, just past the highway. One lap. See you in an hour, dork.”

“Prepare yourself emotionally, dude,” Miko said as she and Rumble drove past him. “I’m gonna leave you in the dust.”

They didn’t wait to hear Vince’s reply before speeding off down the road. Miko laughed as the wind blew her hair back, the sound of Rumble’s laughter joining her once they’d left the town behind.

“Holy slag, squishy,” Rumble said over the sound of the wind and his engine. “That was fragging awesome! And you snagged us a sick race, too!”

“Yeah, I know I’m pretty awesome,” Miko agreed with a grin. “And Vince totally had it coming. I’ve been waiting to say something like that to his face for a while now. Pretty much since I started at this school.”

“Where’s the place we’re racing at?” Rumble asked. “Wanna take a look at the circuit before we thrash that Vince?”

“Absolutely,” Miko said.

It didn’t take them too long to get to the road, and though it wasn’t too far outside of Jasper city limits, it was a pretty abandoned old road and Miko was pretty sure no one besides random kids drove on it anyway.

“The road goes around over that ridge,” Miko pointed towards the horizon, “loops under a kinda collapsed archway, then loops back around that big mesa there. There’s a couple offshoot roads, but they’re pretty rundown so you probably won’t even notice them.”

“Got it,” Rumble revved his engine. “Ready to take a practice loop?”

“Totally—”

“Hey, Miko!”

Miko turned to see Jack and Ravage riding towards them, kicking up a trail of dust in their wake.

“Hey there, Jackrabbit,” Miko waved as the two came to a stop beside her and Rumble. “Come to see the show?”

“Miko, what were you thinking?” Jack was scowling; not a great sign. “Do you know how dangerous street racing is?”

Miko rolled her eyes, slumping slightly over Rumble’s handlebars.

“Seriously?” Miko said. “Talk about ungrateful, Rumble. You defend a guy’s honor and this is how he thanks you?”

“Yeah, c’mon fleshy,” Rumble said, flashing his headlights. “Don’t you wanna see that glitch-head get a taste of his own medicine?”

“Not at the risk of Miko’s safety!” Jack replied sharply.

“I recommend you try being more responsible, Rumble,” Ravage said in his quiet, rasping voice. “Soundwave may revoke your alt-mode privileges if you endanger Miko’s life.”

“Hey!” Miko interrupted, glaring at the two of them. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here! If I wanna ‘endanger my life’, that’s my decision, not yours.”

Yeah, street racing was dangerous, but Miko wasn’t racing with a regular bike, she had Rumble. She was gonna be perfectly fine, and not only that, but Vince was gonna get utterly humiliated; what about that wasn’t great? Besides, Miko deserved to get to do something crazy; Raf was apparently a child genius and had helped the cons prevent a heist, and Jack had got to meet a mech who turned into a tank —and could kill people by touching them and holy shit that was so cool —and his mom was totally going on a date with Thundercracker, no matter how many times Jack insisted that it wasn’t a date.

In short, Miko had more than enough reason to want to go do something exciting.

“Now, I’m gonna race Vince with Rumble,” Miko said. “You can watch if you want, but you’re not gonna change my mind.”

Jack sighed.

“Ravage?” Jack looked down at the black motorcycle.

“I believe it would be best if we stayed to monitor,” Ravage said.

“Whatever,” Miko turned back to look at the road. “You ready to burn some tread, Rumble?”

“I was Forged ready, squishy,” Rumble replied, revved his engine again. “Hold on if you don’t wanna go flying.”

Miko tightened her grip on his handlebars, leaning forward and taking a deep breath. Rumble’s tires spun for a second before they managed to grip the dirt and gain enough traction, the jolt of acceleration causing Miko’s heart to skip a beat and her breath to catch. She cheered as they sped down the path, eyes already beginning to water. Maybe she should get some goggles or something—

Miko let out a breathless laugh as Rumble caught air over the ridge, grunting when they hit the ground again.

“Slag, I missed this!” Rumble shouted, weaving around the rocks scattered along the road. “When we get back to base, I’m gonna see if Frenzy can find some of our old vids of the races in Ibex! Those were the scrap!”

“Where’s Ibex?!” Miko yelled. “Is that a part of Kaon?!”

“Nah, Ibex is one of them big city provinces!” Rumble replied, drifting around a curve and sending dust flying. “Real fancy-like! They used to host the most prestigious races there!”

“Oh, like Velocitron?!” Miko asked, remembering what Breakdown had said about his home planet.

“Yeah, yeah!” Rumble said. “Mecha from all over Cybertron and its colonies would come to compete for the Ibex Cup! Don’t remember who the last winner was, we’ll have to check the vids—”

They shot like a bullet out of a gun —or maybe a bolt out of a blaster —right through the half-archway, the sun making Rumble’s plating gleam even under the layer of desert dust that had accumulated.

Miko wondered if Cybertron looked anything like Tokyo; it was big and busy and neon too, right? As Rumble slid around another turn, Miko pondered if they had any sort of public transportation. America really didn’t seem to have much of that, unlike Japan, but maybe that was just because Miko was living in the Middle of Nowhere™ and not a big city. Sure Cybertronians had alt-modes, but Rumble and Frenzy were tiny compared to mechs like Thundercracker or Starscream, and it seemed unfair that they’d have to spend more time traveling. Of course, they could dock with Soundwave, but to Miko’s knowledge Soundwave didn’t have a vehicle alt-mode so he couldn’t drive them anyway.

She needed to remember to ask about that when they got back to base.

Kind of a shitty alt-mode to get stuck with though, she thought. If you’re a train, does that mean you can only transform if there are tracks nearby?

“Hey, Rumble!” Miko called, just as the speck of black that was Jack and Ravage came back into view. “Are there any mechs that turn into trains?!”

“Totally!” Rumble answered. “I mean, it’s in Astrotrain’s name, but I dunno if he technically counts —he’s a triple-changer, see? They’re mecha that have more than one alt-mode, which is apparently pretty rare for non-Kaonians. I think there are some Autobot trains too? Don’t remember what their names are, though!”

“That’s so cool!” Miko exclaimed breathlessly as they came to a skidding halt beside the other two. “Astrotrain’s a con then? What outpost is he at?”

“Astrotrain is usually stationed on the Nemesis,” Ravage said, and even though Miko couldn’t see his face —and even if she could, he had a cat face —she could hear that “irritated adult is tired” tone in his voice. “He is one of the mecha in charge of transport, however, so he visits most outposts from time to time.”

“Awesome!” Miko cheered, deliberately ignoring Ravage’s tone and the pinched look Jack was giving her. “I’d love to meet him sometime! I wanna see a mech turn into a train!”

“His other alt-mode’s a space shuttle, too!” Rumble added. “I think he’s our only triple-changer?”

“Discounting the combiners, yes. Knockout has the coding for it, but I believe he got his kibble removed,” Ravage said. “I assume Velocitron wouldn’t have taken well to a racer with more than one alt-mode.”

“Velocitron sounds like the people there suck,” Miko said, scowling. “Like a bunch of Vinces.”

“Yeah, and speak of the devil,” Jack said, pointing back towards the highway. Sure enough, the plume of dust getting kicked up and the dark silhouette was undoubtedly Vince’s car, coasting down the road towards them.

“Oh boy,” Miko grinned, cracking her knuckles. “A bit early isn’t he?”

“The faster we get this over with, the better,”  Ravage muttered, reversing off the road and out of the way.

“If you get in a wreck from this, I’m not paying your medical bills,” Jack said.

“Yeah, whatever,” Miko ignored the two of them in favor of crossing her arms and smirking at the approaching car. “Eager to lose, freak?”

“You asking yourself?” Vince shot back as he pulled up. “Here to watch me beat your girlfriend, Darby?”

“Miko isn’t my girlfriend, and no,” Jack narrowed his eyes at him. “I’m here to make sure neither one of you gets killed.”

“Is that a threat, Darby?”

“Alright losers,” Miko announced, gripping Rumble’s handlebars again. “Are we gonna race or are you two gonna flirt?”

“What?!” Vince looked at her with an expression that was a mixture of scandalized and disgusted. “Do I look fucking gay to you?”

“If the shoe fits,” Miko shrugged. “Not my fault you’re so deep in the closet you’re homophobic.”

“Whatever, dork,” Vince snorted. “Hey, Darby, if you’re gonna be the ‘referee’, you wanna count us off or something?”

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Jack sighed, lifting his hand. “Three—”

Miko stuck her tongue out at Vince, twisting her wrist to prompt Rumble to rev his engine threateningly.

“—two—”

Vince revved his own engine, and to Miko it sounded like his car had a bad case of pneumonia and was trying to cough up its own lungs.

“—go!”

They shot off, Miko and Rumble taking the lead quickly.

“Suck it, carrot-top!” Miko called over her shoulder, leaning into the movement as Rumble took the ridge at an angle, landing lightly and losing none of their momentum.

“You’re gonna eat those words!” came Vince’s voice from somewhere behind them.

Miko just laughed.

First onlined with a rasping wheeze, air rushing out of his vents. His optics flickered on and off, vision spotty, but given how dark it seemed around him it probably didn’t matter. He tried to sit up, but found that not only did his frame feel heavy and so so tired but his arms and pedes were bolted down somehow, like he’d been stasis-cuffed to a berth. Or perhaps he was just on the ground. Maybe his captor didn’t have the resources for all of that and had just put a very heavy slab of metal over his body.

His shoulders felt so horribly sore, like he’d tried to rip off his external vents with only his servos, and his chassis just felt wrong. And the air was so awfully wet. 

In reaction to the moisture, his spark pulsed sharply in his chest, drawing in all the heat to itself and leaving the water to freeze on his plating and inside his lines. He hissed, although it was mostly just static —Primus, what had happened to his voicebox? —and tried to manually reset the freeze, but his spark disobeyed, continuing to sap the warmth out of his frame.

Second suddenly shoved, the wall keeping him out crashing down and causing First to panic. They wrestled with each other for a brief moment, before Second successfully pushed First out and back into their helmspace. Like a switch had been flipped, heat spread throughout their frame, the feeling in their arms and servos coming back slowly.

The frag did you think you were doing?! Second growled, the false-field slamming into First’s. You could’ve killed us, you slagging moron!

I just woke up, First protested calmly, trying to gently take control back from Second.

No, Second shoved him again. I’m in charge. Those Pitspawn creatures might come back.

What creatures? First asked, alarmed. Where were they? What had happened? Primus, he could barely think straight.

Tiny things, Second replied. Organics, I think. Disgusting. And the big one.

The big one? First could feel Second’s unease, the roiling in his false-field. 

That one, Second said, and no sooner had the glyphs left him did a strange silhouette appear in their peripheral vision, speaking some language they couldn’t understand.

Whatever the thing was, it was the size of a Cybertronian, but instead of plating it had hideous organic fibers sprouting from its frame, and what had at first appeared to be the rotor blades of a helicopter they now recognized as additional arms, splitting out of the creature’s back and curling around it like a spindly servo.

Second shared in First’s revulsion, though he didn’t draw back like First did. Perhaps because there was ground beneath him.

The creature said something to them, or at them, but it still wasn’t in a language either of them could parse. It kept chattering, before seeming to notice that they were awake and not unconscious.

“Pardon my manners, dear friend,” the creature said, finally speaking something akin to Neocybex. “I was merely conferring with my colleagues. Can you speak? Or are you going to continue to scream obscenities at me?”

“Go frag yourself,” Second growled in a static-laced rasp.

“A shame,” the creature sighed. “I don’t suppose you’re going to be willing to give your designation either?”

The glare Second leveled at it with their still glitching optics said enough.

“Well, my designation is Tarantulas,” the creature said, placing a mangled servo over its fibrous chassis. “I have you listed in my notes as simply as ‘test subject’, but that won’t do, now will it?”

Tarantulas turned and looked at something else, and First realized there were other creatures in the room as well; tiny, just like Second had said, but still strangely mech-like in shape. 

Are you sure those are organics and not minibots? First pondered.

“I’ve seen them without their covering,” Second replied aloud, causing Tarantulas to turn to them curiously.

“Seen what, dear one?” it tilted its head. “Oh, my little helpers? Yes, they’re called humans. A curious little organic species, I must say. They’re quite intelligent too, almost as much as a mech.”

Second bristled at the pet name, their plating fluffing up in anger.

“They’re disgusting, like you,” he hissed.

“You have quite the fire, don’t you?” Tarantulas gave a chittering laugh. “All puns intended, of course; I’ve certainly taken note of those outlier abilities you’ve shown. Temperature manipulation? Quite fascinating, even if it does seem to require a mood shift to be utilized.”

Something that might’ve been a memory flickered across First’s mind, before it disappeared without a trace. He looked at Second, frowning.

You’re doing it again, he said.

Doing what? Second asked sharply.

Taking my memories, First replied. I’ve been in front with him before, haven’t I?

Second didn’t respond immediately.

I don’t do it on purpose, he finally said, most of his attention focused on straining against their bonds. It just happens.

First knew it wasn’t a lie, but it didn’t make him feel any better. The absorption was involuntary, an unconscious way of their processor trying to protect itself from its own trauma, but he hated losing the information that the memories contained.

“I was thinking of something like Freezefire,” Tarantulas said, now standing off to their left. Second turned their head slightly to watch, still wary of the humans. “For your name, that is. Of course, if you wanted something a little more exotic, the humans have a variety of names to choose from.”

“My name is none of your business, scraplet!” Second snarled, jerking their servos to try and free them. “What do you want with me?!”

“I want to study you, of course,” Tarantulas replied, unfazed by Second’s outburst. “I don’t believe I’ve had a chance to study a frame type like yours, at least not since Cybertron.”

What does that mean? First asked, unnerved.

“I can’t say I’ve ever heard of a triple-changer who hates their alt-mode kibble so much they rip it off, though,” Tarantulas continued pleasantly. “Was that a panic induced action? Don’t worry, I’ve begun synthesizing replacements. I’m no mnemosurgeon, but if I’m reading this correctly, you have the coding for a heavy-artillery ground mode in addition to your aerial mode? Your treads were shredded too when we found you, but those were easily replaced.”

Tarantulas continued, but First wasn’t listening. He hated that other alt-mode. He was a flier, not some bulky warframe, and seeing himself with the kibble and feeling it weigh on his frame made his tanks churn and his spark pulse cold. Primus, it just felt so wrong he wanted it off—

First’s consciousness became distracted, preoccupied in his own memories to hear whatever else was going on outside of his frame.

“Suck on that, carrot-top,” Miko sneered, watching as Vince passed the makeshift finish line behind her. “Pretty embarrassing to get beaten by a girl, huh?”

“I’d like to see you try and compete in a real race,” Vince deflected, scowling. “There’s a race tonight at the southside wash; if you can figure out how to reach the pedals of a real car, maybe you could race there too. Later, nerd.”

Miko rolled her eyes as the dumbass drove away.

“Talk about a sore loser, eh?” Rumble commented, snickering. “Ready to head to base now? I wanna tell Frenz about this.”

“Totally,” Miko replied, grinning.

Jack and Ravage had left just after the race had finished, so they weren’t too far ahead of Miko and Rumble when they got back onto the main road. Miko wasn’t really looking forward to explaining to Soundwave the whole racing thing, but hopefully he could be distracted for long enough that Miko could go track down Knockout. She was pretty sure Knockout was already a part of the street racing scene, so all she had to do was convince him to take her along with him.

“Base approaching!” Rumble announced as the door to the outpost began to lift up. “Hold onto your kibble!”

Miko whooped as they passed into the tunnel, letting go of the handlebars and stretching her arms out to the sides. It was weird to go from the old kinda run-down looking industrial tunnel to the high-tech computer screens and mechanical people inside the actual outpost.

And speaking of the people inside the outpost, the one person Miko had been dreading talking to was seemingly nowhere to be found. Soundwave was absent from his console, and in his place was one of the vehicons.

“Hey, where’s your dad?” Miko asked, hopping off Rumble and letting him transform.

“Oh, he’s at Outpost Tarn today,” Rumble replied. “Visiting Shockwave or somethin’.”

“Shockwave’s the guy that banned you and Frenzy from his labs, right?” Miko said, looking up at him. “He and Soundwave are friends? Wait, oh my god, are they married?! Like Breakdown and Knockout?!”

“What does that mean?” Rumble frowned.

“Hey!” Frenzy shouted from the other side of the silo, metal feet clanging loudly on the floor as he ran towards them. “Rumble says you an’ him totally destroyed a squishy in a race!”

“When did Rumble tell you that? We just got here,” Miko asked bemusedly.

“I pinged him as soon as we got into the base,” Rumble said. “Are we gonna—”

“Hey, hey!” Miko interrupted, putting her hands on her hips. “You still haven’t told me if your dad is married to Shockwave or not.”

“Soundwave?” Frenzy blinked. “Married is the human version of gettin’ junxed, right? Nah, they’re Amica Endura. That’s like, being best friends for life.”

“Oh, that’s neat!” Miko said. “Is there still a ceremony and stuff? Just without kissing?”

“Yeah, it’s just not as intimate—” Frenzy cut himself off, looking at Rumble with a frown. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I don’t like thinking about Sounders and Shocks kissing,” Rumble replied, grimacing. “Ew.”

“Yeah, I mean Sounds’d have to retract his mask,” Frenzy added, before letting out a wheezing laugh. “Wait —wait, how would Shockwave even kiss? He doesn’t have a mouth!”

“They just slam their faces together,” Miko suggested, providing a demonstration by slapping her hands together.

Frenzy wheezed harder and Rumble was on his hands and knees, blinking rapidly to dispel tears that Miko hadn’t even thought to question.

Bulkhead sat on an unused medical berth beside Bumblebee’s, watching First Aid recheck the scout’s energon pump. He’d talked to Bumblebee the previous solar-cycle and promised him he’d come visit, but even after Bumblebee’s insistence that what had happened to him in the mine wasn’t Bulkhead’s fault, he still didn’t quite believe it.

Or maybe it wasn’t that he felt it was his fault, maybe he was just upset that someone as young as Bee had to go through this. It wasn’t fair that any of the kids had to go through this —not Bee, not Smokescreen, not Springer —the war had ruined their chances at a normal, stable childhood. All thanks to Megatron and his ambitions. Poor Hot Rod had lost his entire city to the war.

::You okay, Bulk?:: Bee pinged him, finials quirking in concern. 

“Yeah, I’m alright,” Bulkhead said. “Just a little tired is all.”

::I bet that mission yesterday was exhausting,:: Bee agreed, whirring. ::I can’t wait to get back out in the field. All this sitting around is making my processor short-circuit.::

“I can imagine,” Bulkhead huffed a laugh. “You sound like Wheeljack; he’s always buzzing with energy when he’s berth-ridden.”

::At least I don’t try to turn the medical instruments into explosives,:: Bee said, snickering.

“Oh my Primus,” First Aid said, running a servo over his facemask. “He’s one of the worst patients.”

“Just one?” Bulkhead chuckled. “Who’s the worst then?”

::Smokescreen probably,:: Bee supplied.

“Smokescreen’s not that bad,” First Aid said, shaking his helm. “He whines, but so do Sunstreaker, Tracks, Gears —from what I’ve heard, Whirl is probably the worst. I’ve never treated him myself, but Ratchet says he’s a nightmare to handle.”

“Ol’ Whirlybird is certainly a servoful,” Bulkhead agreed. “A damn good fighter, but he treats that like it’s his only personality trait.”