Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Autobot City, medbay, Alaska. A few cycles before the official end of the ceasefire, early January, 2005.

//Purging targeted data...
//Progress: 34%

"Did it work? Is it working?"

Elita didn't need to online her optics and look to her left to know that Moonracer would be basically bouncing in her seat, vibrating with the nervous excitement that was evident in her voice, and it was both a relief to hear it, and an energy lance through her spark.

Aside from the first few orns the quintesson scientists had allowed to make sure their artificially created sparks were stable, where Firestar and Moonracer's personalities had glittered through a dull, muted reality Elita could only recognise now, they had been trapped underneath the same shell program as the rest of them.

Hoist had gotten rid of the critical programming, tricking the spark-energy reroute routines into dormancy, which had allowed them all to re-establish themselves. And now...

//Progress: 87%
//Hostile response routine activated---

No. No, she would not let it.

Whatever happened, the fact that she could feel her natural firewalls and defensive measures activate and attack the sudden attempt from the shell programming to reestablish control, and could add her own active efforts to it, was proof enough in itself that Hoist, and now Ratchet and Wheeljack's work had been effective. And she would not let it fail here.

//Routine neutralised... quarantined.
//... Purged.
//Continuing purging targeted data...

"Oh, that feels odd. Does it feel odd to you?" Moonracer's excitement seemed to have dimmed a little, but there was still an unquenchable lilt to her voice, and beside Elita, Chromia hummed agreement - a bit tight and low, since Chromia had never liked to admit to weaknesses, but agreement nonetheless.

//Progress: 95.5%

"Yeah. It does. Almost like the beginning?" Firestar asked, and the fact that it was a question was enough to make Elita want to wrap her in a hug and take one million world-sweeper missiles and clean Quintessa out. That couldn't happen until the planet was devoid of the others that were there, however, so she'd have to be patient.

"A little yes," Elita agreed with a brief chuckle, however dry, "just a few kliks more and it shouldn't feel odd after that." At least she hoped so. So long since she'd last been completely unburdened by the dull choking shell program, so long since she hadn't seen the constant flash of 'failed: cyberstatic charge contact with critical areas. Action: ...'. That last bit simply blinking in the lower corner of her HUD, ignored but not forgotten, the significance of it lost on her while enmeshed in the quintesson slavery shell program.

"You think---oh."

//Progress: 100%
//All hostile data purged.
//Entry points secured and locked.
//Running security diagnosis and extrapolation analysis on entry points used by hostile program.
//Status of processors, auxiliary processes and circuits: Default.

She had never seen a more beautiful status message in her whole function, and the nearly armour-denting pressure of Chromia squeezing her shoulder confirmed she was not alone in the heady lightness of every thought unburdened by something undefinable. It had been easy to ignore it during the battle with Unicron, but after the battle the feeling of wrongness and constant, averted pings from the lingering shell program had been distracting and prickled on attention and circuits both.

She'd been holding in an ex-vent, Elita realised as she onlined her optics and tilted her helm back. Waste air that was hot enough sensor nodes registered a local increase in temperature around her vents puffed out and as she drew a vent in, the cooling systems relaxed.

There was nothing different with the medbay now compared to three breems ago, and yet it seemed... brighter, more defined somehow. Moonracer jumped off the circuit slab she'd been sitting on, staggered and caught herself by twirling and then fell into Firestar for a hug.

"This is amazing! I... think I remember this is how it used to be. Right, Firestar?"

As Firestar nodded, frowning a little as she slid off the slab, still partly hugging Moonracer, Ratchet and Wheeljack stepped close again. They were the only other two mechs in the medbay beside Elita and her group, which, she felt, was just for the best. Ratchet looked rather pinched as he looked to Firestar and Moonracer, and Wheeljack's finials flickered briefly violet.

"How are you all feeling? I want to run scans as well, but your own assessment is important." As Ratchet crossed the medbay to pick up the scanner, he looked to each of them and Chromia looked up from where she'd been frowning at the floor.

"Like Moonracer said, this is how I remember it being, before, and I didn't even know I was missing it. There's nothing... cluttering up my processors anymore."

That, there, was a perfect description of the feeling blooming out from her spark and processor and making her feel light. It was echoed by the other three, Moonracer and Firestar quietly astonished as Elita held her arm out before Ratchet had even come close, access panel to the medical port bared. She already knew what he would find, but wanted to be sure. It didn't yet feel safe to trust her own systems and processors to be able to tell there was absolutely nothing left of the program.

"And what about distribution to others? Can it only be transferred by hardline, or is there some other way?" Elita looked from Ratchet to Wheeljack, aware of the sudden tension in her group's frames, the narrowed looks that even Moonracer and Firestar were now sporting, despite their elation.

"Uh, well. Hardline would be easiest an' the safest. Can't be intercepted before it's in your systems, but why would we even need a wireless method of transferrin'?" Wheeljack looked up from where he was looking through the results Ratchet was getting from his own angle of engineering, fingers drumming against the little device. "'Cause while we haven't gotten there yet, it's not as if we're not going to get Arcee, so there'd be no need..." The bright blue flashing of his finials slowly tapered off into dull, un-lit grey as Elita shook her helm and Chromia's optics narrowed.

"Arcee's not the only one. We weren't the only ones enslaved. There's quite a population of us on Quintessa, and I am not leaving them in the grip of those cable-tentacled, techno-organic creeps!"

Ratchet and Wheeljack could apparently do nothing more than stare at the four, because that thought had never even occurred to them.

Others?

Others enslaved as Arcee and these four had been?

The thought was quite staggering, and deeply unsettling.

"I'll... I'll get to work on it." Wheeljack muttered, optics narrowed and his finials flickering brightly violet again. Ratchet nodded and went on to Firestar as the last one he had to scan.

"I'll tell Optimus. As for the good news however; you are all completely free of the shell program. In addition, while it's hard to tell exactly since we still have no solid spectrum to estimate from when it comes to how long spark energy can last, individually and trending over a population, I'd say that while you lost physical years to the... slavery, you haven't lost it definitely," Ratchet said, frowning thoughtfully at his scanning device, "since the shell program was suppressing your sparks and refusing full access to the whole chassis, the strain has been less."

While the earlier tension didn't completely bleed out from their frames, there was still a shifting of shoulders and a brightening of the glow in all of their optics at the news. They'd known, but now knowing it made it real. In addition, finding out that while, for Elita and Chromia, over fourteen million years had been lost, those were still left to be lived, unless conflict took them before that?

It was like a gift they had neither known to, or dared to hope for.

"Thank you, Ratchet," Moonracer said with a smile that lit up the medbay despite her subdued tone. Ratchet shrugged and smiled at her, a lopsided faint thing, and Chromia, Elita chuckled while Firestar and Moonracer just grinned.

***
Painted Desert, Arizona, former Decepticon base. A cycle until the end of the ceasefire.

There was a faint, fuzzy cloud cover over the Painted Desert as mechs of both factions started to trickle in, arriving in careful, guarded groups. Guarded, since every time someone arrived from one or the other faction everyone present tensed, hands on weapons or activating in-chassis ones, before everybody forcibly relaxed.

Jetfire had left the inside of the base for the softly lit up outside in an attempt to think, though the striking geological layers of the desert were distracting and he wished he had time to do a proper geological survey and research... not just the area, but the whole of Earth. That would probably not be able to happen for a while yet though. Especially considering the newest developments, whether or not the war flared up again in the same intensity as before.

The quintessons didn't just have Arcee, but a fairly large population of cybertronian slaves.

Optimus' voice, verbally for those who had been present and over the comm. for those who hadn't, had thrummed with restrained heat as the information was relayed and the thought had been quite... incomprehensible in its potential entirety.

The Decepticons may have captured and enslaved any and all Autobots they had been able to get their hands on when Megatron returned with his Aerospace Extermination Squadron right as Ultra Magnus had managed to push all splintered factions into a peace treaty, and while that had temporarily crushed (nearly) all Autobot resistance, it was still, somehow, completely different than the thought of an alien species coming in and enslaving them.

And now, besides the possibility of Megatron immediately using his functional warship and galvanizing the former or actual Decepticons, a group that numbered into the two hundreds, to conquer Earth, there was also the fact that Arcee still being in the grip of the quintessons wasn't just a surgical rescue operation anymore, but promised to need a far larger undertaking.

Shaking his helm, Jetfire followed the flowing bands of ocher, reds and oranges in the rock around the distinctly cybertronian building that jutted out from the rock, feeling... lost. Because for him, personally, there wasn't just the imminent possibility of Earth becoming a target, or the greater civil war breaking out again now that the ceasefire would end and Megatron was around to gather up any Decepticons on Cybertron (and out in space, if they could be reached), but his relationship with Starscream.

Which was obviously influenced by whatever would happen next, and would continue to be so as long as the war would continue.

While the crisis with Unicron had been going on and they'd been... exploring and establishing this part of their relationship, this reality that was now imminent had seemed very far away. They knew how to fight each other, of course, and how to ignore each other, when anger wasn't driving a need to attack, but...

Rubbing his faceplate, Jetfire glanced aside as Optimus, Alpha Trion and Breakaway wandered out from the base and past him, out of the faint shadow the building cast. Turning away but not feeling like moving inside just yet, but not wanting to try and eavesdrop, Jetfire tried to concentrate on his own thoughts.

Because how was he supposed to go back to ignore Starscream with the awareness of his own and the Seeker's feelings both, plus the sudden resurgence in awareness of their synchronised spark pulse? It was just...

"---leaving, then?" Alpha Trion's voice drifted along the faint breeze that was stirring desert dust across the ground, and Jetfire gave up on trying to reason out what he was going to do. Not only because he knew he wouldn't come to a solution, or even a conclusion, but, despite the fact that he didn't mean to eavesdrop, it was somewhat hard not to overhear the three talking.

But they weren't going to any greater lengths to keep their conversation private besides the distance from the building, so while Jetfire wouldn't be moving from his spot, he didn't feel it necessary to leave either.

"I shall accompany the reservoir as it is removed to another location. Earth was a secure place of storage for a long while, but now that events have had their course, it would be safer to store the rarified energon elsewhere." Despite Breakaway's placid tone, there was a surprisingly knowing angle right underneath it. Breakaway obviously knew the worth the rarified energon would have to some less scrupulous individuals, and too many knew of the reservoir's location and what it contained for just a seal to be enough of a guarantee to keep it safely locked away.

"Thank you for your assistance, Breakaway. It lightened the load on our medics after the battle." Optimus didn't even hint at the fact that neither Ratchet, First Aid nor any of the others who had been assisting with repairs hadn't actually trusted Breakaway's particular skill of healing, but had had to admit that it worked.

"I may not be a warrior, Optimus Prime, but I do what I can," Breakaway said with a chuckle, because it wasn't as if he had missed the medics' reactions to the results of his power on the injured he attended. "I would stay, but previous duty takes precedence, and I believe you don't need my help presently anyway. Hopefully we shall see each other again, Alpha Trion."

There was a moment of brief silence before the hum of a transwarp portal opened up - apparently Breakaway wouldn't fly manually to the spot outside Hawaii where the reservoir was, but rather use his energon-connection teleportation ability.

::Jetfire? Thank you for your help in finding my sibling.::

Optics flickering, Jetfire turned around and met Breakaway's visor-covered stare across the distance separating them with a twitch to an upper optic ridge.

::I believe I should be the one thank you, Breakaway, considering you probably saved my life with your... er, ability. And I didn't do much, even if it required some... ah, thought to find her.::

::Ah, but you had to challenge your beliefs and accept that things may be different than you had assumed so far.:: Breakaway's smile was kind, and the silver-blue glow from his visor soft, eliminating any sting the words may have had. With a snort, Jetfire shook his helm.

::Maybe so. And while it was trying, I do try to keep an open mind. There were also several previous... situations, that reminded me to keep to my analysis, and if there was anything that was repeating itself, it was circumstances with unexplainable sources - at least unexplainable with regular science.:: He couldn't help the static sigh that followed, but he was... reluctantly... coming to accept it.

The hardest thing was still the fact that Primus existed.

Though, all right, he had known that already. He'd just decided that he needed more evidence. The incident with the Fallen in the Well of All Sparks had been only a single one, after all. And one time was not enough to prove anything more than that there'd undeniably been some form of power in the core of Cybertron.

Shaking his helm as Breakaway chuckled and gave a brief wave, Jetfire brought his attention outwards in time to see the jet, one of the First Thirteen and that was still somewhat... incredible to consider, step through the swirling purple-shaded portal before it winked out behind him.

As Optimus and Alpha Trion turned around to Jetfire and the building behind him, another hum and shifting flare of transwarp energies rippled through the air in another place, and Optimus glanced from it to Jetfire and then Alpha Trion, tilting his helm.

"Show time, it seems." Optimus' murmur died just as the portal ripped open fully, allowing Megatron, Starscream and Skywarp to step through, right before Skywarp disappeared in a displaced shimmer, warping away to probably pick up Thundercracker, since he hadn't arrived earlier.

Jetfire pushed away from the wall he'd been standing against, flickering his gaze over the two Decepticons – and was caught by Megatron's red stare for a moment. It didn't last longer than a second or two, but he held it and then Megatron looked away, turning to Optimus instead. Jetfire's optics slid slightly to the right after that, as Thundercracker and Skywarp came through another portal, meeting another set of red optics instead.

These ones far more familiar, even with the changes. Starscream, wings spread wide, the weak sunlight bouncing off his whites and sliding down red and blues and seemingly making his orange armour-glass for the cockpit glow, stared at him for a moment before his expression twitched into a frown. But he didn't look entirely too displeased as he met Jetfire's blue optics and then looked to Megatron and Optimus where they were facing each other, and snorted, crossing his arms over his cockpit.

"Megatron---"

"No. We're not here to extend the agreement of a future potential armistice into peace negotiations, Prime, so put your vocal processors in neutral unless you were going to say something else. I'm not interested in peace," Megatron said, sneering as he looked the Prime up and down, "you want peace, you'll have to work harder on your skills as a turbofox hunter and repeat the situation I broke up with my Aerospace Extermination Squadron, because you're going to need to corner me and more than that, before I'd consider peace negotiations," Megatron said, and Jetfire turned from Starscream to catch the sharp incisor-baring that wasn't really a smile.

"If you'd want to join us, or properly lay down your arms and let us fit you Autobots where you most would benefit the campaign, you're certainly welcome to."

And that was the issue, wasn't it? As Jetfire looked to Optimus and saw his bright blue optics flare, one hand tightening into a fist before he straightened and dragged that hand down his faceplates, not caring of the audience, Jetfire grimaced. The Decepticons couldn't be negotiated with for peace, not when - or as long as - Megatron's vision underpinned the faction and he was present.

"Still, Megatron? We barely have a planet, and you still want to reach beyond? And last time you won we hardly ended up in a situation or position I think any of us would want to repeat." Optimus' optics narrowed as he spoke, spreading his hands sharply on the last word.

Both of those comments were correct, since even if Cybertron was in far better condition than it had been for well over four million years, brimming with energon due to the so-called Great Shutdown and cities partly (or fully, in Iacon's case) rebuilt, it was hardly in the same condition as it had been pre-war. Which didn't even touch upon what had more or less been slavery and labour camps back when Megatron temporarily won. Jetfire remembered it with a twitch of his wings.

"It was necessary at the time, but with a bit of discussion such treatment might not be necessary this time. You'd be able to stop fighting." He smirked and then tilted his helm. "And as long as there's those who would listen and know the rightness of our intended position and the truth of our past, as it gives them, and us, purpose, I have all I need, Cybertron or not." Megatron shrugged, curiously placid and the smirk still hovering, if much smaller now, around the corners of his mouth.

It was true, too, especially as resources and equipment could be acquired in other ways as long as he had soldiers available. Optics briefly flickering offline, Jetfire tilted his helm back, speeding through a few scattered images from memories of Megatron's speeches - both the ones he'd attended himself, and ones Starscream had replayed audio recordings of. The force of those words, echoed in the statement just spoken, still rang true, and was probably why Megatron would always cause people to flock to his side, besides his charisma.

A cause like ending an unjust social regime and organisation has a concrete end, something that could actually be negotiated over, and if that had been the reason for the Decepticons' formation, they would probably have had peace now. But when the reason was a perceived destiny of protecting the galaxy... universe? and a past of stellar empire basing itself on that very thing against threats Megatron had never fully formulated and could thus be moved into whatever was handy, well...

Unicron had probably been the definite "threat" meant, as that was something the whole of the universe had needed protecting from, but Jetfire didn't doubt Megatron would put that behind him - and behind the Decepticons - for other possible threats.

"Fine." Pausing, Optimus actually tilted his helm back, briefly staring up at the sky and in the direction of Cybertron before he looked back at Megatron again, the upper edge of an optic ridge arched. "And I hope you're not offended if I decline your generous offer, Megatron. Given the way things have gone, I, and the rest of the Autobots, have some cause to mistrust you."

Megatron actually chuckled, gesturing loosely with his hand, and Optimus... well, it was hard to tell, but it might have been a tiny, sharp smile behind his mask, given the angle of his optics, but Jetfire wasn't sure.

"And if the quintessons require long-term cooperation?"

"Long term, Optimus, isn't forever, but properly fighting them would require outposts... secure bases on other planets..." Megatron didn't even finish, just tilted his helm and, even from the angle Jetfire stood at, he could see the pointed expression on his faceplates. Optimus' optics narrowed and darkened at that, but Megatron continued before he could say anything. "Let's get this over with. I have better things to do than tie up administrative legalese with symbolic static." Gesturing with a hand in the air, Megatron turned on his heels, though there was a momentary pause that allowed Optimus to catch up, and they walked into the base side by side.

Something that caused Starscream to sneer at their backs as he had to walk behind them, Skywarp and Thundercracker falling in slightly behind Starscream, with Alpha Trion and Jetfire at the rear. Whatever else happened now, this would be... unprecedented. The would-have-been ceasefire and peace treaty Magnus had managed to wrangle from the divided Decepticon factions after joining the likewise scattered Autobot ones had been done in the absence of Megatron. The only other treaties or agreements settled prior to that had been those that had affected the fighting, like the Crisis Intervention Accord, which had relegated the gestalt teams to neutral groups.

This, limited in scope or not, hadn't happened before.

Which just brought Jetfire back to how to handle an actual war situation with Starscream and their... relationship. It wasn't that he hadn't cared earlier in the war, but with the way things had been, it'd been easy to... put aside the past, ignore it in favour of frustration and anger and then just ignore Starscream, especially as they stopped meeting on battlefields.

He'd kept an optic on what they knew of Decepticon casualties, though, even if he'd never thought (or let himself think) closer about it.

Looking up from the floor and watching the tips of his own stabilisers passing the floor beneath them, Jetfire caught sight of Starscream's wings in front beyond his trine, moving slightly with each step and firmly flared compared to Skywarp's, whose were angled slightly downwards, nearly insolently relaxed, and Thundercracker's, held in a more neutral position.

::... This is an already-used course, I know, but Starscream...:: It was probably not the most safest to reach out here and now, but he'd been thinking and thinking a lot the last three breems, so if Soundwave was listening to anyone's thoughts, he'd already have picked at least something up.

::Can we be focused on this farce instead of things that doesn't matter yet, Jetfire?:: Starscream didn't need to be speaking out loud for his biting annoyance to transfer loud and clear, but Jetfire just snorted - over the comm. only - and pushed. He wasn't exactly sure why.

::Yet. If by 'yet' you mean in little over three breems, since that's when the ceasefire will formally be over, though I suppose I can extend that 'yet' to a solar cycle or two, to give the Decepticons some time to act---::

::Jetfire---::

::No, Starscream.:: Now that he'd actually reached out, Jetfire felt his resolve over at least bringing up what was bothering him more concretely than they're previously talked about it - by not talking about it, or joking about it. Even if he knew Starscream's "assurance" to make sure he ended up where he "should be" if the Decepticons won had been made in all seriousness, he chose to not pay that any heed.

::We didn't manage to kill each other when we were actually angry at each other after I left, and then it didn't matter, but either of us could've died in the meantime anyway, and now?:: Jetfire suddenly found himself out of words, momentarily feeling heat flutter in the wiring around his spark chamber from a flush of charge. It was a long time ago he'd actually let himself not just abstractly think about Starscream dying, but actually feeling what came from those thoughts.

::I won't be dying, you nagging protohatcher,:: Starscream sniffed, his wings flicking a little which earned a glance from Skywarp which then travelled back to Jetfire, the black Seeker's grin sharp. Jetfire met it with a blank stare and a slight frown. Skywarp's upper optic ridges went up as his smirk widened and then he turned forward again - though that might have been due to Thundercracker pulling at his arm cannon.

::And just don't get in the way and you'll be fine! If you do die though, I'll be sure to give you a monument.:: It was a glib answer, quick and breezy. Too quick, actually, and Jetfire shook his helm minutely and briefly wished they were somewhere else, either so he could either roll his optics where Starscream could see it, shake him, or pull him into a hug. He wasn't sure which.

::That's not an answer, Starscream, and you know it won't wor---::

::I don't know, all right!?:: The sudden break was surprising, but since they'd passed into the large hangar where Devastator had used to combine - and where the Fallen possessing Jetfire had fought the Autobots, the proof of that battle still scattered about - there was no way of letting any reaction at all show.

::Blast it all Jetfire, I. don't. know. Just shut up about it!::

And there was nothing much else to do, since this conversation wasn't really suited to have in public, even if it was happening over a private comm. frequency. Jetfire dropped it, and sidled aside as he passed the doorway, ending up by the wall as the rest of the group went further inside. Skywarp and Thundercracker ended up at the front of the gathered Decepticon group while Starscream strode beyond where the Prime and Megatron stopped to stand beside Soundwave with all the ego but not quite the presence of Megatron, though the elegance was all his own.

Alpha Trion walked off to the side, standing level with the Autobot group but not exactly a part of either it, or the Autobot command that was represented opposite of Soundwave and Starscream with Shockwave slightly behind them by Prowl and Ultra Magnus. Optimus and Megatron stood in the upper half of the room, their respective commanders behind them closer to the hangar doors, and in front of the group of both present and (supposedly) former Autobots and Decepticons.

Between the two leaders sat a flat oval device on a pillar, its center a dully shimmering sphere, the electromagnetic field for the moment holding nothing more than itself. As the actual importance of the event started to sink in, there'd been some scrambling for how to make it properly official - and binding - and Skids had found an old cyberstatic oath sphere in one of the storage spaces on board the Steelhaven which had solved the issue.

Since it was old, it had only three access-points instead of the more usual six, but since only two of them would be needed here, it didn't really matter.

For a huge room filled with almost fifty cybertronians, it was surprisingly quiet; the slide and scrape of metal as mechs shifted every now and then was of course there, but the majority were standing very, very still. No one was speaking either, not even over comms., even if glances were being shot around, both between the groups and across to the other one. The most notable thing was the underlying, nearly humming pressure of the collected EM fields, which was probably actually the real reason for stances being shifted more than tension; the room wasn't exactly made for this amount of people, despite having been built to accommodate a team of five to combine into a towering gestalt.

That just required space upwards though.

"Broadcast established. Transmission stable and encrypted." Soundwave's voice thrummed into the quiet, responsible for the recording and broadcast of the event - it wasn't as if it wouldn't be duly broadcast for those that couldn't be present (either because there weren't enough space, or they were on Cybertron), though some care had been taken to keep it from the humans.

Not that they wouldn't be able to tell something was going on considering this meeting was being held in the middle of the day and there was no way to hide their moving about, but since the humans did know about the ceasefire, that would have to be enough until they asked about it.

This event didn't have the ceremony and pomp of the intended peace-treaty ceremony at Tyger Pax that Magnus had arranged over four million years ago, but they didn't have a lot of resources, so it was the best they'd been able to put together.

Prowl took a step forward, eyeing the datapad in his hand even if he already knew every single word of the text it contained. At least there would be no barrage of questions like that he'd been assaulted with in Iacon's Central Hall before they left for Earth again. And even if it happened now, there was Optimus and Magnus... and even Megatron, admittedly, who people would turn to first.

"This is the overview for the armistice agreement in case of offensive quintesson action. The full detailed document is in possession of the High Command of each faction and will be available and broadcast after signing. It includes the cessation of all cross-faction hostilities for the duration of said offensive action, including any necessary strikes to keep the quintessons away from Cybertron after the cessation of any offensive action from said party."

Optimus had insisted on the phrasing 'offensive action', whereas Megatron had tried 'hostile action' but had to fold - though he'd gained other things, like the fact that they would basically keep up their joint offensive against the quintessons if there were a 'reasonable suspicion' they would attack again.

"Any suspected or confirmed cross-faction incidents of violence or harassment should be brought to the attention of your officer, or an officer of the opposite faction, so an investigation can be launched and punishment duly given. Punishments will only be administered by your own faction's officers. No such incidents will be tolerated during the armistice, no matter what grievances anyone may have, as this will act negatively on our ability to form a coherent defense against the quintessons," Prowl said as he looked up from the datapad, optics cool and narrows as his gaze swept the crowd, pinning Decepticons and Autobots both. Whatever he or anyone else thought of the potential future reality of having to work with Decepticons (and in the inverse, but well, he wasn't inclined to consider Decepticons more than he had to), they would all have to do it.

"On any potential battlefield and off, Optimus Prime and Lord Megatron will be the unquestionable ultimate authorities, and if one is absent, all forces, regardless of faction, will obey the orders of the one who is present. Chain of command shall otherwise break down along faction lines, but if only one faction's officers are present on the battlefield and you cannot reach your own, you should contact those present, and it will be incumbent on you to seek out their orders unless the ones you have previously remain unaffected by the battlefield situation."

Here, more than the previous paragraph, there were grumbles and mechs shifting, but no outright protests, especially when Megatron's stare swept over the room, though that garnered some grimaces from the Autobots.

"At no point does this armistice agreement affect the factions' integrity, their goals or philosophy, and, as a temporary response-only agreement, it cannot open for peace treaty negotiations." That last had been expected, but the first thing Megatron had said before anything else, and had refused to move on from before it was accepted. Optimus had known, they'd all known, they wouldn't have been able to leave any sort of opening or loophole about it - regardless of if peace negotiations were possible or not - but it had still been a disappointment.

Optics flickering to the Prime as he spoke, Prowl caught the slight twitch his finials at the last few words, and he wondered again if there was some way they could've wrangled that in there, or left a loophole or... no. There was nothing, and they all knew it, Optimus probably more than anyone else.

With a static sigh that he kept behind gritted teeth, Prowl straightened up, doorwings flicking and then stiffening as he looked from the inert but online cyberstatic oath sphere to Optimus and then Megatron.

"If these are the terms as agreed upon, please connect the cyberstatic interface threads to their respective interface for signing."

There was a moment of nothing, as Megatron and Optimus stared at each other, hands fisted at their sides. A moment that stretched into half a klik, and then Optimus relaxed his right hand and the metal at the fingertips slid back, which allowed tiny little cables to push out while Megatron shifted his shoulders and revealed the same set of cables in his own left hand.

As one, whether meant and planned to or not, they raised their hands and pushed the fingertips into the slots of the device itself, the sphere in the middle suddenly humming to life. Cyberstatic oath spheres siphoned a small amount of cyberstatic charge from the oath-takers' chassis, energy that was part of their sparks, from them and into the field that would contain it. A completely counterfeit-safe and inherently important, not to say sacred way as it contained energy of the participants' very sparks, to seal an oath or agreement.

The formerly dully gleaming sphere settled in the center of the flat oval device turned to glowing brightly white, and the two leaders slid their fingertips away, the little cables disconnecting from the interface ports and retracting into their fingers. A few mechs around the room shifted, but no one moved, uncertain what to do now, with barely a breem left of the one-month ceasefire declared at the defeat of Unicron.

"Prime. I want a word with you and Alpha Trion," Megatron suddenly snapped into the silence, and then looked around, optics narrowing. "And since this will be a private conversation, out."

The Decepticons, of course, cleared instantly, Soundwave calmly heading up the rear as Rumble and Frenzy wormed out from the crowd of larger mechs or came out of the shadows in Ravage's case - Laserbeak had been sitting on his shoulder for the duration of the event. Starscream gave an arch, sneering stare before he left.

The Autobots hadn't moved.

"It will be fine. Transport back to Autobot City will take a while anyway," Optimus said with a wave of his hand, and slowly everybody started to wander out, Magnus and Prowl having to usher a few reluctant mechs on their way. Finally, the only ones in the suddenly echoingly-empty hangar were Alpha Trion, Optimus Prime and Megatron.

Fingers brushing over the glowing orb that contained their cyberstatic energy, Optimus glanced at Megatron from under the edge of his tilted helm.

"What is it, Megatron? I thought we were done." Of course, saying that, he knew they'd never really be done. Megatron snorted and gave the glowing cyberstatic oath sphere a narrow stare, and there was even the hum of his fusion cannon powering up..."And if you do that, we have to redo this whole thing. Do you have the patience for that?"

The fusion cannon quieted with a muttered noise from Megatron that could have been a word just as much as it probably wasn't, and Optimus smirked quickly behind his mask.

"We're never done," Megatron said with a pointed look, then continued past Optimus to Alpha Trion. "Where's the other... Prime?"

None of them, not even Megatron apparently, seemed to know, exactly, how to handle the idea of a few among them being some of the first of their species, which was probably understandable overall... Optimus could avoid the issue with Alpha Trion, because he was his mentor first and foremost, but it was still a strange thing to think about.

"She elected to remain in Autobot City for this event," Alpha Trion said with a slight smile that was barely a twitch of his facial decorations, "directing some improvements of the city and its perimeters. She likes working with her hands."

"No matter." With a huff and a dismissive wave of his hand, Megatron only paid Optimus a very brief glance before his optics narrowed, though by the tension around his mouth he seemed more pleased than angry, for whatever reason. "You alone can doubtlessly answer the question. Are the quintessons our creators?"

Optimus, who had been staring at the glowing sphere, feeling like he was giving it, and this event, far more significance than it could ever have, jerked up straight, staring with wide, incredulous optics at Megatron, and then turned to look at Alpha Trion. His old mentor had a... almost hilariously... slack expression, obvious even through the obscuring facial decorations, his optics flared and then dimming slowly.

His engine turned over with a curious noise and he slowly shook his helm.

"... What? Where did you... ah, get that... from? I think the answer should be clear from the purpose I explained in relation to Unicron."

"That's not an answer, old mech," Megatron sneered and crossed his arms over his chestplates, the movement surprisingly smooth even with the fusion cannon in the way. "Your perfect explanation made me think, and I have seen our past, Alpha Trion. Before the Golden Age we spanned the stars, protection for countless of species. But the quintessons were there before we spread out, and again at the end. Primus could have come after the quintessons, after they'd been tossed out. So did they actually create us or not, or am I going to have to go looking for answers elsewhere, again? The Council of Ancients didn't like what I found, because I found them out, apparently." By the end, Megatron's voice had dropped into a smooth, high-grade slide purr that threatened knives underneath.

Optimus, unsure what to say, or even if he should interrupt, remained at his position by the cyberstatic oath sphere, arms crossed and ready to act if need be. It didn't look like it'd end in violence, but even with this more restrained Megatron Optimus would take no chances. Not now, not ever and certainly not with his mentor facing the warlord.

"... They didn't like it because they had things to hide, Lord Megatron. I am merely surprised." Alpha Trion said slowly, not so much crossing his arms as laying them, one on top of the other, against his chestplates. Megatron snorted.

"Surprised that someone would connect the dots and ask now that we know you should be able to answer?"

"Surprised." Alpha Trion tilted his helm a little, slight reproach for having been interrupted as he then shook his helm. "But at the same time, from what I've seen and heard of you, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. The quintessons, they're---"

The sudden activation of the Autobot emergency comm. channel startled both Optimus and Alpha Trion, the latter who looked briefly confused before he apparently realised what it was - he did only have access to it because Optimus and Magnus had insisted.

::Prime? Sorry t'interrupt but I think... uh. I think Cybertron's getting invaded.::

::Jazz? What?:: Gaze immediately going to Megatron, Optimus realised it probably wasn't Decepticon in origin, as Megatron was standing stiff, staring narrowly at the floor, helm tilted as he was clearly also listening to a comm. call.

::I can send ya what Vibes just sent me, but I think Soundwave probably already have the recording, and since he's there...::

As if on cue, Soundwave came back into the hangar, and Optimus straightened up.

"Jazz just indicated Soundwave has the recording he was given?" He couldn't quite abort the arch to his optic ridge, or the tight tone to his voice, but Megatron simply waved it away.

"Indeed." There was a sudden, sharp smirk from Megatron as Soundwave plugged into the very same recording equipment they'd used earlier to broadcast the ceremony. "He even has the conversation before that, but I would hazard that Jazz dropped the encryption..?"

::... Jazz? Did you drop the encryption for Soundwave to pick up?::

::Only when it became obvious it probably wasn't 'Cons, Prime. Just watch it.:: There was a low, tight urgency in Jazz's voice, and Optimus grunted and brought another two mechs into the conversation for expediency's sake.

::Magnus, Prowl. With me.::

He had hardly finished the short few words and they were right there, and he smiled a little. It was quickly exchanged for something far less light when the recording started.

"Jazz? I think... You need to see this. Broadside is organizing what defense we have, but we're all out of practice." Vibes said, leaning forward against the console and her visor nearly whitish-yellow.

"Yeah? What's the what?" Despite the phrasing, Jazz' tone was serious enough, and then the screen flickered and switched over to a slightly static-disrupted aerial view of the continent of Kaon, which quickly zoomed in on the Badlands in the western part of it.

"We've got sharkticons and other things spreading from this location, and the only reason we know they're coming from here is because of Shockwave's blasted surveillance satellites! Just look at it!"

The fuzzy view didn't get less so, but stabilised as they swooped high over murky, treacherous ground and swampy acid stretches before a city that definitely shouldn't be there appeared. Seemingly having planted itself right into the ground or thrust right out of it, the buildings were strangely looped and with textures that couldn't be found anywhere on Cybertron. Naturally, anyway. In the distance, before the view shorted out and switched back to Vibes, some part of the city blazed with light, and it was easy to pick up on the stream of sharkticons and... other figures that were marching (or waddling, in the sharkticons case) out of it.

"That thing wasn't there before and Jazz, get some trained soldiers back here or someone who can coordinate things. I don't have enough to work with, and it's right now pretty much all concentrated on Iacon, which means the scattered settlements elsewhere don't have much of any protection and the blasted prissy fragger---" Vibes paused in her pacing and huffed loudly out of her vents as she turned back to the screen. "Needlenose is organising the 'Cons here, of course, and so far it hasn't turned into a free for all, but I don't trust it not to. Just give me something work with, soon."

"Soon as possible, captain. Autobot City out."

The recording cut, and after a moment of silence Optimus rubbed his mask.

"Quintessons?" He glanced to Megatron, who took a bare moment to flicker his red stare to him before it went back to the blank screen.

"That armistice doesn't come into effect until we have confirmation of that. But pulling back to Cybertron seems... necessary. I still expect my answer, however. Soundwave!"

Megatron whirled on his heels, already stalking towards the exit before Soundwave even answered, but given it was Soundwave he hardly needed to wait for a reply.

"Affirmative. The Nemesis is being prepared to leave the Sol system."

Soundwave left without a single look back at the Autobots behind him, and Optimus looked between Magnus and Prowl.

"I think we should do the same."

"We're not leaving Earth completely undefended, are we?" Prowl frowned, glancing sideways up at Optimus.

"Of course not, not with the energon deposits we know are here now, Megatron is hardly going to leave those alone. We can spare a vanguard and hopefully we will deal with the situation on Cybertron... and rescuing our kin, before anything happens here."

As they left the hangar and the former Decepticon base, the only thing left behind was the recording equipment - they'd hardly leave the sphere, buzzing with cyberstatic energy, in such a place, but the recording device was hardly valuable, and if the Decepticons that would undoubtedly be left on Earth decided to use the Painted Desert base again, they could have it.

Chapter Text

Dark side of the Moon, the Nemesis. Command and Strategy meeting room. Two joors after Vibes' message.

Eyeing the mech sitting opposite of him, Megatron was amused at the similarities and differences between this one and Starscream. But even with those differences, nothing could hide the slight lean forward, the minute tension in his slightly-too-flared wings. The skyraider, regardless of the slight dullness in his colours and the wear on his faceplates, was practically vibrating with smug assurance. It was a pity it would be crushed, but some people simply did not suit as anything but being in second place.

"Leozack," Megatron said as he resettled himself in the chair, helm tilting towards the aerial slightly. He watched the teal and white mech straighten up, schooling the slightly too bright glow in his optics into a more sedate glimmer. "I'm pleased to have found you among the forces Prime... relocated... to Earth for the battle. Your skills are exemplary and your age has given you experience few can match..." Trailing off, Megatron kept his expression impassive as he watched Leozack's wings flare out again, and felt the prickle of his field expanding slightly further than was proper.

The mech was good at keeping his ambitions more private than Starscream was, but Starscream was more subtle in the face of praise, not trusting any hand but his own to feed him.

Just as well, but ultimately that also made Starscream the more dangerous of the two.

"Thank you, Lord Megatron! Your trust won't be misplaced."

Oh, it surely wouldn't. Megatron kept the smile away from his faceplates and nodded, disentangling his interlaced hands to sweep one out just as the door opened to let a mech in. Taller than Megatron, probably of a size with Jetfire, tank and aerial kibble was prominently displayed on the navy and white frame as the newcomer came to a stop beside the table. The regal face was impassive, meeting first Leozack's narrowed stare with a slight incline and then Megatron was given a deeper dip of the helm in addition to a salute.

"I don't doubt it won't be, especially as Overlord will know how to best use your qualities to ensure our success." Megatron merely widened his optics a little, a silent inquiry as Leozack snapped out of his seat. Their gazes met, and the skyraider's flared EM field collapsed along with his rigid stance. The chair complained rather loudly at the weight being thrown at it so suddenly and without any regard at all. "Leozack, this is Overlord. Lady Mega, your second in command for the Earthforce mission, Leozack."

They stared at each other for a silent moment, Overlord's flat, narrow expression unchanging until Leozack slowly stood up and saluted. There wasn't much of a change in Overlord's expression, except perhaps a slight softening of the rigid line of the rather generous lips. The biggest change was the shift of Overlord's shoulders, opening her stance up a little.

"Commander." For the near-explosion earlier, Leozack was now the picture of professionalism, not an ounce of spite or belligerence in his voice or expression. His wings were slightly too rigid, but that was the only proof of his opinion on the matter.

"Leozack. I've heard quite a few things about you. I'm pleased to have you as my second." It could have sounded smug, taunting. Instead there was nothing but cool appreciation... though there was a quirk to the upper ridge of the left optic. She had indeed heard quite a few things about Leozack, and knew what she would need to look for.

Then Megatron stood up from his seat and both Decepticons turned to him as one.

"You will be given a squad of twenty. You're free to choose anyone, but Soundwave and Starscream will look over your choices and decline any that might be needed for the current situation. If it proves to not be serious, or after it has been handled, we'll discuss expanding the Earthforce." Walking over to the large screen behind the head of the table, Megatron turned around and crossed his arms over his chestplates. "In particular, depending on how the situation on Cybertron develops, you will get the Combaticons at some point. I believe you can both make use of them and have them well in hand."

"The Combaticons shouldn't be much of an issue, no," Overlord said with a small, sharp smile briefly blooming over her lips, and by the tone it was rather clear that 'shouldn't' was 'won't'. Megatron allowed a brief smile and, if it seemed worth the effort, might at some point free the Stunticons and put them in Overlord's care as well. Perhaps that would finally render both team and gestalt suitable and stable for long-term service.

Letting Shockwave use the Stunticon team in his gestalt experiments had been a mistake, but everybody makes those.

"Excellent. As for the mission on Earth; at present we will put aside questions of conquering it, even if I don't doubt you could manage it with what you have been given, Lady Mega," Megatron dipped his helm in Overlord's direction, and her optics flared in pleased crimson, "but for now, considering the amount of energon reserves, we will take a less... overt approach. You will secure the energon deposits. Make it clear to the human governments that claim the land any deposit is found on that it would be in their best interest to simply let it go. We can lower ourselves to buying it out, but only with resources they deem valuable here on Earth, or similar raw materials. No technology. No negotiation longer than a human-standard month, after that you go in and take it."

Pausing, Megatron tilted his helm back to briefly look up at the ceiling.

"And if opportunity presents itself where the Autobots have had better success in gaining access to a deposit, don't hesitate to wrest the mined result from them. Dismissed." Megatron stood silent as Overlord and Leozack saluted and left, optics dimming. He remained where he was as the door closed before he wandered back to the table, the screen set into it at the head lighting up at his touch.

"Soundwave?"

::Megatron.:: It was acknowledgment and a question in one, Soundwave's quiet monotone vibrating with its intent over the frequency.

"The new base, and our ETD?"

::Progress of construction: 85%. The Earthforce should manage to finish it without issue. Estimated time of departure: three cycles. The Nemesis is fully fuelled, but lacking the infrastructure for weapons manufacture, depleted warheads and missiles. Lasers fully charged.:: As Soundwave spoke, the screen in front of Megatron opened up several windows, which were duly, if quickly, flicked through.

"Good. Contact the Autobots, arrange some form of rendezvous on Cybertron. As a show of good will and in preparation of the armistice possibly going into effect," Megatron said with a snort that rumbled through the empty meeting room, eyeing the list of weapons they were now lacking. Perhaps he should visit Shockwave and see if he had anything resembling an armed fleet tucked away, or at least a few stockpiles of weapons, since he doubted any pre-Shutdown stockpiles would've been left alone. As a show of 'honesty' in regards to Shockwave's commitment to a unified Cybertron.

::Acknowledged.::

With a small, sharp smile crossing his lips, Megatron turned the screen off and left the room. There were still things to do before their departure after all, and things to prepare for the arrival on Cybertron.

--------------------
Autobot City, Alaska. Later.

Bumblebee couldn't help smiling as a yawning, still ruffled-looking Carly sat on the knee Jazz had offered for her as they spoke quietly. Soon, after she'd pulled out a brush and was trying to tame her hair better, it ended up with Jazz wielding the brush - quite the hilarious image - and helping untangle the mess. The Witwickys had been apologetically woken up much too early, but since most of them were leaving soon, goodbyes seemed to be in order. Spike and Carly had agreed, driven a sleepy and then again asleep Daniel to Carly's parents, and then had gotten a lift themselves up to Autobot City. It was now 04.35 AM in Alaska, and while it had been somewhat later for Carly and Spike, getting up unexpectedly and having an early flight still affected the poor humans.

Prowl had been by quickly earlier, mostly for Carly but also to say good bye to Spike before he had to continue getting them all ready and Spike went in to Optimus' office. Both Bumblebee, Spike and Jazz had been amused at Prowl's ever-present slight, if earnest, awkwardness in dealing with his friendship with Carly. The mech could never hide as completely behind his practical traits and duties as he wanted to.

Looking up as the door opened, Bumblebee was surprised to see Spike wandering out already, dwarfed by the huge doorframe he passed through. Helped up on the couch Bumblebee was sitting on as he came over, Spike yawned and gave a wave to Carly, who blew him a kiss from across the room.

"Finished already? Didn't think you'd only take a breem," Bumblebee said with a lopsided smile, using the cybertronian measure of time without having to think about it - Carly and Spike had long since learned a few of the most basic units of time.

"Nah. But the President called. Couldn't really sit through that and I didn't feel like calling too much attention to me," with a grimace Spike shook his head, "so I left before she hopefully saw anything. We don't need more eyes on us than we already have." His eyes flicked to Carly and then away to a wall. He was of course unable to see all the way to Cleveland and his in-laws' house where Daniel was, but the sentiment was there.

Bumblebee would've said something, another apology to all the ones already given. Spike and Carly had both made clear he didn't need to apologise any more however, so all he did was to briefly lay his hand on Spike's back. The brown head was raised from where Spike had been staring at the floor and his blue eyes were bright in the artificial light.

"What about you, Bee? Leaving with them?" Spike threw his thumb back at the door that led into Optimus' office. His expression was open but there was, despite all the excised anger and pain from everything that had happened, apologies or not, a tight note to his voice. His eyes didn't really meet Bumblebee's optics either.

"... I don't think so." Bumblebee stared, optics slightly unfocused, down at the floor. He'd thought about this a lot, and he knew he would be useful if he went with everybody who was leaving, whatever happened. At the same time he didn't really want to leave Earth until there was no Decepticons were left on it though. The back-and-forth had almost crushed his belief in their cause, but as people had pointed out since then... just not doing anything would just let them win. "Somebody gotta stay here and keep an optic on the 'Cons, 'cause Megatron won't take all of them with him."

"So, gonna take over the Earthforce, then?" Spike leaned against his side, arm resting on his thigh as he looked up into Bumblebee's optics.

"No. I don't think---"

"You know you didn't do a bad job, right? You have been listening to everybody saying that, haven't you?" Spike's eyes narrowed and he reached over himself to slap Bee's chestplate, a muffled, meaty clang that caused Carly and Jazz to look up from their discussion and then away again.

"I know, Spike. It's okay." Bumblebee smiled, but Spike didn't seem convinced. He huffed. "I just think I need more time. Optimus asked if I'd be second in command, though."

Spike eyed him for a moment later before he snorted and turned to lean fully against Bumblebee's side, arms behind his head.

"Right. Glad you're not leaving yet, Bee. Who's your new boss, then?"

Bumblebee had to bite his lower lip to keep control of his EM field as it wanted to flare out at the tone in Spike's voice. Not that the human would exactly be able to catch the intensity of it, but this close he'd still feel the reaction and they were quite obviously trying to avoid the repeat of the situation after Spike had forgiven him and he got to stay with the Witwicky's for a while. There had been quite a lot of emotion then.

"You haven't met him before, but it's..." The door to the 'waiting room' before Optimus' office opened, and Bee tapped Spike on the shoulder, lowering his voice. "The guy beside Ultra Magnus."

Spike didn't move from his slumped position, but opened his eyes to follow the two mechs before they disappeared behind the door to the Prime's office.

"Suppose he looks okay. A flier, huh?"

--------------------

"---completely sure the Decepticons will leave a force on Earth while the rest of you leave to... attend to domestic business?" The older, pale-haired woman on the other end of the screen asked just as the door opened, prompting both her and Optimus to turn to the newcomers. Optimus nodded to Ultra Magnus and the aerial with him, turning back to the screen.

"Yes, Madam President, I am sure." Optimus paused as Ultra Magnus came up beside him, slightly out of view of the screen. While he could deal with the humans, it wasn't something he would claim to be particularly excellent at. Alien diplomacy was difficult enough when it had taken him thousands of vorns to make proper connection with his own species to lead them with the compassion and power they deserved, with the assistance of the Matrix. The fact that the Matrix wasn't really giving him anything in dealing with the humans hampered him, despite all the development since he first accepted the Matrix. It was understandable, however, since the Matrix and the Prime was for the cybertronians, not other species. Optimus kept from releasing the static sigh that tickled his vocaliser and straightened slightly.

"Partly the reason would be a simple question of revenge; while Megatron is far more stable now, the fact that humanity, with or without our help, has remained as-is for this long, would be enough reason for him to leave a force. Earth is also a well of great energy, especially with the reveal of crystal-state energon on the planet." Not that they hadn't known there ought to be some there, which was the reason the Ark had been aimed for Earth at all. But until they'd been able to filter out the background radiation from the pit of rarified energon after the Sweeps had revealed there was, indeed, energon on the planet, they hadn't been sure.

The new president of the United States hummed quietly, her expression quiet but firm, but before Optimus had the chance to continue, the mech who had hung back so far stepped forward.

"Prime, if I may?"

Turning to the aerial, a tall mech slightly more slender than a Seeker in bright gold and blue, Optimus gestured him forward. Now was as good as any other time.

"Of course. Madam President, the appointed commander of the Earthforce, Metalhawk. Metalhawk, the President of the United States."

Metalhawk gave her a salute - cybertronian, but it was probable that she understood the gesture anyway, having been aware of and seen cybertronians since more than thirteen years back now.

"Your concerns are completely understandable, Madam President, and as I understand it your country might be capable of defending yourselves against any Decepticon attack if an energon deposit was unearthed, so if you would wish it, we will keep away from your borders.” Metalhawk smiled, his expression and words soft and not at all carrying any edge to what was basically as much a promise as a threat to leave the United States alone and let their Project Centurion take care of any unwanted Decepticon activity. It wasn't that Metalhawk had anything against humans – in fact, what he'd seen so far was impressive – but they'd clearly need to establish some guidelines.

“It would be beneficial if you'd allow us to make offers for any energon deposits that might be found within them, however."

Optimus wouldn't quite have phrased it like that, but it was probably a good idea to let Metalhawk start to deal with the humans. The Prime Minister of Canada would be next. At least they had received (belated) agreement for Autobot City to be within their borders.

"Offers?" The woman, well over middle age but with lines that made her look more regal than just worn, arched an eyebrow.

"We will of course offer compensation for any energon crystals found within your borders." Metalhawk inclined his helm, and Optimus carefully got out of the way of the screen, allowing Metalhawk to take his place.

::Magnus... how many of us are left? If it comes to an actual attack on Cybertron, what do we have to work with?:: He hoped it wouldn't end with that, even if it perhaps was preferable with an outside threat than a civil war. He would rather not have a conflict at all, but if he, and others, still needed to be soldiers...

::Five hundred and thirty nine thousand three hundred and five, Optimus.:: Their optics quietly met, Magnus' slightly darker, richer shade muted even further, while Optimus' brighter one, closer to spark-light, flared slightly brighter.

::A little over half a million?:: It was hard not to let incredulity shade his tone. He'd known, of course. Known how many Autobots they were leaving behind on Cybertron as the Ark left in a bid to find more energon. Known how many was on the Ark. Known the estimated amount of Decepticon forces on Cybertron, and later how many of those had been on the Nemesis. But still, he had hoped... ::None still left out in space?::

::Maybe. But it's estimated those enclaves aren't very numerous and that the number of mechs in them probably won't amount to more than another few hundred. A thousand at the most. And five hundred of our survivors are artificially sparked, during Shockwave's reign. He insisted we should take it slow.::

Dragging a hand down his faceplates, Optimus resisted another sigh, felt the Matrix bright over his spark chamber. Of course there hadn't been that many left - while a few ten thousands over five hundred thousand was still more than just a "handful", it was still dwarfed by the pre-war... or even early or middle-war population of the factions.

The reason for that had partly been that no one had wanted to leave.

Neutral, Decepticon or Autobot, everybody had stubbornly dug in, and while Optimus had ordered an evacuation... in the end that hadn't been realised. The issue was partly that even the neutrals had refused to leave in any greater amount; had they actually done so, they'd probably have more than a bare shade of a single city's population left. The Decepticons had gone after the neutrals with a zeal, as if their existence was a personal affront... And it wasn't until shortly before and after the Ark mission that either faction had started to send out more missions into space at all.

::And most of them are no longer intimately familiar with combat, or have never engaged in it,:: Optimus said with a sigh that hurt, because he rather wished they wouldn't have to become reacquainted, like those who'd been pulled into the fight against Unicron had been. Or for the small amount (why so few?) that had been sparked the only way they had without the Matrix, learn it at all.

::Unfortunately.::

::It looks like they might have to, unless the situation isn't what it looks like. How long until we're ready to leave?:: Straightening up, Optimus aside his regrets and focused on what needed doing, and what would hopefully keep as many as possible still alive by the end of it all.

::Prowl estimates all preparations will be done before the political side will be. Another cycle at the most.::

Snorting, Optimus couldn't quite argue with that, a glance darting back to the half of the room where Metalhawk and the President seemed to be doing... reasonably well, in fact. With a small smile, Optimus felt pleased he'd been right in his choice when he'd seen Metalhawk had been among the forces pulled to Earth, and that he'd agreed to step up as commander.

::Perhaps we'll be able to leave next week, then.:: He winked and walked back to Metalhawk's side, to assist in cutting the conversation short. They didn't really have the time to linger.

--------------------
The Skyfire. Two cycles after Spike and Carly arrived at Autobot City.

"Hey, Jane."

"Jazz? How the hell did you get this number? And don't call me Jane." Marissa sounded both incredulous and outraged, causing a chuckle from the mech on the other end of the line.

"The one and only, and that's a secret, Commander. I can't give ya all of 'em, y'know. Just callin' to tell you we're leavin'."

"You're... now?"

"Yeah, on the bridge now. Takeoff in around ten minutes, give or take. We're leavin' some mechs behind, of course... your President's probably gonna tell ya. Hound and Bumblebee's staying with the newbies. Bumper's staying too."

There was silence for a few long moments, and then...

"Right. I'll make sure they don't mess up. Good luck, Jazz."

"Knew I could count on ya. Say hi to your grandfather from me."

///

"Carly-girl?"

"... Jazz? But we just talked." Carly didn't quite chuckle. "In fact, I'm right here on the platform, since we're waiting until all of you leave before the Orion takes us back to Cleveland."

"I couldn't stay away. I just forgot one thing I was gonna tell ya."

"Uh-huh..?"

The noise that came over the line next was loud, obnoxious and basically the equivalent of a raspberry. Distantly, Prowl could be heard reprimanding Jazz through the line. Carly, something wavery in the back of her voice, started laughing.

"Mature, Jazz! ... Love you. And tell Prowl I love him too." Words that she hadn't been able to say before, and words she hadn't said prior to the launch of the Ark II since it had been expected they'd be back relatively soon - it was easier over the phone.

"Love ya too, Carly-girl." A moment of silence, and then Jazz was back, his voice quieter now. "Prowl says you 'made his stay easier'." Jazz was smirking as he fiddled with his console and there was another muffled noise of something from Prowl.

"Damnit, Jazz. So what is going on, beyond what looks a little like a strange invasion?"

"That's as much as we know so far, really. No one's been killed yet, even in first contact from the few settlements outside Iacon. Prowl's said it looks kinda like our invaders were tryin' to round 'em up. Ain't have any losses in that department yet either, and everybody's been moved back to Iacon by now." A pause." Take care of yourself and your family, Carly-girl."

"Always. And kick their asses for me if that's what it comes down to!"

--------------------
Cybertron, north-western Kaon, edge of the Badlands. A day later.

They had left the ruins of the settlements and fortifications that had been spread along the continental edge towards the Sonic Canyons three breems ago. In the distance ahead of them the sky was turning fuzzy green instead of the overcast and smoggy burnished gold. The haze was accompanied by the ground first turning pock-marked and then increasingly warped, strange patterns covering the looping, half-melted metal.

If one didn't know better, it would be easy to assume that the area ahead of them was just yet another result of the war. Or perhaps the first, distant proof of the Acid Wastes that began half a world away, turning the southern edge of Stanix into a bubbling, twisted mess.

But no, what was ahead of the twelve aerials tearing through the sky wasn't proof of the long war or the industrial and ecological disaster of the Acid Wastes, but something that had resisted every clean up, every attempt at settlement and mining for as long as there had been records.

The Badlands.

::I hate this slag,:: Slingshot muttered as the greenish haze engulfed them, and Starscream flared his EM field out as if that could get rid of the nasty coating that the haze seemed to bestow on them. The air quality wasn't really the worst, though; that award probably went to the biting, insistent tone that Starscream had never been able to hear himself but everyone else insisted was there.

::Quiet.:: Starscream snapped and pretended not to notice the buzz of conversation that briefly burst up on a frequency he didn't have access to. Blasted Aerialbots. The Autobots had annoyingly enough insisted on having a part in the recon group that was being sent to the new addition in the Badlands. And while Starscream could have tolerated Jetfire, who stepped forward first, the fact that he had to deal with the Aerialbots as well didn't please him at all.

They could fly, yes, but so could the slagging Coneheads, and he knew them better - they were, in fact, flying behind Starscream, Thundercracker and Skywarp, alongside the Aerialbots. Jetfire was above them, a pale, greenish-smudged shadow.

::Hey, does this sound remind anyone of that noise the overgrown gravel-cruncher emitted?:: The question was accompanied by a quick, swooping twirl of the black jet around the other two and Starscream snarled over the frequency.

::Skywarp, I swear to the Matrix---::

::He's right.:: Thundercracker's quiet comment was followed by a flourish of responses from the rest of their little air force, and Starscream huffed.

::Great. Just don't let it affect your performance.:: If he had to protosit the bunch of them he could just as well have done this alone. He ignored the quick pulse over an old, familiar frequency - it wasn't a ping for conversation, merely "support", the blasted overly romantic glitch - and compared the distance left between them to the city.

::Half a breem until contact, and I expect the useless bunch of you to fly like a proper squadron!:: This time, there was no offensive, encrypted buzz over another frequency, merely silence. That would have to do. As long as they obeyed he frankly couldn't care less what any of them thought of him or the fact that he, as the highest ranking officer in this group regardless of faction, due to the armistice had command. He'd have demanded it anyway, because like rusted slag he'd accept mechs flying behind him who didn't listen.

The city as it rose up out of the haze and the swirling, impossible landscape around it seemed to fit right in despite its strangely looping, rounded architecture. The colours were a wetly shining white obscured by the green and an unpleasant puce shade that wasn't quite close enough to energon to trip the association of their function's fluids, but close enough to be uncomfortable.

The view the satellites had given them so far didn't indicate much of anything of what could be a defense, or offense. Most of what seemed to be going on was that the city was acting as a base to spew out the ground troops. As such, it had been deemed enough to simply send a smaller, if experienced recon group that could defend themselves if anything went wrong. So far, there was no indications of that, even if Starscream thought it foolish (and for once Megatron agreed) that they weren't simply amassing what forces they had and took the whole ugly thing out.

The Autobots had insisted on recon and attempting communication however, despite the fact that earlier attempts at hailing the city had gone unanswered.

A hic away from the city's outer limits, the mechanoid creatures crawling on the ground started aiming weak lasers at them that, of course, weren't strong enough to reach the jets. In addition, eleven of the twelve trembled and fell away from each other by a few degrees.

::What the slag was that?!:: Ramjet's voice rose among the interference-laden din, followed by something that sounded suspiciously like a muttered rumble of doom from Dirge.

::SHUT UP, all of you! I don't care what it was, or is. Keep formation, constant proximity alerts and if you fall out five degrees from standard from your trine or group, call each other back.:: Snarling fit to break his vocaliser if he'd been another mech, Starscream tore away from the other nine, Skywarp and Thundercracker perfectly in formation at each of his wings. They were, however, wobbling slightly. Starscream had no idea what the others were hearing, but he couldn't pick up on it. It shouldn't matter, they were all covered. Except...

::Jetfire, shadow us.:: Familiar words, and as the muted roar grew and the shadow fell above and between the trine, that was familiar too. Jetfire hadn't flown in many battles while he was with the Decepticons, really. He'd been in a handful however, and they'd trained for the fact that he'd fly with them, to make sure they could work together and make use of the function an air guardian gave.

Either way, that ought to keep everybody properly anchored, whatever it was that was - apparently - disturbing their equilibrium and gyros. That was all Starscream cared about, frankly, and when the first giant laser from the city's interior speared through the air, the four of them swooped away in a practiced arch that could make one think they'd last trained yesterday not millions of years ago.

Snarling at himself, Starscream pushed that thought aside and tried to concentrate on the fact that he wasn't surprised that there was anti-aircraft cannons. Surprised he couldn't pick them out still, but not that they were there.

The other thought refused to leave however. He was already too attached, wanted to pull the idiot closer. Wanted to put him somewhere he'd be out of reach for anyone else until he needed him, but that would require too much planning and work at the moment and was thus not feasible. Which meant he also couldn't think about the connection, the pulse of their synchronised sparks or the effortless way Jetfire meshed with his trine's flying - through Jetfire's connection with him, of course.

::Cover me.:: He deliberately flew right against the next beam and cut his engines right before he'd have flown into it, dropping down as Skywarp and Thundercracker arched away, cannon fire neatly placed like a cage around him as Jetfire aimed for wherever the cannon was. They'd been high up, but immediately fired upon as soon as they came within the reach of the city's well-hidden defenses - before, even, if he was supposed to count the ground troops shooting at them.

Whoever they were, they didn't want them to have a peek.

Darting over the buildings and around towers, he couldn't actually predict from where the anti-aircraft lasers would come from next, but none of them were aimed at him for the moment. The Coneheads were doing a passable but increasingly wobbly dance to avoid the fire, and Starscream knew they could perform better than that.

The ground was positively crawling with Sharkticons and other, just as strange or stranger-looking creatures, as had been spotted all over Cybertron and closing in on Iacon and---

::FIREFLIGHT!::

Veering sharply away and barrel rolling, Starscream cast his attention briefly upwards again.

Fireflight was leaving a thick trail of smoke and fire as he fell, three of his compatriots diving but forced to scatter as another cannon shot seared through the air - but didn't exactly aim for Fireflight, more seemed to be aiming to keep the others away---

And then Silverbolt fell like a bomb, swooping in under Fireflight and catching him, singed by another shot but otherwise unharmed, and Starscream had to admit he was impressed the phobia-ridden jet could handle that. Lights flickered all over the city that Starscream could see as he evened out, and something pulled deep on every single threat-assessment he had.

::Starscream, we need to---:

::Scatter!:: Starscream didn't bother to let Jetfire finish, merely yelled the order as fifteen bright lances of light flared up, firing in a staggered pattern.

They scattered.

But every single one of them were slightly too slow and even Starscream could vaguely feel whatever it was that were disrupting the others. It was like a pressure over his armour, an itch in his sensor nodes and as he turned back upwards, things were simply already out of control.

Dirge and Thrust were weaving, trying to cover for Ramjet, who had a similar smoking trail after him like Fireflight had, and talking of the Aerialbots...

::Don't combine, you blasted idiots! A bigger target is easier to hit, and you're too fragging slow like that!:: Why did he have to talk to them as if they were Bruticus? Shouldn't they be smarter than that? At least Fireflight was marginally all right if they were attempting a combine, though he didn't care more than that it would loose him a pair of wings.

Suddenly he was crashed into, Skywarp bodily removing him from the path of a flare and then immediately teleporting away. Reluctantly, the thought that there was nothing more to do here popped up. They hadn't actually thought a random city on their own planet, from an alien source or not, would have these sort of defenses. At least it hadn't looked like that, and the noise should definitely not be there. At the same time, Starscream caught sight of another laser, and the target it was bound for.

He'd somehow ended up slightly above and to the left of Jetfire's location during his maneuvering and while he was perfectly safe...

He had no idea why he aimed down and fired up his thrusters for all that his engines could give him.

It had already happened once.

The idiot had survived that, so what was the harm of letting it happen again? This time there would be no overpowered, religious zealot of a clone going after him if he didn't make sure the situation ended in his favour.

It didn't matter. He knew he could deal with this if he changed course and let things happen.

It wasn't as if it wasn't something that could've happened any number of times since the start of the war, had happened over a month ago and---

His spark pulsed, coalesced in its spark chamber, thrumming together with another spark for that brief moment of connection and Jetfire turned just slightly as he caught the sound of the engines aimed for him.

Those blue optics widened and brightened as he turned enough to actually be able to look around his shoulder and the boosters, and Starscream felt rage and something hot and bright burst outward as his spark spread out again. How dare he have gotten this far, even if he'd come to accept that Jetfire had managed to come to... mean... things.

But this was quite too far---

The light burned up around him and lit them up in yellow as he slammed into Jetfire, moving the air guardian's greater bulk the slight distance needed. He hoped it was enough anyway because if it wasn't enough he'd haunt the blasted idiot even if spark ghosts didn't exist---

Thoughts scattered along with his heaving spark as the sound of an explosion filled his audio receptors and the light burned through his optics.

--------------------
Iacon, Autobase.

::They had more defenses than we counted on.:: Silverbolt sounded distracted, subdued even over the static of the Badlands. ::...We're... uh, we're coming back. Fireflight and... er, Ramjet got the most injured and... and Starscream's dead.::

The silence after Silverbolt's brief transmission cut could've filled the Well of All Sparks.

That... hadn't gone as expected.

At least some people would normally probably have been cheering over the fact that the most notorious Seeker in history, the Decepticons' Second in Command and Aerospace Commander was dead. The room, however, stayed quiet as frowns and glances were exchanged. The unease wasn't perhaps for Starscream himself, as much as how... wrongly the situation, and what ought to have been a simple recon mission with a group of well-trained, veteran aerials and soldiers had gone.

"It doesn't follow." Prowl was the first to speak, arms crossed under his chestplates, optics dim and helm tilted as he stared at nothing while listening to the audio transcript of the battle again. "They come within a hic's distance of the city, and everyone, except apparently Starscream, suffers a drop in their performance output. That means it can't be the Badlands, but something else..."

"And what would you suggest then, considering no additional interference than what can already be found in the Badlands were registered... by either our or your forces," Megatron said with a tilt of his helm that was mostly merely inquiring. There might have been a slight sneer in his tone, but it wasn't... entirely unreasonable.

Of course, that didn't mean some took it particularly well anyway, and Optimus had to hold an arm out to keep Ironhide back. The noise grew, but the rev of his engine was as far as Optimus got before the main display in the room suddenly snapped on, causing a wave of muttering and stunned, incredulous staring.

Mostly because none but Optimus and Megatron had any idea what they were looking at. Not that one could fault them, given that all anyone had seen of the forces of Quintessa were Sharkticons and lately the hulking, barely bipedal creatures with multiple tentacles that were either cables or something more techno-organic for arms. Not these... oval-shaped beings that hovered in the air, tentacles trailing down towards the floor like a train, and five grotesque faces that seemed more masks than proper parts of their anatomy.

"And what do you want? Finally deciding to take the step out into the open?" Megatron shifted a step closer to the screen. He ignored Optimus' hand on his cannon and instead cast a glance sideways, to Solus Prime and Alpha Trion, where they stood out of view of the screen. Their expressions were flat, narrowed, but not taken aback. Solus had her hammer out, the grip on its shaft shifting restlessly, the tension in her arms travelling down it even as the rest of her was frozen still.

"We, the Supreme Imperial Magistrate Lord Kledji of the Quintesson Pan-Galactic Co-Prosperity Sphere, are merely making contact to inform you that hereby, the due process to determine your guilt in the crimes you have committed will begin." The biggest one, over half the size of the others drifted a little closer to the screen. The wide, orange-crowned face that was facing the screen was locked into a grimace that could, if one was generous, be called a smile.

"Crimes? For what?" Optimus straightened, his optics narrowed as he stared at the quintesson, any earlier surprise gone - perhaps they should have expected this, what with the fact that the quintessons had interfered before, in various ways, and even very recently too... but why?

"Trespassing in the territory of the Pan-Galactic Co-Prosperity Sphere, theft of personal property, keeping away said property and disobeying the duly appointed agents sent to reclaim it, and criminal conversion. You would do well to take care in what you say, as from hereon out, anything you say and do... or don't do, will be held against you." As the quintesson spoke, the white and orange smiling face whirled away into a stout blue and gold one that stared with hollow, piercing optics.

Megatron snorted, a deep, rumbling sound that, despite the crowd in the room, echoed. Optimus shook his helm and spoke before Megatron could.

"And what are you even basing those... accusations on?" Somehow, Optimus managed to sound politely questioning, not accusing, though his chin was lifted and his optics were narrowed. The quintesson's masks twirled, briefly displaying the smiling one again before settling on a narrow, snarling face in red and black.

"While our ownership of the planet could be considered lapsed, you have trespassed into the airspace of our outpost and reacted to warnings to retreat with violence. The one that calls itself 'Megatron' has stolen what was merely loaned to it, the reimbursement we were promised never delivered," its voice was a rolling whisper, surprisingly... meaty - as if a human was speaking through something metal, in fact. The words were like acid rain in their fierceness and completely ignored the engines revving at the proclamations.

Of course, the last accusation aimed at Megatron merely gained a slight smirk and a tilt of his helm as glances were thrown from Megatron to the single surviving clone trooper standing behind him like a silent sentinel, its expression blank. Optimus shook his helm slowly, wondering why Megatron had at all worked with these beings. Further, how could they even claim Cybertron was theirs..?

His thoughts flashed to Megatron's accusation/question about if the quintessons had been their creators, but that... couldn't be right, could it? Within, the Matrix hummed, warm and bright.

"… Keeping your... property away from your 'duly appointed agents' and criminal conversion?" Optimus raised his voice, crossing his arms over his chestplates and calling attention back from Megatron to himself and the oversized quintesson on the other side of the screen. Despite the snarl on the red and black face, briefly the face, along with the faces of the others collected behind the quintesson that was speaking, smiled.

Then the five masks... faces twirled around in quick succession, each face distorting from its locked grimace to present the same slow, sharply oil-slick smile. The glitter behind the glass of the narrowed optics seemed wet, almost organic.

"The forces you have so rudely attacked, and... You, of course." The dance of masks ended on a face crowned with spines in gold and mossy green. "You have taken yourselves where and how you weren't meant to, but despite the obvious guilt, all court proceedings must have their due course."

The silence in the room was yet again a physical thing as the gathered mechs just stared.

Chapter Text

Eastern Kalis, the Sea of Rust.

The flight back towards Iacon was far quieter than the flight down to Kaon had been, and despite that it took far longer flying the same stretch in root mode than in altmode all of them were nonetheless flying together. The Coneheads had muttered, but a sharp word from Thundercracker had quieted them, and despite that they could've flown ahead, they were currently bringing up the rear. The Aerialbots had fluttered uncertainly between speeding ahead and then dropping back reluctant to leave. Not for the Decepticons and the possibility of something attacking them, of course, but rather gathering in two clumps above and below the only other Autobot in the group, who wasn't following them as they hoped.

As such, in the end, they all flew back together. The reason being the same as what had smothered all conversation into nothing but brief, almost single-word exchanges; the graying chassis Jetfire was carrying.

It was perhaps a surprise that Jetfire had reached Starscream's falling form before Skywarp had given the latter's ability. Jetfire had dived immediately after the shot had dissipated however, while Skywarp had been transforming and turned around, half a hic away. The rattle as the limp chassis had hit his arms had echoed through his own frame more than the air, but it had drawn the attention of all the aerials present, Decepticon and not.

That led to now, a cycle later and the restrained silence along the eastern Kalisian coast. There was crumbling buildings and pockmarked land to the left, and the fumes and flux-reactions from the Sea of Rust to the right. It stained the sky reddish before it paled to gold further west and far north.

Those colours, red and gold, were the only ones colouring the frame he was holding.

The cycles passed, and the red faded away for gold as they left the Sea of Rust behind and flew in over Altihex. Below them, groups of sharkticons and their lumbering companions could be spotted, but they were ignored - the numbers noted, but ignored. Jetfire was quietly, darkly, relieved they didn't pass close to the Academy, ruined like anything else. It wasn't something he'd wish to see, even so long after it'd been razed. It had, understandably, not been among the first group of rebuilding projects after Iacon had been finished.

The winds changed the further north they flew, and as they passed over the continental gap between Altihex and Iacon, harsh and stinging whip-thin vortices of polar wind rushed down from above to be sucked into the chasm beneath them and disgorged after warming up. It made for distracting flying and Jetfire almost missed Skywarp warping in right in front of him.

They almost crashed together, their EM fields briefly intertwining and then bouncing off as if repelled, snapping like the wind around them.

"Skywarp..." Jetfire narrowed his optics and pulled the limp, cold chassis closer, didn't even need to see those outstretched arms to know what the Seeker wanted.

"Give it here."

It shouldn't be hard to hand the gray frame over - this was not Starscream, and he'd been prepared for the eventuality.

Maybe.

Or perhaps he hadn't, Jetfire quietly acknowledged as they stared at each other, Skywarp's expression darkening with each passing second. He should hand the chassis over. He wouldn't be able to do at least half of the ceremonies that would be needed, because he was neither trine nor military. And even if Starscream hadn't had much over for trine and the efforts needed to uphold that connection, war meant trine meant the connection, and trine was also military.

Which, for some reason, was important.

Jetfire wasn't sure why that thought came up, exactly, but either way. It shouldn't really matter that he wouldn't be the last to touch the gray, cold and broken chassis in his arms, because his connection... Well, it had far less to do with all of the things that might be important to pay attention to during the funerary rituals.

And yet his arms stayed locked.

"Give it the frag over, Autobot!"

And it wasn't the crackling hum of Skywarp and Thundercracker's arm cannons that startled him into easing up his grip and holding the frame out. No, it was the sharp, angry accusation in Skywarp's voice when he said 'Autobot'.

Skywarp's glare was narrow and carmine, but Thundercracker's, before he turned to follow the black Seeker, had softened slightly from its grim flatness. Jetfire resisted crossing his arms over his chestplates as the six--- five Decepticons flew away, leaving the six Autobots behind. Even if both groups were going to the same location, and breaking up didn't make sense.

--------------------
Iacon, Autobase.

::Processors' sharp, mechs. We've got an alien hack in our broadcast system, so all of this is bein' sent out, loud and clear. Private channels still rockin', though, both ours and the 'Cons.:: Blaster's murmur over the comm. frequency wasn't acknowledged in any way but brief, non-verbal pings as all attention was on the screens showing their strange intruders.

::... If that's so, that means we'll have others than just ourselves questioning this. Magnus, could you...:: Optimus didn't need to finish as Ultra Magnus nodded, his faceplates drawn into a tight frown as he left. Prowl followed in his footsteps until he came to where Blaster was and stopped there. Their helms bending together as they focused on trying to figure out how to toss the quintessons out and to keep their comm. frequencies secure, but the second in command of the Autobots did allocate some attention and processor power to the wider discussion as well.

Not that it was much of a discussion at the moment, as after the field-fluttering, silent staring, the room had broken out into a heaving mess of noise. If one didn't know almost every single mech present was, or had been, a veteran of a millions of years long war, it seemed more like the room was filled with confused protoforms.

"That can't---"

"What is even going on..."

"Well, we do know nothing beyond the Golden Age records..."

"Preposterous! It's not as if they could've found out ways to make sparks--- "

"---How the frag is this even---"

"Lemme shoot the equipment an' we can deal with these jokers without listenin' to their slaggin'---"

Optimus put a hand on Ironhide's arm to hold him back, but the red mech's last last word was drowned out by another, which cut through the din like an angry bell.

"LIES!" Elita pushed past them, rocking Ironhide in his stance and Chromia right behind her. Her pale faceplate wasn't widened into confusion or her optics paled in shock. There wasn't even any incredulity. Only the lines of her faceplate drawn sharp in a thunderous expression that vibrated out into her voice, losing her temper for the first time since she'd come to them. "Filthy, scum-dripping liars and truth-twisters."

That spurred laughter from the quintessons on the other side of the screen, a strange, five-pitch whooping that crawled underneath their armour. Optimus had to resist to rub his arms and elsewhere to dispel the feeling, concentrating on the pink and blue mechs now at the head of the room.

"Ah. The extraction team. We were wondering where you were," Kledji was murmuring in a whisper that could have been congenial, but the plump, round-crowned blue and gold face at the front merely radiated vague threat, "perhaps you could make sure your mission is not a failure and finish it?" There was a sense of expectation following those words, as if he believed he'd be obeyed.

Elita and her mechs, both at the front of the room and back where Springer and Hot Rod were, all straightened, optics narrowing and their chins lifting up.

"No. We are ourselves now, and your orders mean nothing," Elita snapped as she crossed her arms under her chestplates, her optics a bright and livid aqua. Optimus and Ironhide were, along with Megatron and Soundwave, close enough to the two so that when Chromia leaned in and whispered, they could hear the words clearly.

"I'd like to see them give orders if we got rid of their faces and whatever else they make noises with."

Ironhide smiled grimly, and Optimus just shook his helm but allowed himself a slight twitch of his lips behind his mask. It wasn't something he'd condone here and now, but he could (somewhat, he hadn't been in their position) understand the sentiment.

"So to the list of crimes should be added viral re-purposing of data intending and resulting in loss of property---" the quintesson that had come up beside the supreme magistrate lord Kledji, displaying the almost grotesquely smiling face as it flicked in something on a computer it held in one tentacle was disrupted by the roar of an engine.

"You're liars, and your accusations a mockery of justice!" Chromia yelled and when a black hand came down in front of her, she snapped around to glare up at Megatron. She looked liable to rip his hand off if it remained in its position for much longer and Optimus almost took a step forward, especially as Megatron wasn't looking at her, but the screen.

"Perhaps we should do our... ah, judges," despite the term afforded them, there was nothing but mockery in Megatron's voice when he said it, "the favour of hearing them out before we refute them."

Given the way Elita and Chromia's expressions darkened and the grumble around the room, Optimus realised he needed to do something. He knew they needed to know more to have something to work with, so letting everybody get justifiably angry wouldn't help. Towards that end, he stepped up to the front of the room again, and, with an apologetic tilt of his helm to Elita and Chromia, started to talk before they could.

"In that vein... what proof do you have for your claims? Not of our... supposed crimes, but the reason you're making those claims of crimes." The past. A past they didn't know enough about, had never known anything about. He wished Alpha Trion had had the chance to answer Megatron's question before they'd gotten Vibes' message. Perhaps they wouldn't have to rely on a group of individuals who clearly wanted them no good for what was either the actual truth, or a distortion of it.

At least they did have two mechs present who would hopefully know it for the lies or truth it was, even if they would probably also have their reasons for lying if it came down to it. Optimus did not glance over at Alpha Trion and Solus Prime where they were out of view of the screen and thus the recordings, but he couldn't not shift his stance at the thought of his mentor willfully lying to him.

Patience.

If nothing else, perhaps... perhaps he could venture into the Matrix. It was, after all, among other things, a window to the past.

Lord Kledji's stout, blue-and-gold mask remained, and despite that it had an expression locked in a narrow stare and a flat line of a mouth mostly hidden behind a dull brown-gray facial decoration, even across the screen Optimus was pretty sure he could pick up on the satisfaction radiating from the quintesson.

It didn't make his - or, as he glanced around, anyone else's - unease any less. Elita was glaring at Kledji with a singularly intense expression of flat loathing.

"Since the extraction team is present, this shall be much easier than otherwise to at least begin." The nearly blue-white optics, their glow sort of wet, flickered around the room before settling on Optimus and Megatron again. "You were built for a purpose, after all, but it appears that those of you fashioned after the more outgoing and dominant biological sex proved to be far more... rebellious, than your sisters. They have remained, as is proper, with us while you broke away---"

"Well, I know that's a lie, at any rate," Vibes said, her voice dry and rough but easily heard across the room. She was followed by Broadside, who was like a gray, lumbering shadow behind her as she came up to the front, tilting her chin up at the screen and the quintessons displayed on it. "Because no matter what you want, and can pretend to claim when it comes to them," a tilt of her helm towards Chromia and Elita, "I have never left Cybertron. I remember hiding from your sharkticons, as much as anyone else did."

There was a moment of silence in which Vibes' crossed her arms as the glittering optics on the other side of the screen narrowed, muffled shifting of the oval-shaped quintessons as the moment grew and lengthened. Then Kledji chuckled.

"Perhaps you didn't, but it doesn't surprise me that your more forward brethren managed to pull a few of you aside. You are disposed towards obeying your more dominant brothers, after all. That a few of our more obedient ones has managed to be kept illegally behind as your brothers rebelled against their nature, means nothing really."

Optimus was getting a particular ache that was spreading from the center back of his helm, from some processor cluster or other. He was angry, but also confused. Their talk about complimentary halves didn't make sense - what little he'd seen of Arcee, and somewhat more of Elita and Chromia indicated no such differences.

Well, there was some sort of difference, but he was pretty sure it had nothing to do with some set personality. The only thing that was similar to what the quintessons were claiming was something Shockwave had briefly mentioned, that Autobots and Decepticons were built for different purposes. That, however, didn't take into account that Autobots and Decepticons hadn't existed before the war... and what few mechs of the type that Elita and the others were could be found on both sides.

The room was mostly filled with incredulous staring from the quintessons to Elita, Chromia and Vibes at the front - Vibes was as incredulous as anyone else, Elita outright sneering and Chromia looked distinctly insulted.

"I don't think anyone here is identifying with what you're claiming, Magistrate," Megatron said, amusement softening the sarcasm in the words and sharpening the angles of his faceplate. Perhaps it was odd that Optimus could pick that out, even from an angle, but they'd fought enough in close quarters that he ought to know the shifts in the warlord's faceplate.

"I would not expect appliances to know the differences with which they've been programmed with to please their creators and others who might have use of them, even as they're belabouring under a glitch of delusion towards independence." Lord Kledji sneered as his faces whirled around, settling on the spiny crowned one.

"Appliances?!"

"The slag---"

"---feed 'em their own stupid tentacles..!"

The air was thick with growling from engines and vocalisers both, and Optimus would be lying if there wasn't a low noise from his own engine among the rest. It wasn't easy to reign in the temper that wanted to rise and instead to find words - and to speak them calmly.

"Even giving that any of your claims are true, doesn't take away the fact that we no longer are obeying you and haven't been for as long as nearly any of us present can remember. And all it took to break your control over your... extraction team... and let their own personalities through was to make sure energy was being fully distributed through their chassis," Optimus said, raising his voice enough to cut through the rumbling in the room which slowly quieted as he spoke. "We're no one's slaves, Magistrate, and have a right to our freedom." Crossing his arms over his chestplates, Optimus' optics were narrow as he stared at the oversized quintesson taking up most of the screen.

It didn't matter what their past was, not even in relation to the quintessons' claims of "crimes", because the quintessons didn't have a "right" to them. They were both sentient and independent.

"... property, thinking itself grown beyond its original purpose and creators or not, cannot be slaves." The malice in those words was tangible, and Optimus felt like recoiling. Beside him, there was the faint whine of Megatron's cannon powering up and then down.

"So how did you create the first ones, then?"

Optics flickering, Optimus looked aside to see Solus striding forward, her own optics blazing azure and highlighting the challenging set of her expression. The question seemed quite obvious now that it'd been spoken, and shouldn't there, if they weren't lying, be some recognition of Solus Prime, considering... But the optics of the half a dozen quintessons regarded Solus Prime with no recognition at all.

Which could just mean they were good actors, but he wasn't convinced that was it.

"Because if you are our origin, this is something you should know." There was no way not to hear the self-assurance in her voice, a near-smug pitch that indicated Solus was pretty sure she knew something the quintessons didn't. Optimus hoped she was right, and that they wouldn't be able to give anything that would seem like it could be a real account of the first thirteen's creation.

Aware of Kledji's cold stare at him, and then the flicker of that gaze into the back of the room - Hot Rod, perhaps? They had been after them both earlier - before it went back to the front, Optimus arched the ridge above his right optic as he waited with the rest of them for an answer.

The oval-shaped and hovering quintessons moved aside enough to create an empty circle on the floor, allowing two lumbering, barrel-shaped creatures inside. One put down a container of energon with an accompanying cable that led into a smaller, see-through cylinder, the other put down a device of some sort.

It wasn't hard to figure out what they intended to show, and Optimus slowly fisted a hand at his side. He hadn't actually thought they'd "show and tell" merely tell them because this meant that if they were successful, they'd have another spark in their grasp. A spark that might not have come from the Matrix, but that didn't matter as the thought was still like a virulent fire in his processor. The Matrix pulsed along with it, because how dare they... Alpha Trion's hand on his shoulder startled him out of the slow snarl that he hadn't even noticed was building.

"While scouting the planet you think to claim your own the first time, we found this liquid. While experimenting with it to see what uses it might have, we found that a particular manipulation of the energy caused this to happen..." This time, it wasn't Kledji who spoke, but a bulbous-headed, tentacle-armed quintesson with a single face that had followed the barrel-bodied brutes.

Its voice was higher and brighter than any of the others quintessons' had been so far, a soft, insistent drone as the tentacles flicked over the keys and mechanisms of the interface. It flickered online with a glow to the small screen facing the quintesson, and even if no sound could be heard, those who had at any given point been present for an ignition using energon and an artificially generated imitation of the Matrix' frequency all knew what ought to be heard.

It'd be a tingle along their armour too high to hear in basic audio frequency, accompanied by a thrumming that set their spark chambers vibrating, and then something else. If the light of their sparks had a sound, it was that, but it had eluded proper recording so far. The impact circles started to spread over the energon in the container, and then, without seemingly going through any other stages, just flashed into plasma and then beyond. The colour leeched out into electric blue-white and tendrils were drawn, one after the other, into the cylinder.

"Of course, there's nothing to do with this on its own," the... scientist? murmured with a dismissive flick of a tentacle against the cylinder's glass and the sphere of blue-white energy contained within, the container of energon now empty. Optimus shifted on his feet, and there were a few mutters or growls that ripped through the room behind him.

Nothing to do with it on its own, indeed!

"We tried to put the resultant energy in vehicles, but that did nothing. After a few trial and error attempts, we put them in simple drones, and with some basic commands to follow, we finally found a use for them. Especially when we used more sophisticated programming to direct things more efficiently, which led to the differences between most of you, the military and labourer partition. Then, of course, the few that were kept for inside work, domestic as well as house guards, and were given no altmodes as that was unnecessary."

It all sounded so very neat, but something didn't add up. Why had they been after Cybertron's core that Megatron had the Autobots dig up earlier? Or the fact that their explanation didn't account for Overlord and the fact that Lady Mega had had a Seeker altmode before Shockwave joined her and her dying beloved, Lord Giga together in an attempt to save them. Or the fact that Vibes had an altmode, even if Elita's group did not (for the moment).

Optimus frowned as he turned the various facts over in his processor, and didn't look in the direction of the gaze he could feel on him. The Supreme Imperial Magistrate was still staring at him. He was pretty sure that while they hadn't known from the start that there were more than one way to create sparks, with the attempt to kidnap him... and Hot Rod, for whatever reason, and the earlier attempt at Cybertron's core, they did know now.

"That is all very well and good, but what Solus asked was about the literal first ones created," Alpha Trion said as he took a few steps in front of Optimus, drawing Kledji's gaze away from the Prime. "You merely gave a generalised account of a potential first creation. Who were the first ones, what drones did they inhabit? Because our memories do not contain you. Optimus, if you could..?"

"You speak as if the first would have been special; they were tools as much as those of you who came after." Kledji huffed while Alpha Trion held his hand out and Optimus, confused but curious as to what his mentor wanted, stepped up beside him again. Or would have, if Megatron's hand hadn't slapped against his chestplates, accompanied by a flat, narrow stare. That he could hear the snapping of a few guns being brought out behind him wasn't surprising, nor was the feeling of his energon axe being readied to activate, but what was surprising was the lack of violence from Megatron.

Merely... restraint.

::I think it's too late to hide that I only lead a faction in our civil war, Megatron. I doubt they were after a hostage when they sent Elita's group in after me and took Hot Rod.:: He couldn't quite hide the dry tone, holding up a hand to keep his "defenders" at bay, and Megatron snorted.

::Then don't come whining to me when they go after you.::

::Says the mech that was going to trade the core of Cybertron away for one million clone soldiers.:: Optimus stepped around Megatron, and this time he was allowed to, even as Megatron shifted his stance behind him and crossed his arms.

::It was that or you, Prime.::

Only the mocking, drawling tone stopped Optimus from turning around and staring. It was still impossible to stop the twitch of his audial finials, but Megatron was probably just joking. Maybe. The fact that he couldn't tell was... well, he wasn't sure what he thought about that.

Shaking his helm, he kept his optics on the quintessons on the other side of the screen, unable to also keep his optics from wandering to the new spark in its cylindrical container. It didn't belong there.

"What do you need me to do?" Optimus kept his voice low enough only those absolutely closest to him and Alpha Trion would be able to hear, and his old mentor smiled faintly.

"Concentrate on the Matrix. I'll do the rest," Alpha Trion murmured before raising his voice and his optics to the quintessons while he reached out and closed his hand around Optimus', "tools, you say, and yet I have very specific memories of my creation..." There was another mild, bland smile that Optimus nearly missed due to the sudden direction of the energy within him.

He'd been concentrated as asked, bringing that quiet, bright humming closer to the surface but not touching it, despite the swell of presence and power. Then it flared, seemingly pulled---

And the flare had apparently not been something just felt, but also very physical, Optimus realised as his optics resettled and there was a pool of gold in the open space between the screen they were all facing and the crowd in the room.

::Blaster, make sure the recording keeps being broadcast to everybody, if the quintessons stop and try to cut what they made public earlier,:: Optimus sent the request out quickly, because it was hard to concentrate with the bright rise of power and light both within and on the floor of the room.

::Nothing's gonna pull the plug while I'm here, even if I can't stop 'em from broadcastin',:: Blaster chuckled dryly, but the words were rather indistinct as the swell of light shifted, flickered, and slowly seemed to take shape.

It was like watching a three-dimensional hologram that also was in first person - odd and slightly disorienting as the light went from unfocused nothing to a pair of arms forming out of it, with the edge of a half circle and a staircase in front. Then those arms, mostly made up of protoform, cables and pistons, were grabbed by white hands and then it was suddenly obvious everything wasn't gold because the energy that made up the 'hologram' was gold. No, it was because that was what the mech had been seeing at first. As they were pulled out by a tall, smoothly armoured mech in white and gold and with a strongly-lined faceplate and a kind smile, colours continued to bleed in... along with armour on the arms that they could see.

Rounded purple and magenta armour seemed to just slide up and cover the previously protoform-bare arms, as well as on the feet as the view shifted down, to the stairs that they were walking up. The colours of the metal on the ground and the stairs were bronze and silver, the sky above as the view swung around and an appropriate starfield was displayed on the room's ceiling, was a dizzying array of stars, gas clouds and the band of an unknown galaxy. Down again, and there was the gold and white mech with golden optics on one side, and on the other another mech in white, burgundy, turquoise and details of gold, wings down his back, on the other side.

They turned to face the circle set in the ground, light, energy and warmth emanating from the center of it and pulsing evenly - like a beat.

Soon, the next one will emerge. The whisper didn't exactly match up to the gold and white mech's moving mouth. It wasn't even an actual sound so much as just a knowledge of what had been said, because the display contained no sound at all. Not of the working systems of the mech (Alpha Trion) who supplied the point of view, or the shifts of metal of the other two.

The pool at the bottom of the stairs pulsed and six points around it flared blue. Streaks of lightning surged from each point to coalesce above the center of the pool into a blue-white, crackling sphere that hung there for a moment before it dove down into the golden energy. The gold and white mech stepped down the stairs again, revealing wheels set into his shoulders and at his hips as he knelt on the last step and held his hands out.

Then, a strange thing happened; the metal at the very sides of the pool on each side of the stairs extended outwards, weaving together and plunged down into the energy. Wiring, protoform and spindly scaffolding wove out of the metal fed by the sides of the pool... into hands, that the mech kneeling on the stairs grasped and pulled at. As he pulled, more metal flowed, constructing the chassis around the spark even as he pulled the shape out of the liquid.

The last to fade in of the form, from where the mech was holding the new cybertronian to the bottom of her feet, were the colours; silver, black and blue.

There was no way to mistake who it was as she stepped up on the ground, guided by the mech in white and gold.

The memory construct suddenly collapsed, and Optimus remained upright immediately after it did so mostly by the grace of his mentor's subtle arm at his back.

"As you can see, there was no one else present."

It was a challenge, a fact.

The burning eyes of the Supreme Imperial Magistrate narrowed, even as the sneering mask remained locked in its grimace.

"The memories of computers can be tampered with, data erased or rewritten with no effort at all, and you are clearly old. Old machines are very suspect to glitches." It was a whisper, searing and low, and despite what they'd seen, the words burned in.

The gold on the floor at the front of the room stirred again, and Optimus stared quietly. He hadn't even noticed it hadn't disappeared, but the humming was loud throughout his frame now, and he felt light.

The energy drew in, rose up. It didn't form anything beyond a vaguely humanoid shape that towered over the tallest mechs in the room, but the suggestion of form was there.

And energy always remains true to its form, regardless what container its kept in. Not a whisper, but not audible words either, they still rung like a bell, reverberating through their frames, their sparks. The form turned slightly sideways, facing them more than the screen, despite that there was no discernible facial features. Merely a suggestion of a warmth, a smile that didn't need to be physical to be seen.

I do not require your belief, faith or worship, children of Cybertron. But always remember this; you are individuals, your minds are your own, through which that individuality expresses itself and that which you make your decisions with. You belong to no one but yourselves and Cybertron belongs to you. This time, the light didn't just collapse, but withdrew in a flash, melting into the floor and back into Optimus.

The song, which had been nearly deafening inside of him, abruptly went nearly completely silent.

"... Initial evidence and witness accounts having been presented, the court shall adjourn for three days," Kledji's voice grated, the mask presented having changed at some point to a misshapen, sneering face with a crown that reminded of a smoothly rounded cowl in green. "It would behoove you to use the time to come to the correct decision, to lessen the strain on yourselves."

The screen went black.

Chapter Text

???

There was light, but there was no sound.

Or maybe there was, but whether that was the same as the light and its many shades or the wavering, buzzy thing that brushed against him and sometimes suddenly crystallised into clear, loud bursts, he didn't know.

What direction he should go in he didn't know either - he wasn't even sure direction was a thing. All he knew was that below there was a gentle, pulsing warmth that beckoned, but he would not go.

Why?

Why should he?

There were things he needed to do, things that were due him, things he had worked for - he was sure. But he wasn't sure what they were, or even why it mattered. Just that it did, and the warmth that reached for him was merely a passing distraction. Something that gave him the only sense of direction he had.

Faintly, he was aware of a certainty that if he just hung about a little longer, things would get clearer. There was this sense of a pattern, a familiar one, but not one he could recognise as why it was familiar. He just knew it was, and that the overwhelming riot of light and colour was not permanent.

He was missing something, however, and that something had nothing to do with the beacon of warmth beneath him.

So he tried to find it, whatever it was, flicking against other shapes that were... not what he was looking for, but they might do, he thought. For what, he couldn't quite grasp yet, and he forgot them as soon as he continued on and that was it.

He had no idea how much time passed – in fact, if he'd been asked, 'time' would, at the moment, be a word that didn't make sense. But he knew it had been a while, but not long enough for things to start to make sense again when...

When everything went sort of fuzzy, glazed and he couldn't move. No matter how much he tried, the only thing that kept him moving was the thing that was carrying him, and while that was okay because he didn't have to move himself, that was also not okay because whoever it was wasn't walking where he wanted to go!

Wherever that was, because he wasn't sure. He just knew it wasn't wherever they were going.

Like this, though, the riot of light, colour and flood of buzzing subsided, the limits around him putting a limit on the impressions of his surroundings as well, and things began to actually make sense again.

In a way, because while he could recognise the corridors as corridors, the swirl of them passing was still disorienting and that made him angry. It rankled that his surroundings, despite the artificial help, remained confusing and that he couldn't master it as soon as he wanted - should be able - to.

The wavering buzz flooded and ebbed and sometimes, now that they had stopped moving, some of the buzz - noises, sound - made sense.

At least in so far as he knew they were words, and that it was all in relation to him, but trying to concentrate and forcing comprehension made him lose both again.

It was infuriating.

"---rious. It has been like this for several---"

"Could do a few---. ---thers didn't last like this..."

He didn't like being talked about, and flared out, attempting yet again to leave. It would serve them right. He found he still couldn't though, as insulting as that was.

"Considering this, perhaps we ---einstate proj--- Judgement. Test-run available soon, too."

The words should make sense, but they didn't, and he didn't like the sinuous movement that continually tapped at the barrier that kept him from showing them exactly what he thought of them. He didn't like it, he didn't like them, and he most certainly didn't like that he hadn't found what he was looking for before this happened.

They would regret it, whatever it was they were talking about!

--------------------
Iacon, Autobase. Shortly after the end of the quintessons' call.

Megatron turned slowly around from where he stood behind Optimus, first to give Alpha Trion a stare and then Solus Prime.

"I'll just reiterate and elaborate on my question; did they create us? And do you have some sort of counter explanation that would rule it out?"

Besides those memories, went unsaid, because really... the memories were a strong case against the quintessons' claim. And even if it wasn't, even if the quintessons had created them... They were still their own individuals now.

"Ruling it out completely would be hard, but we certainly have explanations... which does not rely on trying to tie us up in a very simple organic sex and gender binary, and, specifically their version of it," Solus said after sharing a glance with Alpha Trion, a slight sneer in her tone when the words 'their version' was uttered.

Chromia shifted, looking up from glaring at the floor and repeatedly flexing her hand into a fist to stare at Solus instead, optics narrowing.

"A moment," Optimus said, shaking his helm and stepping away from his mentor with a brief, yet lingering squeeze of his shoulder. "There's more than merely those of us in this room that needs to hear it. Could a recording from the central hall be arranged?" He might have looked to Blaster first, but Optimus' gaze also strayed to Soundwave, both of which who nodded - Blaster gave a thumbs up as well, though, and he must have picked that up from recordings they'd picked up from Earth.

"Prime?" Prowl had left Blaster's side and now came up beside Optimus, helm cocked.

"We might not have several hundred millions in population any longer, but there is still a population out there." He straightened up, feeling... odd. He hadn't actually made many public addresses as the Prime of Cybertron - in fact, they could basically be counted to the evacuation order, and the public rescinding of the same. After that everything had condensed to the military effort of standing against the Decepticons and trying to provide a figurehead for that. Cybertron as a greater civilisation, more or less unified, had pretty much broken down by that point.

He hadn't really been ready to play either military commander or unifying figurehead (or being the Prime), as, even when he'd realised they needed to stand and fight, it was for reasons other than attachment to their home, to the ties made to it and between people. It had been for other reasons.

"Megatron---"

"I'll thank you not to try and order me around, Optimus," Megatron said, his voice sharp but with an undertone that was... peculiar. It caused Optimus' shoulders to twitch, along with his audial finials. Ironhide and Prowl shifted their weapons into a more ready position in response to that, but there really was nothing to attack for a tone of voice.

"No, I believe that didn't go so well the last time I tried." It was said dryly, and he turned around to face Megatron slowly, ignoring the confused, narrowed stares of his closest officers. "But I believe it would be a good use of our pooled resources if you---"

"Organised what military defense we do have? Yes, I think I will. I hope you weren't planning on trying to talk with them?" The sneer was heavy in those words, but Optimus just shook his helm. There might have been something of a sharp gleam in his optics though.

"It looks like that won't be possible, no. Alpha Trion, Solus..." He didn't have to finish as both nodded, and while she had earlier said she would hardly care about the 'Prime' title being left off, it didn't feel right omitting it, but including it made him think of the Matrix in his chest.

Even if, as she'd said, there'd been no Matrix back when she was created, and they were both Primes – Alpha Trion was one in the same way she was, in fact – Matrix or not. He shook his helm and looked to the two black and white mechs standing to the side. "Prowl, Jazz, with me? Ironhide, you and Vibes work with Megatron... try not to punch him." Optimus might have smiled, but it was lost behind the mask and then he turned around. Ironhide made a loud, huffy grunt and readied the cannon he carried, but nodded.

"Oughta be doable. As long as he don't make a wrong move." The glare Megatron got was dark and unapologetic, but the stare Ironhide got back was equally unapologetic, and perhaps a touch amused.

--------------------
Iacon, Grand Oratory; Central Hall. Two breems later.

Once, he might not have understood the need to care for the emotional as well as physical well-being of those he'd been charged to protect. That once had meant he could make the declaration of planet-wide evacuation without feeling doubt as to the rightness of the decision, clear in the conviction of individuals it would save, the rationality of letting go of the planet they lived on if it would save those who had simply been assaulted by another's desire for conquest.

It had been a rational decision supported by numbers, but it hadn't really taken into account the factors of attachment, the fear of the unknown (there had, admittedly, been no set, safe, known destination in mind), and the fact that Cybertron was home. Not even those who'd tried to stay neutral had left - or tried to leave - in any greater numbers; they, like the Autobots, had dug in, claiming their right to their home. He hadn't understood it, then.

Nowadays, he did understand it... or, at least, knew to take it into account, and the fact that attachment to others or even a place was as much a valid reason for as well as against doing something, besides stark numbers and rationality.

Prowl usually agreed with him, having a similar mindset, but there were still situations where Prowl looked deeper to the side which Optimus didn't look at. Times when Prowl, or Jazz, pointed out what he needed to take into account when he got caught in the need to make sure they survived and were well enough to live another day, but glossed over needs that might be... well, necessary.

All that meant that where he once might have strode out on the podium with the simple assurance of rationality behind him, he had now paused in the shadow of the open doorway. The crowd out there wasn't just a cross-cut of their surviving population which the Autobots and Decepticons were included in, they were individuals, with wishes, desires and a life.

Briefly, it made him think, again, like when he'd ignited Metroplex's spark, on all the decision he'd taken, had to take, in the course of the war. It didn't feel enough, despite that he'd always tried to give of - sacrifice from - himself first before asking the same of others, in the aim of protecting what was worth and needed protecting.

The touch on his shoulder was startling, but Magnus' presence registered the moment after, and he smiled behind his mask, turning around to catch his sibling's hand in his own.

"Managed to keep the order, I see."

Magnus shook his helm at the tone in Optimus' voice, but there was a quirk of a smile on his lips.

"That is part of my chosen function, yes. But I'm not you." He'd never be, but then, who would? And he didn't need to be, did he? Magnus pretended not to notice the minute narrowing of Optimus' optics and gave his sibling a push as Alpha Trion and Solus came up behind the two. "Go. They need you."

Static rushed out of Optimus in a jagged sigh, but he went, the shadows melting off his angled chassis and allowing the light of the Hall to gild the edges and curves. Despite the high podium - more like a balcony, really - and Optimus saying nothing, when he stepped to the front silence slowly bloomed, faceplates turning upward and mechs turning around.

Even back when there had only been Optronix, quiet and awkward about interaction with anyone but his mentor and sibling, there'd been a particular sort of presence he'd carried with him that had made people listen. Unfortunately, back then Optronix had been blunt and lacking a deeper understanding of interpersonal conversation. Nowadays, that presence was an intense brightness, lit from within by the echo of a song they all knew but couldn't exactly hear.

Optimus Prime, further, had also learned more tact, some measured insight into people and their reactions. And over all, he'd gained a sincere caring for them, regardless of his ability to completely pick up on the finer details on when he should be a military commander, and when he needed to be the civilian leader or, sometimes, more than that. At least he had help with that part.

But no one could deny his ability to unify those who listened to him, which wasn't just due to the intensity that was lit by the Matrix, but relied on Optimus' earnestness.

"You have heard as much as I have what have just been claimed, and what it might mean," pausing, Optimus looked over the crowd and slowly shook his helm, squeezing the balustrade he was resting his hands on, "it doesn't matter."

"Doesn't matter?! Prime, how can you say it doesn't matter!"

"They said we're just---"

"THINGS!"

The last yelled word seemed to break the restrained silence, and there was a sudden outpouring from the crowd below. He let a klik go past, and then raised his hand. Some quieted, others did not.

"Peace! It doesn't matter, because what we are now, even if they are correct, isn't what we were then!" He might have taken another word through his vocaliser to call the silence that reluctantly fell as he spoke through the continued - repeated - opinions, but these were not the crew of the Ark. "Like was... said, we are individuals. We belong to no one but ourselves." He tilted his helm and leaned forward, optics bright (he was vaguely aware, having seen a few recordings, that Megatron at this point would have spread his arms out, but he wasn't Megatron) and tried to let his conviction bleed through not just his words, but his chassis, from spark and outwards.

"We are more than our beginnings, and, in the end, does it matter, where that beginning came from? Your sparks have come from the Matrix, or from energon made to resonate with the Matrix's frequencies. Regardless of where the energy of the Matrix came from, and how others might have used it before we found ourselves, it is yours now. " This was important. It didn't matter if they would end up helping them beat of the quintessons or not, but they couldn't be left thinking that the quintessons had a right to their claim of ownership.

"It, and this planet, has been ours for as long as we can remember. I once asked you to leave it to ensure the survival and safety of both those of you who would have listened, and the planet itself. I ask you now, would you give it, and yourselves, up, merely because someone claims they have prior right to your sparks? To your selves and your chassis and the potential functions derived from that and your processors? You are sentient, sapient and your own beings. Freedom is your right. Would you lay it aside simply because someone tell you you should?"

He could imagine Megatron snorting and muttering something about how he was allowing for too much space, too much input from his audience, and ignored it with a mental snort of his own and shake of his helm. He didn't do things Megatron's way. Not even when he perhaps should, and even when it had, briefly, come into play, he'd rather quickly regained his wits.

It was important that the crowd below - and those that hadn't fit inside and were right outside, or elsewhere in the city - felt that they had input.

At the moment, the silence was slowly starting to be broken up by mechs shifting around, straightening up from the lean forward most of them had ended up in. Optimus straightened up himself, and remained silent, but he didn't need to wait long. Even in the quiet shifting there were mechs glancing at each other and shaking their helms, optics narrowing to blue or red slits as determination cleared the earlier upset and confusion.

All that was needed was...

"Slag that! We'll make our own purpose!"

Perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised the first outburst - and the particular phrasing of it - came from what he was pretty sure was a former Decepticon. Not that it mattered, because that outburst had been the needed catalyst, and the Hall was now thrumming with the denial of obeying the quintessons' demands due to a possible past relationship.

With a nod, Optimus shifted forward again, and this time he didn't even need to hold up a hand as the silence fell and impressively quickly too.

"As you say. We will do our utmost to ensure the quintessons don't get what they want, and would appreciate the assistance of anyone who feels they can lend it," Optimus said and didn't pause long enough for people to start shouting out their willingness. Later. They had other things to bring forward first, something that might ease most of their minds. "But beyond that, we do have someone else's counter-claim to the quintessons' about our past and nature. The quintessons' claim might be less true than they tried to make it out to be, as you all saw the memory Alpha Trion shared. I'll let Alpha Trion and Solus Prime explain."

There was more relief in the opportunity to step aside and let the other two take center on the balcony than he'd admit to. Because no matter how capable he was of making speeches and making people listen to him, it wasn't something he thrived on. Not like Megatron. Shaking the thoughts of the mech away - he almost always wormed himself in when he was in situations like this - Optimus focused on his mentor and Solus as they stepped out, bringing a single piece of machinery with them.

It was easily identifiable as a charge meter, used to record and note where on a scale an individual spark's amount of cyberstatic charge fell. It was curious that they'd brought one with them.

"We'll keep this simple and as short as possible while still trying to explain what's needed, given the situation," Solus said as she put the device down, pulling out two cables as she spoke, "the memory you all witnessed was one of the first impressions we saw. There was no one before us, but if there has been, they were not there when Primus created us."

Plugging one of the cables into herself, she offered the other to Alpha Trion, who followed suit. Then the cyberstatic charge analyser was flicked on, and, after a few quick button presses, produced two holographic representations of the two sparks the machine was picking up readings from.

The one to the left was rendered in multiple layers of blue, going from a core of white to vivid blue, with a ring of yellow as its border. The one the right had the same core of white, but that core was smaller, and only the layer closest to the core was blue - the rest were in yellows and tinged red at its border.

Solus looked from the hologram to the crowd below, her blue optics calm and cool.

"The quintessons would claim to have created you. I was there when they first attempted to invade and enslave us. They were driven away. The quintessons would claim that the difference between me and my sibling lies in our thought process, in a nature that makes me more pliable and willing to obey, makes me more suited to, as per their own ideas of suitability mapped on organic gender and sex, stay inside, and whatever else they might want to claim."

Shaking her helm, she touched the air above the hologram that displayed the spectrum analysation of her own spark, the one made in mostly yellows, and then touched the air above the hologram for Alpha Trion's.

"There are only two large differences between me and my sibling, who will exemplify the differences between most of you here on Cybertron and the small group freed from the quintessons. The differences have nothing to do with nature or thought processes, and is about survival strategy, intended to ensure that no matter what might happen, some of you might survive." She huffed quietly and shook her helm, hand turning into a fist in the air above the representation of her own spark.

"For those of you who don't know, a cyberstatic charge analyzer renders higher charge in white to blue, and lower charge from to to yellow and then lastly red. My spark contains a lower cyberstatic charge compared to my brother's, as you can see, and means I require less energon than he does." Looking up from the holographic display, her gaze swept the room sharply.

"In addition, the small amount of redundant systems that differ between us give more protection to my spark chamber and spark, which means that in case of damage, even if I am rendered unable to move, I might still survive. His give more protection to his joints and limbs, ensuring that, as long as the torso is reasonably intact, he'll be able to move even with extensive damage to his limbs." Shrugging, Solus disconnected the cable connected to her and took back the one that had been connected to Alpha Trion, stowing them back in the device.

"That is all the difference between one or the other, in truth." Alpha Trion's optics were softer than Solus', their pale glow barely lightning his face. Most relaxed as he began to speak, since, even if most had not been very aware of him before the Unicron debacle, everyone still knew of Vector Sigma's guardian. "The only point in the quintessons' claim that could be considered as containing any amount of truth, is the fact that some of you are, at a baseline, meant for military pursuits, while some of you are meant for more civilian such. I think you may have noticed this, despite that the Council of Ancients attempted to eradicate any differences and shuffle all the resultant tension into the gladiator arenas." The upper ridge above Alpha Trion's left optic quirked here, his lips pursing with quiet irony.

A small ripple of laughter went through the crowd because it had been impossible to notice.

"... Wait a moment! Does that mean we shouldn't have built the society as we did? Does that mean we're right in expanding outwards?" That was, undeniably, a Decepticon Seeker, wings flaring out in pleasure at having been proven right. At Megatron's speeches and philosophy having been right.

Alpha Trion frowned and shook his helm.

"No, it means neither of those things. You are not meant to be conquerors and oppressors, for others' 'benefit' or not. The only thing that you were meant to be, besides yourselves, were protectors against Unicron and its minions, as I tried to explain earlier. You are all individuals, and even if your baseline would lend you more easily towards combat or civilian pursuits, that does not define you." For the first time, Alpha Trion's voice hardened faintly, producing a thrum that was surprisingly deep.

Of course, even him saying this would doubtfully take anything away from Megatron's spin on things - the mech was a rhetoric genius and had charisma coming out of his sparkplugs. He'd be able to turn whatever was said here to build up his plans, not leaving the words to bring his plans down. In fact, from what he knew of Megatron's original goals... this would, in a way, probably only help him.

Nothing for it, truly.

"I could never have disapproved of the way the Council organised things at the dawn of what would turn out to be called the Golden Age, because on its face it built a system that would make sure anyone could do what they wanted, as per their skills. Unfortunately, they erased any viable outlet of the need and desire for those of you built after a military template to protect and exercise your skills properly. The gladiator arenas are a sport, and doesn't provide the proper foundations and rules," Alpha Trion said with a sigh as he folded his arms over his chestplates.

"As you can see, the differences in nature does not lie in the differences in spark or chassis construction between my sibling and I, but rather in the nature of two greater parts of the population. The nature and code tied to military or civilian thought is not tied to the amount of cyberstatic charge, since, as I'm pretty sure, Overlord before she was joined into a whole consisted of two military mechs."

And that, really, was all that needed to be said in regards to these differences wasn't it?

There was no question Overlord was a beacon of the Decepticon Armada and had been a powerhouse of focused destruction even before the bond between Mega and Giga had been ruptured by unfortunate injury (and probably death) and resulted in Shockwave joining them. Lady Mega was hardly timid or prone to take anyone's, but her superior officers', orders. And she only had one superior officer anymore - Megatron.

::The question is, where did Megatron get the idea the quintessons created us, and, indeed, found out about them at all?:: Solus' murmur over the frequency as they stepped back into the room behind the balcony made Alpha Trion nod, optics narrowing. That was the question, wasn't it?

Chapter Text

Iacon, Autobase. Jetfire's quarters.

Two joors, three breems.

Not that he was counting or anything.

Just as he hadn't counted around four million years ago, when they'd lost contact with the Ark after it left for Earth. Well, back then, he hadn't even been aware he'd been counting, not at first. The thought of what his spark pulse was now had simply popped up some time (half a year) later, and on the tailfins of that, the question of why it'd have changed, and then the little counter in the corner of his vision on the HUD had blinked, calling attention to the time.

Half a year after the Ark had disappeared, and his spark had still been synchronised with that of Starscream's spark pulse.

The prevailing theory had been that the Ark and the Nemesis had been lost, the crews most possibly dead, but if his spark was still synchronised, Starscream couldn't be dead.

That was then, however. That wasn't now.

Two joors, three breems, one klik.

The longest a spark could last before extinguishing after the spark chamber had been destroyed was a theoretical limit of a joor. The longest actually recorded limit of a spark lasting before extinguishing was half a joor. After that, spark pulse synchrony between two sparks could last anywhere between a joor to a few days after one spark had been extinguished.

Sitting back and staring without actually taking in the recording of the speech Prime had made in the Central Hall and the subsequent explanation regarding sparks from Alpha Trion and Solus Prime, Jetfire dragged a hand down his faceplate. He'd watched this thing three times through now, as well as the scene that had played out previous to it, when the quintessons had made their call.

He kept getting distracted by the little counter in the corner of his HUD, and had gone to turn it off several times, and then... hadn't.

He really should, because there was no reason to keep it there. He knew what would happen.

Standing up, Jetfire left the room he'd been assigned and slowly worked himself through the corridors to where the labs were. Maybe something other than watching an explanation of how sparks worked, and the differences between sparks on various level, would help in distracting him.

It wasn't like the loss of a synchronising would hurt; it was doubtful he'd even noticed it even if he would be paying attention if he hadn't installed the upgrade that let him monitor his spark activity. The most noticeable effects of a lost - or gained – spark pulse synchronisation was brief moments where one might feel stiff in the extremities, slight lethargy or faintly more energised for, at the most, a cycle.

Technically effects one might experience anyway, due to the natural cycle of a spark and its fluctuating flow of energy, and only taking a recording would tell a pair seeking it (or not seeking it, as the case may be) that the change had taken place.

The doors to the lab slid aside, and Jetfire almost ducked, but remembered he didn't have to - at least not when he didn't have his boosters and wings attached. The light flickered on in a gentle swirl of gold-tinted white, revealing it to be empty. Not really a surprise given that everybody was quite busy with preparing for whatever might happen after the quintessons were told "no".

The lab had no geological samples lying about. It wasn't really a surprise, but he'd have preferred it. Even something that was a known quantity and didn't need further analysis work done would have given him something to do without having to think about it.

Stopping in front of the bench that was outfitted for weapons modifications, Jetfire removed his rifle and laid it down.

This would have to do for now.

Two joors, five breems, two kliks.

He supposed it was a good thing neither of them had ever thought about bonding, either before or after spark synchrony would have guaranteed a bond to happen during sparkmerge.

And yet, as he trailed his fingers over the length of the double barrel of his rifle, Jetfire found himself wishing they had.

Not because that would have killed him or even, necessarily, hurt. Rather, it would have been a more tangible, physical loss. Spark bonds fraying and silencing usually led to a noticeable stutter in the spark-pulse, more pronounced lethargy as the energy was (scientifically proven) to be slightly less, and, for some, a sense of being "too light". As if something was missing.

And, regardless of anything else, something was most definitely missing.

--------------------
Iacon, Decepticon Base and northern outskirts of the city.

They had left the... corpse... with the medics and then thrown themselves back in the air. Regular medics weren't technically the ones who were supposed to perform the funerary rite of stripping the corpse of the outer armour to get to the protoform so it could be recycled, but if there were any Flames of Cybertron left, they were not out in the open.

It didn't really matter who did it, in Skywarp's opinion, as long as it got done. The actually important things were what they were doing now, and what would come later, even if he wasn't sure Starscream deserved it. Just as he fragging well didn't deserve the slight wobble in Thundercracker's wings, setting the vortices that spiralled from his wingtips into unsteady chaos and forcing them both to continually adjust their flightpaths.

Just like he didn't. fragging. deserve---

Engines screaming, Skywarp dove, trying to push away the feeling of something missing given that there were no sharp, angry calls in a supremely obnoxious voice telling him to get back in li--

::Skywarp, UP!::

He didn't even think, didn't look at how close the ground had been, and just did, warping to appear at Thundercracker's side again. That had probably been close, but he wouldn't ask.

Instead they took a turn around one of the last buildings at the edge of the city of Iacon, a gleaming bronze-coloured edifice that was angled towards the rest of the city, and aimed for the expanse beyond. The ground was gilded by the setting suns, a mix between broken-down shells of buildings and old, bombed-out transports over stretches of gleaming metal where four million years of no war had smoothed out the old craters and new plates partly shoving past old, rusted ones.

Cybertron was, even beyond the renewed energon sources, indeed healing.

They had other things to do than sight-see however, and as the light slowly died they spiralled around each other, diving, rising up, banking in tandem... And it was symmetry because they knew how to fly together, but there was an insistent, glaring hole in their formation.

It shrank as the joors wore on, as they stopped expecting somebody to fill that hole, but it refused to completely dissipate. Skywarp's maneuvers got increasingly out of synch even as they compensated more and more for a third that wasn't there. In the end, Thundercracker stopped the erratic motions by literally crashing into Skywarp, both of them transforming and falling as they grappled.

"Stop that!"

Skywarp did, and Thundercracker carried both of them up higher again, the silence when his thrusters cut and they let their antigravs keep them afloat was as wide and empty as the ground beneath them.

"He was a fraggin' glitch and a loser, and he'd care less if it was one of us!" Skywarp was snarling, engine snapping along with his words and his optics livid enough to light up both their faceplates.

"Yes. And he'd be annoyed because he'd be inconvenienced by it, too," Thundercracker said, voice cool, the grip he had on Skywarp's upper arms, right under the shoulder joint armour and pressing in against those joints, tightening with every word, "hard to replace either of us."

"Thinks he's fraggin' invincible, self-absorbed glitch who just assumed we'd be there and then just turned fraggin' 'round, tailfins quivering, when it looked like things might lead to meltdown!" Skywarp would probably have punched Thundercracker if his arms weren't being restrained.

"That's what a trine is for and we've known that for the majority of the war." Thundercracker shook Skywarp, his grip tightening more - hiding the faint, faint tremble of his hands. Skywarp grimaced and unceremoniously kicked Thundercracker in the right leg, stopping the shaking he was being treated with.

They both stilled, staring at each other as a wind carrying flaking rust from the old, cracked plates below that were being pushed aside for newer metal whispered past them. It smelled of ruin and mines, that scent that came from breaking through metal ore and bringing the fresh, newly broken metals and ores up to the surface along with energon.

It was a contrast that hadn't been a reality since the beginning of the war, as the war had been tearing down too fast and hard for things to renew itself.

"Going to be blasted impossible to replace," Skywarp finally hissed, optics narrowing into golden slits and his exaggerated slang falling away for his original, and, in a way shockingly cultured accent. Usually the rough, careless maliciousness made it easy to overlook the smooth tones of a noble life that Skywarp never had been able to shed, despite the single-minded adoption of slang and word-choice tossed about the industrial quadrants and the gladiator arenas.

"Better to close the holes in our formation as soon as possible then, even if Starscream would be offended we're doing it even before the other rites," Thundercracker said, a small smile spearing through the drawn, flat expression he'd held onto so far.

"Yeah, well, he can vent exhaust if he doesn't like it. Should give him the smallest fraggin' marker ever, too." Skywarp snorted and both pretended there wasn't static underlying the words.

"I'd rather not have him haunt us forever for being disrespectful. You know he'd manage it somehow." There was a chuckle from Thundercracker this time, and Skywarp grinned. Sharp and narrow, but he grinned and then shook off the now loose grip on his upper arms and grabbed Thundercracker's helm, pulling him forward until their crests rested together.

"I'd liketa see him try. But fine, a nice, shiny marker might maybe be one of the things he actually deserves."

They flew back under the light of Moon Alpha and Beta, the shadows beneath them soft and blue, the metal washed into silver. Beta moon's light pools flickered intermittently, and some of them were glowing insistently and giving as much light on their own as the moons were reflecting combined. Those pools had darkened quite early in the war.

The next day, they picked up the now loose armour that had been stripped from the protoform and left for the building with the small, non-industrial smelting pools. The Decepticons had co-opted a part of the building, not so much because they cared if Autobots came and gaped if somebody died and watched what they were doing with the pieces, but because no one felt like having to listen to whispers or catch stares when things went differently than the Autobots would expect.

There wasn't that much difference between the rituals they each used, really. Both recycled the frames - but the Autobots only recycled some of it, using part of it for featureless 'coffins' to put in mausoleums, whereas the Decepticons recycled all of it. In addition to one, small thing...

The molten metal slid into the container, while some of it, however, was being redirected into a smaller, shallow bowl. They waited until it had cooled just enough - while some didn't wait that long, despite yesterday, despite the lacking third, neither could say that Starscream was worth injuring themselves over - and then stuck their fingers in. The still glowing-hot, liquid metal slid into the cracks of their joints, gumming them up, but that could be removed later.

"Until the last who felled you lie as cold and gray as you, we will not rest." Thundercracker spoke first, a quiet rumble that nonetheless cut through the noise of the smelting pools. There was no rage or injured intent here, though. They would fulfill the oath - they were trine, they were military, but they had hardly been close.

They were inevitably affected by Starscream dying, of course. Just because they hadn't been close didn't mean they hadn't had a... connection. That was what trine synchronising and a war did.

"Until their cities lay ruined, until their weapons lay broken and they regret to ever have thought of taking up arms against us. We will drive them to rust." Skywarp echoed the words half a word after Thundercracker, and as they finished they raised their coated fingers and stroked the molten, cooling metal over their cockpits.

A reminder of the injury done, a promise of what was to come.

They stood there for a moment, staring at the hardening metal in the bowl, and then Thundercracker picked up the round container he'd put away, fingering it. It was smaller than it should be, but Starscream's spark chamber had been vaporised in the blast.

"... We should ask if he wants to come along."

"What?! Like frag---" Skywarp's hiss, like a broken, overheated teakettle, settled on a snarling grumble at Thundercracker's even stare.

"We took this, because it's our right. He was far closer, so I think we could give him this, traitor or not."

"... Fine. Ugh. I ain't talkin' to him any more, though."

Thundercracker wouldn't ever point out what Skywarp hadn't seen as he'd been warping right then, considering he was already angry. That Starscream had basically died for Jetfire, diving into the blast to push him away. That would just anger Skywarp more - not because he felt overly offended that Starscream cared for the air guardian, or that he cared for a traitor, just the fact that Jetfire was the reason Starscream was dead.

If anything, it ought to be against the enemy, or for one of them, as trine.

--------------------
Iacon, Autobase.

The ping two days later had been startling, but he didn't get much of an explanation - merely a set of coordinates and a time.

That was a bit... questionable, considering who the ping was from, but Jetfire had done more foolish things than meeting the surviving members of Starscream's trine before. So, with a quiet word to Perceptor who was in the lab with him, Jetfire left. Even if the mech gave him a concerned stare and when he still left, apparently called up Jazz, who followed him quietly to Autobase's landing platform.

"Sure this is a good idea, mech?" Jazz turned his visor skywards, the blue glow narrowing and cooling into a slight band of bluish silver as he looked up into the bright golden sky and the noon-time sunlight drenching everything. There were sharp trails of neon clouds high up in the sky, and huge, softly bulbous clouds lower down.

"Jazz..." Jetfire said as much as sighed, the static still leaving Jazz's name recognisable, and briefly he turned his optics off. He didn't want to have a discussion of---

"'M askin' for you, y'know. We don't really want ya dead at the hands of the vengeance-crazed remnants of Starscream's trine, for whatever reason you feel you have to go meet 'em. Ya know how they get." Jazz was still speaking to the sky, hands behind his back when Jetfire glanced down, surprised. Maybe he shouldn't have been, he had been an Autobot for a long time by now. But then there had been Bumblebee's... somewhat understandable reaction when he turned up with Starscream for the Sunstorm debacle.

Somewhat. Even if it had been Starscream he'd appeared with, one could think he would be afforded some benefit of doubt.

"... Thank you." Crossing his arms over his chestplates, he gave Jazz an arch stare, well-aware the mech could see it even if he wasn't looking right at him. "I'm quite sure there's a reason they 'get that way' though, and all of them don't express it in the same way." In fact, now that Jetfire thought about it, with the knowledge of the... apparent... difference between what was apparently civilian and military sparks, that could explain it.

Since they had some, if not many, who might be military sparks among the Autobots, and they, Jetfire had noticed, showed the same vicious single-mindedness in taking revenge for a death caused - not even the most unstable or vicious of the rest of them who didn't possess... what was probably a civilian spark, had ever acted like that.

Jazz seemed to have realised the same thing, his lips slowly pursing and his helm tilting as he hummed.

"And either way... what do you want to hear? What I hope will happen, what you think will happen, or what will most likely happen?" He tried to loosen up the joints in his wings as he spoke, noticing they'd gone stiff as they'd been standing here. Or rather, they'd been stiff for two days now.

"Let's go with what you hope to happen, then, if you're reasonably sure we don't need to give ya a security escort," a pause, "and I think ya deserve what you hope to happen, anyway."

They both ignored the slight rattle of Jetfire's next in-vent, or the fitful flex of his EM field at that.

"... Well, yes. What I would, ah... hope is that, considering everything else must be dealt with by now, they'd allow me to come with to ... er, inter..." He trailed off, wings sliding down as he glanced at the ground and then shrugged.

He'd finish the sentence later.

"If I'm not back in two joors, you're more than welcome to... ah, come fetch me."

Jazz gave him a wordless pat on the elbow and then walked back inside, no doubt having interrupted planning for whatever was to come to go check on him.

Letting go of the vent he'd been holding, the hot waste air hanging briefly around him before dispersing, Jetfire took off.

--------------------

The two Seekers fell in above him at the outskirts of Iacon, and they continued eastwards in silence, towards the continental border that faced Nova Cronum. It was obvious where they were going, and the only thing that was somewhat surprising was that Skywarp and Thundercracker were choosing the pre-war New Underbase instead of the location the Decepticons had established after the war had started.

But perhaps it made sense, to go for the traditional spot when it was available. Reclaiming the right, as it were, even if the New Underbase wasn't the original one, that having been destroyed a long, long time ago.

The winds were sharp and cool but easily maneuverable, the weather pattern predictable for the time for the year, and the winds were still gentler now that it was past noon than they'd have been earlier in the day. The ground stretched out in a golden-bronze and silver-gilded blur, the two Seekers sharply veering away and diving twice to take out a pack of roaming quintesson creatures. Jetfire quietly sent back the information of where they'd met them.

The groups didn't appear more often the further east they went, so they were clearly aiming for Iacon. Despite the problem inherent in that, it did at least help them as they thundered over the scaffolding-covered Predigeon Arch and turned north and slightly inwards again, aiming for the rise in the otherwise flat plain.

Once, the rise had been barely two steps up from the plain itself, now it was something of a small hill the height of a minibot's frame. Four million years and shifting metal had moved the artificial edifice as the land around it slowly shed the scars of war and revealed the former (and entirely new) glory of intricately patterned metal plates that made up the plain.

They transformed and landed, and Jetfire would have lied if he'd said he wasn't surprised that the energy-signature detector wasn't just working, it also could still operate the lock and open the doors set into the ground.

Well. Partway.

"Someone's gonna have to squeeze in," Skywarp sing-songed with an ugly snigger after they'd tried to push the doors wider and found them stuck.

Thundercracker snorted and Jetfire just shook his helm, disconnected his flight array and was... almost able to squeeze in sideways without causing a screech of metal on metal. Though only almost. Skywarp laughed, but paused along with Thundercracker to let Jetfire reattach the boosters and wings.

As they descended, Jetfire glanced at the time still flickering at the corner of his vision and then immediately turned his attention away from it. He hadn't watched it for two days now, hadn't (kind of) thought about it. He wouldn't until after this was done. Because after it was done, there was no chance... it would be over the time to turn it off.

The stairwell, spiralling around itself, was wide and high enough they could have flown down if they were careful about it, but they took the steps in the murky half-light. Most of the light fixtures weren't working, but enough were, bathing the stairwell in a coolly muddled blue light.

The light at the bottom worked in full, blooming into a soft, blue-white glow that didn't seem to have a direction as they stepped onto the walkway that followed the walls of the room. The chamber was vast, but the light reached from one end to the other in the domed space, revealing the walkways that criss-crossed the room, the high arches and the high-lighted high-relief etchings on the ceiling. Thundercracker paused before he stepped out onto one of the walkways that stretched out into the body of the room and turned around.

"Here. You go first."

For a moment, Jetfire just stared at the round container made of delicate metal foil, smaller than it would have been if the spark chamber would've been included. Not that it could have been in this case. Then he took it, their optics meeting for a moment, and where Skywarp was sharp and angled, Thundercracker was... no less angled, but there was acceptance.

Understanding.

Not that Skywarp didn't understand, probably better than either Starscream or Jetfire had, but he didn't care.

They crossed the room in a line, walking on walkways just wide enough to allow careful but safe passage, the floor around them set deeper and covered in old, dully gleaming processors and spark chambers. There was no rust here, but that the parts were still as well-preserved as they were was still impressive.

Once, those pieces which had been laid to rest in here for the longest would be removed and reused, after no possible trace of the former possessor could have possibly remained. The war had basically shut down half of the practice, leaving enough time or safe passage to have some place to leave the parts, but not to get them again.

Jetfire wasn't sure where he was going, but he knew the back of the room should be the goal.

That was harder than it ought to be, because it didn't... feel like they were alone. Which was utterly ridiculous, because they were. But thoughts of Starscream; impossible, obnoxious, egoistical, overly dramatic and jealous... Intense and brilliant and roundaboutely appreciative when he felt like it and while the war had sharpened him until manic brittleness and ruthlessness at first, he seemed, by the time Jetfire got thawed, to have smoothed out a little. Not quite (ever again) into the vicious but not murderous individual that he'd been pre-war, but no matter what he tried to project, there was still a core of decency even if it needed help---

He'd stopped.

When had that happened?

"... I suppose this is as good a... ah, place as any to rest."

"Better than the loser deserves that's what it is--- hey!" Skywarp's yell and the tinny bang that preceded it echoed through the room and made the light around them pulse and Jetfire chuckled.

It was soft and there was static underneath it, but there it was.

"Considering he'd want something only to himself, I think this works out pretty well. It's not the physical place that matters anyway." The last was muttered as Jetfire knelt on the walkway and slowly laid the wrapped package on top of the other, bared, processors and spark chambers. In time, the thin foil would wear away and leave this processor as bare as the other ones.

He dropped it, and then held his hand above it for a moment. In a way, this had probably, one way or another, for either of them, been inevitable. He'd rather it not have been, but...

Jetfire stood up.

"Okay, let's go. This place is creepy!" Skywarp snapped and turned around even as he spoke, walking as fast as he could without accidentally ending up with a thruster down among processors and spark chambers. Thundercracker eyed Jetfire for a moment, and then followed Skywarp, and Jetfire, after a last look at the wrapped package gleaming in the blue light, started walking himself.

Two solar cycles, one cycle, three breems and... his spark finished its cycle, coalescing deep within him in its protected spark chamber, and pulsed with an echo right before it flared out again.

Jetfire stopped, hand straying to the autobrand which covered the area above his spark chamber.

That...

6.8 seconds spark pulse and a faint echo.

The synchronised spark pulse ought to have dissipated by now. It was probably just being slow, or... something. It didn't mean anything.

"Hey! If ya don't get a move on, we're gonna leave without you!" Skywarp's yell cut through his thoughts and he started moving again, but it wasn't until they were up on the surface again that he dropped his hand from his chestplates.

Chapter Text

Cybertron, sub-surface Iacon. One day and three joors left of the time limit the quintessons gave them.

"Familiar, isn't it? Even if we were deeper down, last time," Megatron said, climbing down the sheer cliff face with all the self-assured ease of someone who knew what they were doing. Which, well, he probably did, at that. At any rate, he was at leastmaking a show of being far more proficient at climbing down the cliff than Optimus felt he was.

The narrow ledges that made up the cliff in thin, layered slabs were only just enough for a mech of their size to get anything that could be considered a grip, and he didn't bother to hide his grunt as it rattled from his exhaust stacks. Below him, Megatron chuckled, rasp-rumbling and taunting. Familiar.

"No thanks to Starscream. Were are we going, anyway?" When they'd first started, there hadn't been much of a light and he'd been obliged to use his own headlights - now, however, there was a faint warm glow that rose up from beneath them. Not the same cascade of no-direction golden light that had been in the deep areas where they'd landed after Starscream had shot at them, back when Megatron had tried to get the Matrix. This was a dimmer, more reddish glow, but welcome nonetheless as it gave more to see by than his own headlights or shifting his visual spectrum to allow to see in low-light conditions.

"Patience, Prime. Which was something I thought you were good at." The mocking tone echoed, but didn't conceal the thump of Megatron hitting - ah, ground. The arched glare he gave Megatron for not warning him of the floor was merely met with a quirked smirk and a gesture of his hand as he led them off.

"Letting you lead me around is something I've become allergic to, Megatron, especially when you know where we're going but I don't," Optimus said with a shake of his helm and turned off his headlights as they were becoming more unnecessary by the step. They'd left the darkness of broken electronics and closed-off ruins above them; down here the contrast of gleaming metal corridor with light fixtures set high into the slightly curving walls was nearly jarring against the lingering destruction of the upper levels.

They were now deep enough it was clear there'd been something here, once, but not as deep as he and Megatron had fallen millions of years earlier.

"And yet you insisted on coming along, Optimus. Why's that?"

Ignoring the amusement beneath the question, he glanced sideways and gave Megatron another arch stare.

"Somebody has to, don't they?"

"And it's always you, of course." It was a challenge and a flat statement of fact in once, calling back to all the other times it had happened. Going underground after Megatron right after he'd been granted the Matrix... tossing himself at Megatron through the prototype space bridge... any number of similar actions before that, during their stay on the quintessons' planet and after they'd returned to Cybertron. The same on Earth, like going to San Fransisco after they found the base where Megatron had released the cyber virus...

"Who else would? Or could." Optimus turned enough to give Megatron a full stare, but didn't pause long enough to give a chance for a reply. "And perhaps I wanted to see with my own optics what you saw back then, now that you're---!" He didn't get to finish as Megatron slammed into him, driving out a static burst and a grunt, then a reverberating clang as he hit the wall, chestplates first. One hand trapped between his chassis and the wall, the other in an unforgiving grip behind his back and a whisper-soft static brush of warm lips against the back curve of the base of his right audial.

"Now that I'm what, Prime? Now that I'm willing to share because the circumstances might necessitate it and your mentor asked how I knew about the quintessons having some influence on us before anyone else did? Now that I actually remember that I know that?" The snarl crackled against his audial finial like static contempt, and he twitched the finial away from the source of the sound as far as it could get. He pushed back, but Megatron dug his weight in and down, metal grinding against metal and twisting his hand enough to strip the tiny workings and pull cables.

"... Remember?" How would Megatron had forgotten something like that?

"Oh, Prime," Megatron's laughter warped the title into a rumbling vibration more than a word, and he'd leaned forward enough to make sure that the sound was planted right into the audial finial, despite it having twitched away earlier. He did not squirm. He would not push back against the teasing mockery. "Perhaps you should've considered how much else you removed when you crudely stuck your hands in my processor and rummaged around to remove the knowledge of the visions the Matrix gave us when I tried to take it. Was it worth it? I lost a lot of focus and direction from that, you know. Lost focus and direction I redirected onto you."

He had--- Optimus froze, not so much at the vicious acid-on-metal hiss of Megatron's restrained anger as more the implication of what was being said. Optimus slowly shook his helm. He hadn't known how deep he'd gone, of course. Partly blinded by pain even from the respite of being teleported away from Megatron, he'd been angry. He'd been focused on one thing only, and it had... Had apparently led to him partly having a hand in the war collapsing into a millions-long drawn out tug-o-war regarding Cybertron.

"I don't know." He let his helm thump forward against the wall partly to get his audial finial away from that wicked mouth, and partly as he tried to deal. "It seemed... necessary, that those visions become lost, so you couldn't strive towards them. We shouldn't know the future, after all. Of course, I still knew what they were..." He grunted, flexing the hand trapped between him and the wall.

"So why not kill me, Optimus? You had the opportunity, and that would've guaranteed at least the Earth ones wouldn't have happened as we saw them do, and which we both know they did, now. If you actually had lowered yourself to kill me---"

"I was an archivist, Megatron!" Optimus bucked, tried to turn them over but got slammed back into the wall, a knee against the back of his own knee joint and another soft chuckle. "I'd barely been a Prime a full solar cycle, and while others, hundreds of thousands and millions had already died by the weapons of those you commanded, you think I was ready to face the reality of deliberate murder?" He'd killed some of the assassins Megatron had sent to the ceremony, yes, but that had been a spur of the moment, pure reaction to the situation and the suggestions from his new upgrades. Lurking behind a disoriented Megatron with Grimlock's sword, however...

There was a moment of silence behind him, the grip on his trapped hand tightening, and then... Megatron laughed.

"They really shouldn't have chosen an archivist!" The words were silken, razor-sharp amusement against his finial again, and his engine dropped into a rumble when his arm was twisted further up and two large, black fingers pressed against the hatch at his side, the one hiding the ports and cables beneath. "Nearly anyone else, and things would've been very different now. But it'd probably be very boring too..." Another chuckle, far less mocking now.

With a huff, Optimus shook his helm, yanked his hand from between the wall and his chassis and snapped it around him.

They twirled, stumbled, legs tangling and then there was a clang that echoed down the corridor like a lightning clap as Megatron found himself clattering against the wall, arms up above him, one leg yanked sideways and entangled with Optimus' in a way that would neatly keep him off center. The blue optics boring into him were burning.

"That was then, though, and I'm capable of far more now, Megatron." Optimus leaned in, and their chestplates scraped together. The hand not trapping his own above his helm was splayed over the abdominal vents, longest finger pressing against a hatch that corresponded to the one he'd been stroking earlier. "I obviously shouldn't have acted like I did. I apologise for erasing those memories. I'm not sure I can apologise for being unable to deliberately and calculatedly taking a life, even if my own calculations and statistics pointed to that being the course of action I should have taken. I might even regret, a little, that I didn't back then, but it's not as if it can be changed."

He could (maybe), probably should, reverse their positions again, but... Pushing against the wall, Megatron let his optics dim as he stared at Prime. Familiar. Half-restrained anger and frustration that, time had shown, could be redirected elsewhere if opportunity and time was given to it. They didn't really have time for that, though.

Perhaps more the pity, that.

"Indeed you are. Apology accepted. I have it all back now anyway." Then he paused, smirking as he tilted his helm. "And when we've dealt with the quintessons, you should hope you have a way of keeping your precious Cybertron and the rest of the galaxy safe, Optimus. I think I still want my warworld, but that doesn't mean I couldn't turn to other planets first." Which was actually exactly what he was planning, had been planning to do after he'd gotten back. Unicron, and now the quintessons, had gotten in the way of that, however.

Optimus' engine fairly growled and he leaned in, optics narrowed into slits of blue fire, drawing up thoughts of the best battles... and quite a few situations during those years trapped on Quintessa with the Prime. His smirk deepened into showing fangs and his engine dropped to match Optimus' as the mech didn't stop at a polite distance and the finger at the hatch turned this shade of demanding.

"I certainly will. One way or another." He hadn't removed his mask as it barely came to rest against Megatron's lips, but he'd set it to vibrating with the words the way only someone who'd once had nothing but a mask instead of a full faceplate beneath it could do, and it slithered down against his protoform. And then Optimus let up, their crests resting against each other for a moment before he stepped back, letting him go. Megatron could admit to some faint disappointment.

"Are we done now?" It was nearly plaintive, but by the way Optimus was shifting on his feet Megatron could recognise the attempt to hide the heated curl of his circuits behind that plaintiveness. At least they were both in the same situation, and while doing something about it down here and now would be very familiar again, there was, really, no time for that.

Perhaps later.

"If you want. We should move, either way." He'd gotten what he wanted, after all. Not that he cared about the apology as such, merely the reasoning. And to make Optimus uncomfortable with the realisation all of this was partly his fault, even if, at the time, one couldn't really have expected a jumped-up records clerk to act any different, Prime-grade combat upgrades or not.

He hadn't been military, after all.

The understanding that that actually meant more than just a simple statement of altmode was both gratifying and amusing, now that he had Solus Prime and Alpha Trion's explanations in the back of his processor.

The corridor curved in on itself and down, opening up into a wide shaft with a curving walkway twirling around and down, lights set in the walkway itself. The colours were polished bronze and gold and there was no sound beyond their footsteps and the muted noises of their measured vents and engines. To Megatron, this was familiar, and he remembered the first time he'd seen this.

The hesitation of continuing into the unknown, and the flare of determination and defiance - he'd come here for the unknown, for that which had been deliberately kept away from them, so why shouldn't he continue?

"... You know this would probably go faster if we could both drive?" If it hadn't been Optimus and his tone hadn't been anything else but gently inquiring, he'd have tossed the mech off the walkway that was, indeed, wide enough to allow for either a tank or Optimus' truck altmode. The curves of the walkways was probably even wide and gentle enough the turns could be taken easily enough.

He might still actually toss Optimus off, but then he'd have irate Autobots on his back and they did need to concentrate their attention elsewhere. So perhaps not.

"This is my most natural altmode, Optimus, and while it lacks versatility, I prefer the symbolism," Megatron said with a snort and a gesture at himself, the smirk hovering around his lips hidden from the Prime who was walking slightly behind him.

"... The tank altmode earlier, then..?" Genuine confusion and curiosity, and Megatron chuckled.

"Given to me by the Council when they offered me the position of their champion. For versatility in the matches, as they said," Megatron sneered and made another gesture, now more dismissively. "Now it's quite clear they simply didn't want somebody so visible to the public, even a gladiator, to bandy about the absolute purest form of a military spark. I believe Shockwave kept his as he wasn't just tucked away in Tarn, but focused on science, not combat."

A gun was a literal weapon, even more so than any other military altmode was, after all.

"That... sounds entirely in line with what they might have said, even from a well-meaning angle. And Teletraan would obviously have reverted to the altmode matrix most compatible with your spark when it repaired you, rather than the next-most compatible thing," Optimus murmured thoughtfully, and thankfully the rest of the walk down was conducted in silence. Not that Prime wasn't an acceptable conversational partner, but there really wasn't anything at the moment Megatron felt interested in talking about.

And, really, they'd perfected meaningful silences since early in their exile on Quintessa.

"Here we go. Alpha Trion might be interested in this," Megatron said as they came to the bottom of the shaft, and instead of walking left down the corridor there, walked straight on, through an open doorway that led into a giant hall softly lit up by non-directional reddish-golden light.

In the center stood two humongous statues, both of them winged, though the armour and kibble on one looked a fair shade more animalistic than the other. The blue, white and gold mech to the right had his left arm raised, while the one on the left was black and blue with details in red and gold and had his right arm raised. If they'd once held something in their hands, it was no longer there.

In truth, Megatron didn't care if Alpha Trion was interested in it. All that mattered was that he wanted to know who they'd been.

"Alpha Trion? Megatron wanted you to have a look at this," Optimus said into the video feed he'd opened on his comm. suite, turning around and angling his arm so that his mentor could get a view of the statues through the feed he was picking up.

"... Ah. Dai Atlas and Deathsaurus. They were guardians of the Prime in the past and helped... spread our influence beyond Cybertron. They were killed early on in the quintesson siege."

"Thank you." Optimus cut the connection and then looked at Megatron, the upper ridge of his right optic quirked. "Satisfied? Can we perhaps get what we came here for, now?"

And Megatron just smirked, fang-sharp, and led Optimus back out, down the corridor outside until the light spilling from the memorial hall was fuzzy and barely visible. On the floor laid three greyed-out husks, long since dead. Megatron knelt by one of them and unceremoniously thrust his hand into the torso, pulling out a round, golden case entirely untarnished by age or wear.

"We can, at that."

--------------------
Iacon, Autobase; Command and Strategy. One day, two joors and three cycles until the end of the time limit.

"Ah... A knowledge repository," Alpha Trion murmured as he turned the golden disc over in his hands, the case laying on the table beside him. "They're made to be tamper proof, to ensure knowledge isn't lost even if we may forget... or are made to forget." Then he smiled, a faint, dry thing that barely twitched his facial decoration. "Of course, they also depend on the information being clear and precise as it's recorded onto the disc."

"Obviously. So is this one tampered with?" Megatron did, in Optimus' opinion, a pretty spectacular good impression of not being tense or expectant of the answer. Not that he'd probably care if the information on the disc had been tampered with. Megatron was charismatic and capable enough to find a new underpinning of his cause, dropping the influences of the past from it if needed.

"I doubt it." Alpha Trion walked over to one of the computer consoles and, despite the fact that the disc wasn't the same shape as a datatrack, the disc went in anyway, the screen flickering in a brief static that displayed an unbroken pattern of interlocked hexagons. "... it's not tampered with, at least."

What followed was an intricately woven mix of text, images and audio, seamlessly layered or changing off each other to convey the information recorded on the disc. It started with a simple, and surprisingly brief text message, automatically translated to more modern glyphs as they scrolled onto the screen.

We have discarded the darkness of the quintessons. No longer shall they manipulate our code, or steal our sparks for their own purposes. We will rise beyond them and secure the galaxy from them if it becomes necessary. We were made to protect, to defend - if it be done for ourselves and Cybertron, or for the rest of the galaxy makes no matter. Heed this warning, minions of false unity and justice; we are watching.

"Oh, I see. Part of the Declaration of Peace speech." Solus shook her helm, arms crossed under her chestplates. "Of course he never bothered to record all of it as an introduction as I said he should. No wonder you might have come to the conclusion they created the cybertronian species when you only had that to go by," Solus said with a snort and a flickering roll of her optics after she looked to Megatron, who quirked the upper ridge of an optic at her and nodded.

"The speech is from the end of the first contact war with the quintessons, made by Alpha Prime. They came to us and affected friendliness at first, but things turned... grimmer," Alpha Trion said slowly and sat back down at the table, his optics dim and turned on the console where the disc was tucked in, "they were not particularly skilled at hiding their opinions of a fully mechanoid species even from the start, but we were... mostly willing to be accepting of it. Even as they were clearly at least partly mechanoid and their prejudice somewhat confusing in that regard. In the end, after a failed hacking attempt of one of our diplomatic envoys, they dropped all pretenses and attacked us."

The rest of the encoded information was a glittering display of growing cybertronian galactic influence, and it was no wonder Megatron had taken it to spark and later run with it, using it as a foundation to bring it back. Even Optimus had to admit the clips of successful trade, colonies being established, alliance treaties shown were very... impressive.

It was obvious it was more of a summary of an era of history than a full recount, but that was because there most likely would have been expected to be more than this single disc - which actually seemed like something of an index, the further they went through the information. A quick, chronological recount of bigger events to know what to look for in other records. Of course even this shortened version was extremely important and more than they'd ever known of the time pre-golden age.

And then, what seemed to be the last thing recorded on the disc flickered on, a static-shot video of a mech sharing Arcee's design, though she was mint green and white and had two curving sensory protrusions on her helm.

"They--- they're back. I never... never thought I'd have to say that and I'm not sure who to go to this to, but consider this both a request for reinforcements for Paradron and a general high-alert alarm. The quintessons are back."

Alpha Trion rubbed a hand over his faceplate and sighed as the screen on the console turned back into the hexagon pattern.

"That was the beginning of the end prior to the age most of you have lived through, and which the Council established at the beginning quite quickly dubbed the golden age. I'll try to arrange a more thorough history. I'm still not sure why the Council decided to remove that knowledge---"

"You may be interested in what's coming next, then," Megatron said with a sharp slash through the air with a hand, interrupting Alpha Trion with a nod to the screen. Indeed, the hexagon pattern had suddenly disappeared again, replaced by a simple gold background with a faint imprint of Cybertron and its two moons on it.

The text was in modern glyphs, no translation done, and somewhat cut off and meandering.

... the pattern... has been disrupted. Primus help us, but it has and we missed it. I don't know when the five-faced ones came back. We purged them from the planet, rebuilt everything from the ground up and yet... The Council. They are in the Council, that which should be the pillar for the Prime in domestic governance. I won't... there's no time. I have no chance to reveal this to the population. I'm extinguishing as I record this, and it was merely pure chance I got away to die here, leaving my message before I go, where it will... hopefully remain out of reach. And for you who find it, if anyone does, I ask you - and may Primus forgive me - purge the Council. You cannot know who is an agent of the five-faced doom and who is merely listening to words that seem logical and yet are leading us astray. We shouldn't... shouldn't have insisted on closing ourselves in on Cybertron. Perhaps then they wouldn't have... Too late. Hopefully someone shall restore the angles in the pattern and set it right. This is Gravitas, of the Council of Cybertron, and after this... the one who uses my name will be somebody else.

"... They... Of course."

Optimus winced at his mentor's voice, a rough, crackling sigh that broke the words as he murmured them. Tired. Older than he'd ever heard him sound before, and as Solus rested a hand on one arm, Optimus came up to Alpha Trion's other side, but didn't know what to say. To think the mech who'd been the one to inform him that he'd been chosen to carry the Matrix had been replaced by...

"Alpha Trion. If Gravitas was replaced, was I..." I trailed off, removing the hand he'd laid on his mentor's shoulder to brush his chestplates.

In response, though, Megatron snorted violently and Alpha Trion chuckled dryly, derailing the narrow stare he'd aimed at Megatron.

"No, Optimus. The Council has never chosen the Prime, merely conducted the ceremony that would confer the Matrix, and kept the key to the Matrix Chamber. The choice was pure."

"As if it could have been anything else. Honestly, Prime. I've never seen a more self-righteous, self-sacrificial and caring glitch than you." Despite the tone and the sneering words from Megatron, Optimus chuckled.

"Glowing praise," he said and shot Megatron a look, even his mask unable to hide the smirk. "There's only one thing left to do, then."

--------------------
Iacon, Central Plaza between the Tower of Pion and the Chamber of Ancients. Less than a breem until the end of the time limit for the "deliberation" the quintessons gave them.

They'd set up equipment so that when the quintessons called again - which they undoubtedly would - the call could be displayed out here, as there was more space available on the plaza than even in the Grand Oratory's central hall. As such, Optimus found himself facing the entrance to the Chamber of Ancients where the screen was set up, a growing crowd behind and around him, Megatron to his right.

He hoped they didn't call.

He hoped nothing would come of this. Or rather, if something had to come of this, that they could negotiate, get the missing part of their population and back then either go back to ignoring each other or maybe something more amiable. But, that was fruitless, much too optimistic thinking.

And when the screen flickered on, Optimus knew very well what would happen.

It was quite clear, from the history that had been partly revealed, through the scattered words of those long forgotten, long extinguished.

"Ah, Optimus Prime." Lord Kledji looked at the Prime, and then the gathered crowd behind him through the mask topped with a crown of spines. "As representative for your species, how do you plead?"

Hands clasped behind his back, Optimus briefly glanced at Megatron, an arch to his expression to convey the 'plead? seriously?' that he couldn't mouth at the mech because his mask covered his mouth. Megatron smiled briefly, flatly. Twitching his helm in a slow shake, Optimus then looked down at the ground in front of him and for a brief moment offlined his optics.

They would have to be ready for this.

They'd defeated the scourge of the living universe, the enemy they'd been created to fight, so surely this would be... Optimus straightened up and stared into the flickering glare of lord Kledji's yellow optics.

"I believe I speak for all of us when I say no. We won't simply lay down for you. So I suppose 'not guilty'." There was some faint angled harshness in those last few words, and Megatron smirked at the sarcasm as the crowd behind them rumbled in assent of Optimus' claim.

On the screen, the supreme imperial magistrate lord Kledji's faces twirled around and settled on the livid red and black horned one, and despite the snarl of the face's expression, there was a distinct feeling of satisfaction emanating from it.

"On your head be it then, Prime."

Chapter Text

Central Plaza, now.

"A pity you should choose to persist instead of cutting a plea deal or simply proclaim yourself guilty," lord Kledji said, his long, tentacle-like cable arms sweeping around. "We shall have to see how your... witness account holds up in the cross examination."

Eyeing the screen, Jetfire glanced from the quintesson on the other side of it to the two leaders up in front of it - he probably should've moved at some point during this so he wasn't taking up so much space and line-of-sight for other people, but Ratchet had spotted him and pulled him with him. He had... followed along, feeling quietly thankful for the attention. The mech was still standing beside him, arms crossed over his windshield with a darkly narrow expression aimed at the screen.

"What, those creatures that have been pouring from the Badlands?" Megatron sneered, shaking his helm, and Jetfire would've been curious to see his expression, but he was standing with his back towards the crowd, "The sharkticons might have been impressive in the past, but we know their weaknesses now. And I doubt the rest of them will be much of a challenge."

Optimus made a noise where he stood beside Megatron, and by the way his right hand flexed briefly it was probably just as well there was an audience behind as well as in front of them. Otherwise, Jetfire guessed with a smile he didn't precisely feel, Megatron would probably have gotten cracked by an elbow or slapped. Megatron merely ignored the mech beside him and cocked his helm at the quintessons' supreme imperial magistrate.

Once again Jetfire found himself wishing he could see the mech's expression.

"Perhaps, but it would be a poor cross examination if we merely attacked one angle, wouldn't it?" As Kledji spoke, his faces twirled around to the empty, burning grimace of the green-crowned mask, the chuckle at the end of the words rumbling along with the glow of the green eyes. Then the feed cut before any questions could be made, but given Blaster's sudden cry over the comm. it was clear what was happening.

::Incoming near-space transwarp portals! A lot of 'em.::

Looking up reflexively, Jetfire was surprised it hadn't been a futile action where the ships were too far away to be seen. Instead, anyone would be able to tell what was happening, even without the benefit of Blaster's warning - the distant flicker of transwarp and the shadows of ships blipping into existence was visible in the sky. Not to say anything about the last transwarp. Like a miniature supernova it bloomed up and belched out something that - well, it wasn't the size of Unicron or even their own moons, but it was still vast.

Far larger than any ship they currently had access to.

::Blaster, or Soundwave, can you give us a closer visual?::

Optimus' request over the comm distracted Jetfire from staring at the distant blob of the largest ship and he glanced back to the Prime as the large screen flickered on again. The satellites refocused and moved, revealing strangely curving and spined ships flocking around the behemoth that dominated the fleet. It was an unwieldy mess that was kind of ovoid until you looked closer, where it showed it was more like a dodecahedron consisting of loops, spirals and wavering planes of metal that was ache-inducing to look at.

Not quite like Unicron, but there was some similarity, like the noise that had been emanating from the city had been. Jetfire shifted on his thrusters, flicking his wings slightly as he glanced from the screen down at Ratchet, who tilted his helm towards him in acknowledgment, optics still on the screen.

"That's a fleet up there. Do we have even a squadron of ships?" They had, if everybody participated, a respectable army, but that didn't account for three thousand years of civilian life for most of them, or the fact that a lack of ships was a lack of ships.

"Don't think so. But maybe Shockwave can surprise us," Ratchet muttered and jerked his helm towards the podium in front of them where Ultra Magnus and Shockwave had both joined Optimus and Megatron in front of the screen.

"You're working under Magnus, Shockwave. And if you have updated Iacon's defenses or have a handy fleet of ships tucked away, I suggest you don't withhold the information." Megatron's voice was like smooth polished metal, acid threatening underneath, and Jetfire, as he eyed the group and Shockwave tilted his helm stiffly, was fairly sure there laid more than the usual threat behind Megatron's words.

It might explain the rounded cap on the arm where Shockwave usually had his gun.

Optimus' gaze flickered down to where Jetfire and the rest of the mechs who'd been on Earth were all standing in a group, and then he glanced away again, turning to Magnus. As Ratchet tapped him on the elbow and the others also started to move, Jetfire thought that, even with a lapsed and inexperienced defense, Iacon ought to do well.

It was on those who were going up against the fleet that would decide what would happen after.

There was a brief thought as he took himself back to Autobase about how Starscream would organise the Decepticons aerials - and then he caught himself, wings shuddering and briefly disturbing his flightpath before he corrected himself.

Someone else would have to lead the Armada in this battle, and henceforth after.

--------------------
Autobase.

Despite having left when he did and being capable of flying, when Jetfire came back there was still already people inside the room, beyond the single clone soldier Megatron had left that stood guard at the door. Though, considering he didn't remember seeing more than Firestar next to Ratchet, it'd make sense the rest of Elita's group would have stayed behind.

It looked like they'd finally been able to get altmodes, and while Firestar had seemed nervous but comfortable enough, only misjudging her new kibble a few times, there was no reason why the others wouldn't prefer to adjust to it in some privacy. The quintessons had, apparently, kept their assassins and bodyguards without that essential part of them that altmodes were.

Beyond that, considering one of the screens in the room was displaying the quintesson fleet, it was doubtful they'd missed anything since they could've watched both the quintesssons' call and the fleet's arrival on it.

"--- not all they're going to do."

Jetfire didn't stop close-by to the three brightly coloured mechs and instead retreated to one of the seats large enough for him, but it was impossible not to overhear the quiet discussion. They also hadn't missed him come in, as both Elita and Chromia had looked up and nodded back when he'd greeted them, but since they didn't switch to comm. or lower their voices more, Jetfire just tried to politely pretend he couldn't hear them.

"Right? And we're just... going to wait for them to implement the rest?" Moonracer sounded agitated, and he could see her fiddle with a collapsible rifle, repeatedly going through the motions of putting it together and then collapsing it back again.

"Right now? Think so. There's a sizable amount of ground troops coming, and the fleet needs to be dealt with. They might not have had much to do with the five-faced ones before, but I don't think they're unaware the quints ain't gonna stop at a frontal assault," Chromia muttered, possibly with a shake of her helm - she was standing too far out of the edge of his vision for him to pick up exact movements.

"But couldn't we... I don't know, sneak in and turn on the hack?" Moonracer finally stopped fiddling with the rifle as she snapped it together for a last time and stuck it on her back, bouncing on her heel stabilisers.

"No! You put that idea out of your processor right this minute," Elita hissed, leaning forward and squeezing Moonracer's shoulders. "We don't have the time to properly plan an infiltration like that, and even with the distraction of the battle and knowing the layout of the capital, how do you think we'd get in? We don't have access to the free-jump space bridge anymore, and hacking it would, again, take time. As much as I don't like it, we'll just have to make sure they are aware the critters are planning more than this and assist as we can." And Elita didn't look at all happy with that, her pale face set in a deep scowl.

It was probably the only reason Moonracer subsided, stilled her bouncing and reached out, cupping one of Elita's cheeks. Elita's bright optics flickered and then dimmed, her scowl smoothing out slightly after a moment. Jetfire turned his helm away, not because it was an overly intimate display. It was more... the sense of newness to it.

Which would make sense, given how long they'd been under the control of the shell program.

"Okay. I'm just going to go get another blaster. I don't want to just have a rifle," Moonracer said and he glanced back in time to see her shimmy out of Elita's grip, blow a kiss at the two and then she slipped out the door as Optimus, Megatron and a larger group came in after them. Jetfire almost turned forward in his seat again, seeing as everybody was spreading out and settling down in anticipation when... Hot Rod? burst from Kup's side and stormed up to Optimus.

"Prime! What about Arcee!"

Optimus' expression softened and he reached out and laid a hand on Hot Rod's shoulder, squeezing it and then shook his helm.

"We need to take care of the army on our doorstep first Hot Rod. We don't have enough forces to split for a third front," Optimus said and, as Hot Rod opened his mouth, his optics narrowed a little and he shook his helm again, sharper this time. "No. Besides, it's not just Arcee in need of a rescue, Hot Rod, and even if I want them all out of the quintessons'... er, tentacles this very moment, we can't afford to do it right now." There was no mistaking the pained flash that skittered over Prime's faceplate, even with the mask covering over half of it.

It didn't seem enough for Hot Rod, though.

"But we can't just leave Arcee---," at Elita's sharp snort, Chromia's growl and the darkening of Optimus' optics, Hot Rod winced, "or, uh, the others there! We could infiltrate!"

"Lad..." Kup managed to sound more patiently concerned than exasperated, but even he showed the evidence of tightening darkness around his optics.

"No! We can't just---"

"Be quiet, protoform," Elita snapped, surging out of the seat she'd taken beside Jetfire and Chromia and Optimus stepped aside to let her crowd in front of Hot Rod, who took a step back before he scowled. There was no question he remembered the beating she'd given him when she and her group had infiltrated Autobase looking for Optimus and him. "I, Chromia, Moonracer and Firestar know far better than you what's at stake with the tens of thousands of us they still have in their possession, and I'd rather remove them as fast as possible! But given the lack of resources, personnel included, we're obviously going to have to deal with this first."

Hot Rod might've been half a helm taller than Elita, which wasn't much really, but her presence was far vaster than his as she snapped at him. Engine growling and EM field not so much flared out as intensely concentrated, slimmer than Hot Rod or not, even with her new kibble, Elita was a force. A force Hot Rod was close enough to feel, and he was the one who reacted with a sullen flare of his field outwards.

"And I doubt you could hack the quintesson space bridge system, so even if you could infiltrate the city down in the Badlands, how do you think you'd get further?" With a shake of her helm and ringing slap to his chestplates that Hot Rod winced at - not because it hurt, but because she'd struck him in the same place before, with far less pleasant results - Elita whirled around and sat back down.

In the silence, there was clapping. Hot Rod whirled around, optics narrowed and snarling at Megatron, who just smirked, one optic ridge arched.

"Slag off!" With that, Hot Rod stormed out and Optimus huffed, rubbing his masked chin.

"I'll go get him," Springer said with a shake of his helm and a clap to Kup's shoulder before the door closed behind him as well.

"Was that absolutely necessary, Megatron?" As Optimus turned to his counterpart, Jetfire had to admit to some amusement at the long-suffering, reluctant admonishment in Prime's voice. Not that he approved of that sarcastic clapping either, but... ah.

"Credit where it's due, Prime," here Megatron glanced aside to Elita, who just snorted faintly, and then back to Optimus, "we don't have time to deal with protoforms and their crushes. Especially not considering our resources. Six ships in total, Prime, and the Nemesis is missing four fifths of its missile complement."

With a sigh, Optimus nodded and crossed his arms, staring at the screen with a frown, unsure how to proceed.

"Would you know their capabilities?" Prowl spoke next, looking at Chromia and Elita.

"Somewhat, but don't take it as an exhaustive report. Been close enough to pick up some things, but that won't be all. The group troops, however..." Chromia said with a wave of her hand, about to launch into an account of what she could tell when Ratchet snapped for people to look at the screen.

The screen, which still showed the quintesson ships, and, in particular, their giant flagship.

As the faceted ship slowly turned around, Jetfire had the distinct, creeping sensation - like charge spitting from a broken wire - of a very simple realisation; this was not good. The satellites shifted, allowing a sideways view of the ship and the fleet surrounding it, with Cybertron in the lower right corner of the screen.

The facet that now faced Cybertron gleamed with reflected sunlight like crystal... or a lens.

"... Oh no."

It didn't matter who said it, and Jetfire didn't have the chance to look who it actually was as that... lens began to glow, not with sunlight, but charge. The ship wasn't Unicron, but it didn't need to be, to inflict damage. Not with a cannon with a lens as large as that, covering a whole facet of the ship.

Fully charged, the lens glowed livid purple and lanced out a beam thicker than some ships, aimed at the greater continent of Iacon.

They didn't need to be told when it hit as the floor beneath them trembled, even floors and levels above ground level, though it was complete imagination, Jetfire knew, the sensation of feeling his protoform rattle. More destruction, and on a planet that head been healing for, approximately, the last four million years. Would it actually ever end?

"Damage?" Megatron barked out, and Jetfire noticed no overt signal from the warlord, and yet Soundwave was already tilting his helm, yellow visor dimming briefly and another of the screens flickering online.

"Rebuilt Forum of Enlightenment: bisected. Area now has a ravine from one end to the other."

The screen showed the truth of those words, the rebuilt settlement that was arrayed around a huge amphitheater was wreathed in smoke and fire, deepening the shadows of the wire-sparking, tiered ravine that now snaked its way from south-east to north-west through the Forum.

"None of the ships currently have shields capable of withstanding that force, and it'll take us, at the moment and with current resources, too long to destroy the flagship. This not including having to take into account the rest of their fleet." Prowl could probably give them the exact amount of time they'd need, without and with having to fight the rest of the quintesson fleet.

Jetfire preferred, for the moment, anyway, not to know. They'd need to go up there either way, and given how and where the beam had struck, it was clear the quintessons weren't going to reduce Iacon and its population to rubble and greyed-out husks. No, it'd probably be used to crush the force sent to try and deal with it, and then pick up the surviving population planet-side.

"Optimus, I wish to speak to you. There might be a way to deal with the flagship faster than you using what ships you have to take it apart piece by piece," Solus spoke up in the silence that had fallen after Prowl's proclamation, and the only reason Jetfire saw Megatron's narrowed optics as Solus twitched her helm towards the door and led the Prime away was because he'd been looking at the screens.

It was hard not to follow the two Primes leaving though, and he wasn't alone in that. Most shifted back forward rather quickly however, focusing on Prowl or Megatron depending on who they were as the doors closed. Jetfire, after a lingering frown at the doorway, did as well.

Had Megatron sent the clone soldier he'd had guarding the door away earlier, because it certainly wasn't at the door any longer. Turning away with a shake of his helm, Jetfire focused on the planning being done instead.

--------------------
Iacon, on the streets. A breem later.

"... Why are we out here?" Optimus looked around, having had to spend as much time walking along with Solus as reaching out and offering a hand up or on the shoulder of mechs spooked from the quakes of the beam, but the incidents had slowed down in frequency the longer they walked.

"The carrier mech's ability will have a harder time pinpointing us if there is distance between us and him and more people around," Solus said with a wave of her hand, walking unhurriedly but with purpose down the streets, "and while the weapon we'll use will be obvious enough to that warlord of yours, there's no need to let him know the details. I know the type." Briefly, her tone and optics softened and she looked skywards before shaking her helm. Optimus resisted clearing his vocaliser or protesting her comment of Megatron being 'his' anything.

Even if it once had sort of been true, and who knew about the future... Maybe.

"... There's a weapon on Cybertron capable of taking that, and we haven't found it?" He tried not to sound incredulous, but it was rather hard considering the way they'd tore over Cybertron during the war. Solus glanced at him with laughter sparkling in her optics, and a chuckle in her voice, however dry.

"Yes. Below the surface. None of you would've been able to find it unless you knew it was there, knew how to get there... and had the Matrix."

Well, that made sense. With a dry chuckle of his own, he was relieved they'd never found it, since it sounded by the way it was apparently tucked away and safe-guarded, that it might be capable of some massive damage.

"So you need..?" Trailing off, he brushed his fingers against his windshield, strangely reluctant. He knew it didn't hurt to remove it when he did it of his own free will and needed to use it, but there'd been enough times when there'd been attempts (or successes) of force that they lingered like illusive chains... And even beyond that, he didn't actually want to give it up, despite the his doubts about himself.

"No." Solus shook her helm, brightly blue optics going from Optimus' own to the ground in front of them, studying it, it seemed like. "You're the carrier now, and that's how it should be. But if I could convince you to take a trip while the rest deal with the fleet and the ground assault..." She sounded as reluctant to leave the others to fighting as he felt at that suggestion, but...

"If it will enable us to get rid of the ship and that giant cannon faster and with less loss of life, it might be better I go with you rather than assist in the battle directly. I'll tell Prowl."

--------------------
Autobase, medbay. Over a breem earlier.

It was easier than she thought it'd be; the doors hadn't been locked, and the hack and purge for the shell program was where she'd seen it be stowed. If she failed, the code would be able to be copied from one of the others, so at least, even if the original would be lost with her failure, those still on Quintessa wouldn't be doomed by it.

She knew Elita was right and she wasn't sure how or if she'd be able to hack the space bridge that must be somewhere in the city in the Badlands (disregarding that noise that had affected the recon party), but Moonracer felt she had to try. The quintessons would surely be distracted by the battle, which ought to give her the chance to sneak around to a communications or security hub and broadcast the countermeasure Wheeljack and Ratchet had created.

Waiting... she couldn't put her finger on it, but she knew waiting was a bad idea.

"So what do you think you're doin', huh?"

Whirling around, gun up before she could think about it, she ended up having to look down to find the mech standing in the doorway, gun likewise pointed at her. Not that he gave her a chance to respond as he stomped inside.

"Gonna sell your kin out to the quints, and then the rest of us too by gettin' rid of the cure for the shell program?!" The little red mech spat as he stalked closer, clanking the barrel against her abdominal plates while hers scraped against his crest and she was flabbergasted enough she couldn't even think at first.

"... Wha--- No! I want to help them! While the glitches are distracted with their intimidation display, and since we can't afford a proper infiltration group, better just one of us get taken or killed if I fail! How dare you think anything else!?" She bent over, furious and yelling, but the minibot didn't back down, just push his chin up at her.

"And what guarantee do ya got for you followin' through on that when you actually get back there!?"

Stumbling back, Moonracer shook her helm, wanting to continue to be angry but couldn't because that was, really, what she was fearing as well. She was trembling, she realised, but the hand holding her gun wasn't.

"... None. But like I said better one lost than more. The code can be copied from the others, you know," Moonracer murmured and... amazingly, he stepped back. The tension in the mini's shoulders relaxed and he dropped his gun to point at the floor as he eyed her, feet and up, staring her in the optics and she stared back, blue into blue.

Almost a klik passed.

"... Right. Fine. Still shouldn't go in there without fraggin' back up, you know. I'm Cliffjumper."

... That wasn't what she'd expected, and she laughed, well-aware of the waver and static to the sound and quickly cut herself off.

"Moonracer. Not a good idea, though. Better I do this myself." Not that backup wouldn't be nice, even someone she didn't really know and had just accused her of being about to turn traitor on them all. She could even understand the accusation.

Cliffjumper snorted and shook his helm.

"Too much standin' around not helpin', lately. 'Sides, two guns are better than---"

The doors opened again and both of them whirled at it as one, guns up if not pointing at the intruders.

"What are you guys doing here?" Hot Rod stared at them, optics wide and an expression caught somewhere between surprise and frustration.

Chapter Text

Autobase, medbay.

They stared at each other for a few moments, Springer and Hot Rod in the doorway, Moonracer and Cliffjumper in the middle of the open area near the doorway before Cliffjumper snorted and crossed his arms. Moonracer glanced down at the mini, but he was looking at the two in the doorway.

"I've decided I'm backup. She's probably here for the same reason you are, kid; bein' a glitch."

Giggling at that, Moonracer tipped her helm in half a nod as Cliffjumper's narrow stare slid into a faint grin as he glanced up at her and Hot Rod shook his helm, storming into the room and past them. She had to skip aside to not be barreled into, and threw a grimace at Hot Rod's back.

"I'm just here to... get--- Where is it!?" With a shout, the mech whirled around, staring between them. Moonracer considered saying nothing, then shrugged and planted her fists on her hips.

"The hack and purge of the slave shell program? I have it. Going to try and free everyone," Moonracer said, optics narrowed and steel in her voice; no bouncy lightness here. It needed to be done before the quintessons had a chance to do anything, a feeling which still lingered around her processor like...

Like slowly dripping sludge, covering everything in a faint sheen of disgusting inevitability. Elita and Chromia might be right that they needed to take care of the fleet in the sky and the army on the ground first, but she'd caught the flicker of their glances at each other, that little twitch of their helms - they, just as she, thought that by necessity having to take care of the immediate threat, they'd be stuck in a bigger problem later.

So she'd do it now to make sure it couldn't be a problem later by freeing their kin on Quintessa first.

"Give it me, I ca---!"

"Do what? Do you know the layout on Quintessa? Even vaguely know their security codes, or the patterns they use for them? Know where to best broadcast the hack or were you going to get to Arcee first, somehow and then think of everybody else? I don't think so!" Huffing, Moonracer crossed her arms over her chestplates and thrust her chin up, standing her ground as Hot Rod came closer.

She could take him.

Even if she wasn't as good as Elita or even Chromia at hand to hand, she'd be good enough to take this hot engine oaf.

"Gentlebots," the groan from the mech still lingering in the doorway had Moonracer and Hot Rod twitch apart, turning their helms to look at him, "how about we skip the grandstanding since both of you are here to help the ones on... uh, Quintessa, right? Still don't think it's a good idea, but if you've got a good idea of where to go, we might make it. I'm Springer." So named, the mech gave each of them an arch look, hands on his hips.

Moonracer frowned and then decided that, in the end, it didn't matter. She didn't know Cliffjumper either, but he'd offered to come along, and while Hot Rod was too focused on Arcee, that at least meant he sincerely wanted to help. Then there was this Springer, who looked like he knew what he was doing, if nothing else.

"Okay!" The grin that accompanied the clap of her hands was more relieved than she'd want to admit; she might not know these mechs, but she was glad she wouldn't have to go alone. Even if she'd have preferred the company of those who she'd spent the most time with, her mind and spark her own or not. At the same time though, better they stay here on Cybertron and help in the battle instead of risking being recaptured.

"Great." Though by Cliffjumper's tone, Moonracer thought, he didn't particularly think it was all that great and the glance he gave Hot Rod was rather narrow. If he wanted those sort of things to go unnoticed, he really shouldn't do them when people might be looking at him. Perhaps he didn't care? "So, how do we get to the Badlands as quickly as possible? Not like we got a space bridge or somethin' like that." He looked back up at her then, and Moonracer shrugged.

"Not... much other choice but to just take the first best small transport shuttle, is there? Not ideal, but that's what I was going to do."

"Well then, kids, it's a good thing I'm here." Springer grinned wide, hands on his hips and completely ignored the disgruntled looks both Cliffjumper and Hot Rod threw him. "'Cause I happen to know Shockwave's got a single-use, short-range transwarp-capable shuttle, and where he's put it."

Moonracer stared, and felt something slither up from her circuits and burst like tiny supernovas inside.

Hope? Was that what it felt like?

The smile could've cracked her faceplate if it'd been made of normal armour instead of hardened protoform, and she bounded across the space between her and the mech in the doorway, throwing herself at Springer.

He caught her, looking quite stunned, but she didn't do more than squeeze him briefly and then slide out of his grip.

"Let's go then!"

--------------------
Above Cybertron.

Their fleet was anything but against the quintesson one, but they did, at least, have the addition of anybody flight-capable. None of them alone would be able to take out any given quintesson ship, even less the hulking flagship, but they would be able to cripple them and take out armaments.

Jetfire wasn't surprised when Thundercracker relayed the finalised plans that Prowl and Megatron had come up with. He doubted Thundercracker was pleased at having been 'promoted', however temporary.

He wasn't precisely sure of the reasons Thundercracker had for never going beyond the wing flight commander officer position he did hold, separately from being second wing in his trine, but he did know Thundercracker did not like commanding any larger amount of troops.

For at least this battle he'd have to step up and assume the position of air commander, no matter what he thought about it. Jetfire... could, perhaps, have done the same. Prowl had even asked him, but he'd had to point out that at any given point the aerial forces he'd been commanding as the Autobot Aerospace Commander hadn't been on the same level as the Decepticon Armada.

And while there wasn't, technically, more aerials in their current force for this battle than he'd ever been responsible for, he still hadn't been in command of this many in a single battle.

His position had been real, yes, but it was simply not the same sort of experience even Thundercracker would have, even given that he hadn't commanded this large a force before personally. He'd spent a few million years right next to the mech who had, however. Something Jetfire could lay claim to as well, but not in the 'worked close together and flew beside him' way - he hadn't really been involved in much actual combat as a Decepticon.

::We're deploying.:: Thundercracker's snapped rumble cut through his thoughts and he shook his helm, pushing the thoughts of Thundercracker's probable annoyance, his experience and where it had come from away, transforming as he went.

Immediately veering away from the ship, Jetfire dove under it while the Aerialbots briefly scattered from a barrage of lasers aimed at them and then reformed and shot away. Their handful of ships were spread out in a loose star formation, not keeping to a single plane to avoid being completely surrounded and each had their own complement of wings running interference.

The Nemesis alone wasn't in the formation. Instead Megatron was working towards approaching the flagship, since even without a full missile complement the Nemesis was their greatest asset until whatever weapon Prime was... hopefully going to activate could take care of the ship and its laser.

Basically, all they were doing for the moment was stalling while trying to take out as much of the quintesson fleet as possible without that huge cannon on the flagship taking any of their other ships.

Coming up behind the Skyfire, Jetfire ran the length of it, just outside its shields and only weaving slightly to avoid the blasts from the ship he was aiming for. Rolling away in a corkscrew pattern, he fired his rifle and then veered away, back towards the Skyfire and its vague protection.

It was in that turn Jetfire caught the Nemesis firing its first shot, the heat beam next to the tractor beam glowing lividly against the shimmery purple metal of the ship. The lance of energy shot out, searing right into the huge flagship - didn't it have shields? that was odd... - and the beginning glow from the huge cannon lens died away as the surface of the ship rippled.

Jetfire, having finished his curve back to the Skyfire, almost dropped the odd sight from his attention, but something kept him strafing sideways, keeping the quintesson flagship and the Nemesis in his field of vision.

The rippling metal stopped and the flagship answered with its own fire; lasers which splashed into the Nemesis' shields harmlessly. The next shot from the Decepticon warship, however, didn't rip through silvered metal twisted into curving planes and loops. Instead a bright green shield flickered into existence, absorbing the shot.

That wasn't the odd thing, though.

The odd thing, as Jetfire disengaged his strafe and sharply veered away to avoid a missile, shooting it out of the sky, was the fact that the shield had been localised, only manifesting (visibly, anyway) right where the blast would've hit it, and had then faded away.

Shooting away towards his target ship again, Jetfire frowned even as he avoided another barrage of green lasers and while it was dangerous, allocated some of his attention to logging the Nemesis' battle against the flagship.

Stray, dissipating laser energy burning along his wings, Jetfire shuddered but dismissed it as he dove. Daring to dive closer to the quintesson ship and letting his smaller laser cannons spew fire instead of his rifle, Blades and Whirl on the other end of the ship adding to the distraction, Jetfire took the chance to review what he'd picked up from the battle.

The Nemesis was saving its bigger shots for when the flagship was firing up its huge cannon since the cannon died every time. That wasn't the most interesting thing, however. The flagship's responses to hostile fire continued to be localised, concentrated on the exact threat in the form of small shields popping up or response fire to deflect the Nemesis' attacks instead of a shipwide shield being kept active all the time. It was surprisingly... intuitive.

And nothing at all like how the other, smaller ships were doing, their shields very similar to the shields of the cybertronian ships, and lasers only used to give return fire, not precision-deflecting attacks.

Above, the sky was peppered with brief purple blooms as Skywarp seemed to dance around the battlefield in a wide spiralling circle around Thundercracker and the ship they were attacking. He couldn't really check the rest as he had to withdraw from the the quintesson ship along with Whirl and Blades, giving way for the Skyfire to belch out its lasers.

It couldn't punch through the shields as the Nemesis would have, or like at least three of their other ships could, but they were wearing the shields down.

Within reach of the Skyfire again, Jetfire pinged Prowl.

::Did you notice the flagship?::

::And its curious defense? Yes. Unless the weapon Prime is activating is powerful enough to take care of the shields a ship with a cannon like that ought to be able to produce if it focuses all at once, we're going to have some issues. And even besides that it's... highly anomalous.:: Prowl's voice was tight over the comm, and Jetfire hummed.

::Can you spare me? I could have a closer look at it.::

::... We should be able to manage, but be careful, Jetfire.::

Jetfire's only response was a simple acknowledgment ping and he was already veering away from the Skyfire to cross the battlefield.

--------------------
???

He was...

It...

He had no idea what he'd been thinking about.

Something was wrong, and the muted sensations supported this. He was sure - relatively, anyway. Maybe? Somewhat? - there'd been no sensations earlier (for some measure of 'earlier' anyway) and that this wasn't the way it should be. If he could just get a grip on these vague sensations, on this situation, he could... would...

He reached, but wasn't sure he'd gotten to the end of... whatever it was.

It was frustrating. It was infuriating, but there wasn't enough outrage to sustain the brief flicker of offense, which instead bled out into trying to reach again because no one controlled---

Controlled...

He wasn't sure, and that ought to have been more terrifying than he could muster, he was vaguely aware. And anyway, was anyone at all controlling him..?

He was alone here, after all, only him and these muted sensations that stretched out in a web that just barely told him of the limits of wherever this was. It was all of him, whatever it was and---

Something seared through him, distant but acute. It was nowhere near him, but it was still connected to him, and as he reached this time, searching for a way to retaliate against the hurt everything else fell away.

This was easy.

This required no thought, because now that he was paying attention, the threats were obvious and he could see how to defend himself.

He struck back.

--------------------
Battlefield in the space beyond Cybertron, and the quintesson flagship.

As one of the quintesson ships trembled under a multitude of small explosions, the Coneheads scattered away from it. They dove under the the thick beam of energy from Shockwave's vanity of a ship (shaped as his helm as it was) and avoided a last belch of energy from the quintesson ship as well.

The ship exploded in a soundless tremble of space, sections, loops and twisted metal falling off from it as it melted, smaller explosions breaking the larger sections into smaller shrapnel.

Megatron looked away from the screen as the Shockwave-helm-shaped ship rippled from the last show of offensive force from the destroyed quintesson ship. The monstrosity would hold, which was all that mattered and if it sustained enough damage to not be salvageable or worth repairing at the end of the battle, he didn't care.

That was truly an abomination of a ship and deserved to be destroyed.

Eyeing the other screens displaying the battle that went on beyond the Nemesis and the other abominable ship on this battlefield, Megatron snorted as he caught a gaggle of micromasters in their combined altmodes hassling one of the other quintesson ships while letting the traitor--- no, he caught himself with a shake of his helm and, he could admit, amusement as he gave the screen an arch look. That was the one that just looked similar to Jetfire, especially from early in the war... 'Blade', something, he believed, to retreat, right wing smoking, to the safety of one of the cybertronian ships. Whose good idea had it been to let those tiny things participate?

"Thundercracker, pay attention." He didn't bother to soften the snarl and barely listened to the quick acknowledgment. All he wanted was results, and at least it meant Thundercracker caught the scattered Aerialbots (trying to deal with an issue with their leader, apparently), the micromasters and could redirect the Rainmakers to where they would make more of an impact.

The unfortunate fact of it all, Megatron thought with a grunt as he eyed the flagship and its utterly ridiculous defenses, was that Thundercracker focused too much. The even more unfortunate fact was that he was still the best option, at least currently and temporarily, for Starscream's military command position, disregarding the the Seeker's previous position as second in command.

This was all very typical of Starscream, as compared to the issues Shockwave left behind.

Shockwave worked slowly. Slowly enough that while, unless you'd found out his plans beforehand, you might not know they were coming, which was an issue in itself. But they were huge and made enough of an impact that everything else had to come to a halt until you dealt with Shockwave and his... issues, and then it was just to pick up and continue where you'd left off.

Starscream?

Starscream was inconvenient.

Unpredictable and flexible, he struck when the moment seemed... opportune, and he worked around and inside the plans of others (whether he knew about them or not) or current goings on. It made him an excellent second in command and air commander, regardless of his constant ambitions. It was just that his inconveniences apparently stretched into death as well, because there'd just not been any time to properly find an Aerospace Commander before they'd needed the armada.

And there wasn't any way of relying on the Autobots, who, even when they had aerials, hadn't ever had much of an organised air force, more like aerial strike teams. Good for what they were used for, but useless in greater battles like this.

"Typical," Megatron muttered as he threw a narrow stare at a projection of Cybertron and the running update of the battle around Iacon. Predictably, since Shockwave had rebuilt Iacon with all its defenses, the quintesson forces were reasonably easily dealt with. Iacon and its population would stand as long as it didn't get a missile bombardment from space aimed at it.

The Nemesis trembled as its shields were assaulted by another beam from the quintesson flagship and he scowled through the bridge's widows. What was it with that blasted ship's defenses? Optimus' weapon, whatever it was, better be useful and worth the time--- A white streak burned past the viewports and dove sharply towards the surface of the flagship, lasers flickering around the jet's shape.

"... I know your knowledge of aerial and space combat and especially dogfights aren't particularly deep, but keep your Autobots on a leash and don't get in the way." Was it so hard? He managed, at least, to keep from sighing.

::He's going to try and figure out the ship's defenses, which I'm pretty sure is useful for you too, Megatron. Now, if you'll excuse me.:: And then the line to the Skyfire went dead, and despite his annoyance, Megatron smirked sharply. At least Optimus had always known how to keep mechs with struts made of hard metal around him.

--------------------

He'd made a mistake.

Swearing quietly, Jetfire evened out, dove under a strange looping tangle of metal and their accompanying battery of cannons, and flew low over the ship's surface. It was nothing that'd keep him from flying, but his sensornet was shrieking at him, and the damage report was thorough. One of the smaller lasers from the flagship had sheared into his side while he avoided a barrage of others.

It could have been his wing, which would definitely have downed him, either by slicing it off or burning along the upper or lower plane of it.

As it was, when he transformed it'd be his left arm. It hurt, spitting static as he went, but in terms of damages he'd had far worse.

The curious thing was that while he'd been shot at as he approached, now there were no lasers. Not even a missile, which would surely be doable, especially with the flagship's curiously intuitive defense.

But there was nothing, and that was---

The sudden hum registered right before he was yanked to a sudden stop, the feeling of the forcefield crawling over his plating and even with a burst of full burn on all his boosters and his engine he got absolutely nowhere.

"Blast!" Cutting his engine as the ship just opened up right under him, Jetfire sent out a distress ping - nothing anyone could do about it, but they ought to know at least.

::Jetfire! Wh--- happened?:: There were static over the comm. frequency but as he was put down on the floor and the ship closed above him like a complex, interlocking puzzle and sealed the interior off from the space outside, he could still hear Prowl relatively well.

There were no guards in the... corridor? Corridor, yes, not a hangar, and it was completely empty.

It really was like the ship had literally just opened up into the first best space, pulled him in and then closed up again.

::... I was just... er, grabbed by the ship. But there's no guards here,:: Jetfire said, speaking slowly and hoping the static and distance wouldn't disrupt what he was saying too much. Looking around, the corridor was curving, the walls smoothly plated even if it looked like a glitched mech's puzzle with cables crammed in-between, and it...

Sort of felt like the city in the Badlands.

The difference, however, was that here it was a prickling ghost feeling, something jangling over his EM field but ultimately rather easy to ignore and not crippling like in the city - or how the mechs fighting against Unicron had been crippled either. He wondered at that similarity, but Prowl's voice cut through his thoughts.

::Try t--- ind a way out. Prime ---ght activate t--- weapon soon.::

Sending another acknowledgment ping and letting the comm. go quiet, Jetfire could still feel the reassuring prickle of an enhanced frequency. He was still connected to the Skyfire's comm. system, so he would at least be able to contact Prowl if it was needed.

Looking up, Jetfire brought himself to the ceiling with the help of his antigravs, but giving the metal a tap he doubted it was in any way thin enough for him to shoot himself through. So he pulled out his rifle, landed back on the floor, and walked down the corridor the way he'd been facing.

Either direction was as good as the other at the moment, unless this one would end up leading him to a hangar full of quintessons.

The corridor remained empty as he walked however, and there weren't even any doors. Just the winding, strangely curving corridor with its very... unique, look. Reaching out to slide a hand against the wall, he could feel the look wasn't just created by plates; it did seem there was literal interlocking pieces---

Yanking his hand away from the wall, Jetfire eyed them.

They looked unharmed, but he knew he hadn't imagined the faint, prickling tingle of energy against them. It'd almost felt... familiar.

Frowning and rubbing his fingertips together, Jetfire shook his helm. That couldn't be right. So he held his rifle at the ready again and continued down the corridor, looking around for any possible thing that could be a door. He soon found himself with his hand along the wall again however, because there was something...

He stopped dead at the next faint surge, optics defocussing as he actually paid attention to the rhythm.

Some part of him felt very, very foolish.

Another part... No, still ridiculous, but the pulse - yes, a pulse - beneath his hand matched his own spark pulse.

Slowly, he tightened his hand into a fist as his optics focused again, pushing the sudden surge of loss down. He needed to find a way out, not dawdle because whatever was powering the ship apparently shared a energy-surge cycle similar to his (should-no-longer-be-synchronised) spark pulse. Steps lengthening, Jetfire would've flown down the corridor if he could have, but there wasn't enough space for that, and maybe he should've walked the other way.

But something kept him almost storming down the corridor in the direction he'd chosen, the rifle now held loosely in only one hand and pointed down at the floor - practically useless if someone ambushed him. But there was no one else here but him.

Him and the corridor and the ship's energy-surge cycle...

And a doorway.

Jetfire stopped, staring at it. There'd been a lot of doors he'd have to choose to go through or not in the last few weeks.

... So what was one more?

Chapter Text

Sub-surface Cybertron. During the battle in Iacon and above the planet.

Of course the weapon would be underground.

It wasn't that Optimus had any particular aversion towards venturing beneath Cybertron's surface or anything, but the times he'd done so so far had all been... Well, it was enough to make him somewhat averse to the idea. They'd used Shockwave's no-longer-hidden access to Vector Sigma to go further down, as Solus had said they just needed a point of entry.

He'd been skeptical, but coming down into the chamber (and the memory of the room made the dock for the Matrix twinge with remembrance of Shockwave ripping the Matrix out), Solus had simply crossed the room after a brief glance at and brush of her hand against Vector Sigma's controls and touched the wall.

The wall had opened, and either there'd always been a door there, or it had simply been created the instant she touched the wall.

"This shouldn't even be here, should it?" Optimus asked, carefully putting his feet down on the next step as they walked down a corridor that intermittently was a stairwell and in other cases simply a downwards incline. He knew nothing he stepped on or stepped off would disappear instantly, but everything was reforming quickly enough he was starting to doubt where he was even putting his feet.

"If Primus was still sleeping, we'd have had to take a route that went through the actual access tunnels and the like, but since he isn't..." Solus shrugged, not even watching where she was putting her feet and her hand was resting lightly on the sliding, puzzle-piece reforming walls with a protoform's ease of trust. "So no, it shouldn't, but for the time it takes us to walk to where we need to, it will exist. Trust me, this would take far longer if we had to use the access tunnels." She ducked under an arch that wasn't quite tall enough for her as the stairwell evened out into a glittering gallery with a fall of liquid energon to one side, and by the time Optimus went through the arched doorway, he hadn't needed to duck as it was now tall enough for someone taller than he.

"... I think I would've preferred the access tunnels," he said with mutter and couldn't hide the static sigh that followed. Solus chuckled where she walked slightly ahead of him, reaching out to cup a hand under the fall of opalescent pink energon falling with a thunderous roar down the wall they were walking past.

"You would be the type to prefer that," Solus agreed with a smile he couldn't see, hidden by her hand and swallowing the energon, but could well hear in her voise. "Drink, Optimus. I don't think either of us have had the chance to refuel in a while. It's going to help later."

He would have protested, even engaged his vocaliser to do so, but the ping from his fuel tank made him reconsider. Reluctantly, he stopped and reached out into the energonfall. It zinged against the metal, so potent in energy that it crackled against his fingers. It took barely a thought to activate the ambient absorption circuits, and by the time he had a handful of energon and withdrew it, his circuits were singing with the charge.

The handful of energon filled more of his tank than it reasonably should have, and he turned away from the waterfall, uncomfortable. As they walked along the length of the gallery, Optimus drew up to the arched wall opposite from the energonfall. The space beyond had its floor several levels below the gallery and shimmered with energon crystals rising up from pools or dripping down from the ceiling far above. Walkways crossed the space in delicate arches.

It wasn't that he didn't believe any longer, or could question the existence of... well, their creator. It was just that all this overwhelming near-otherworldliness was hard to take in. With that thought, he determinedly didn't look behind them, not wanting to see the gallery possibly disappearing by metal reforming.

Instead, as they neared the archway at the opposite end of the gallery, Optimus turned his helm to look at Solus, who glanced at him out of the corner of her vision, helm tilting in quiet inquiry.

"This weapon... what is it?"

They stepped through the archway, and briefly, there was only light. He didn't have time to feel more than a surge of battle-readiness in response to the panic that bubbled up before the space formed around them. It revealed a walkway along the edge of a hall with humongous spheres set into the floor below them, bunches of cables rising from them and up along the walls.

It was... very familiar. It took a moment to realise that it was either here, or somewhere very similar, he'd fallen down back when Megatron had tried to get the Matrix from him.

"... The Requiem Blaster."

Looking away from over the railing of the walkway, Optimus gave her an arch look. He could hear the capitals in that name.

"Liege suggested it back when we were still planning our strategies against Unicron. It channels Primus' power in very specific ways, aiding in focusing the power there to... devastating effect." Pausing, Solus turned her helm down to the floor, optics dimming faintly. "I'm not sure where he got the idea, and of course M... the Fallen thought it was a... fitting way to fight the Chaos Bringer, to hit him with concentrated energy and life. The Matrix works on a similar principle, but the Requiem Blaster is indiscriminate in what it can destroy. The Matrix gives power to the carrier, channels sparks and the essence of Primus against Unicron and its ilk... that's it."

Optimus was quiet for a moment, waiting for her to straighten up again, optics brightening before he said anything.

"And the Blaster has no such limits?"

Solus laughed, somewhat dryly, shaking her helm and reaching out to touch the wall. Optimus wasn't sure if it was his optics glitching or not, but briefly it looked like the wall sort of shifted to cradle her hand.

"Of course it does. I doubt Liege thought it would have, but while I made the blueprints and built it, the Requiem Blaster is made from Primus and channels his powers. Using the Matrix... or rather, the Star Saber, which the Matrix was a part of back then, as its activation key was my safeguard, but there's more than that, though I wasn't the one who planned those. The Blaster cannot operate without Primus' tacit approval, you see. Asleep or not, he would have to allow it to channel his power, so whatever reason Liege had to suggest... and push for its creation, at least it cannot be used without good reason."

There was... not guilt, but shame there. Optimus wasn't precisely sure why, but he supposed few would be proud (unless they took satisfaction from killing and creating ways to do so) of creating a weapon such as this.

"Either way, done is done and we have use of it," Solus said with a shake of her helm and led them off the walkway through a door. The room beyond was circular, the ceiling domed and every available space covered in bas-relief carvings... or insets, it was hard to tell, of circuits. "Do you know the Matrix can transport the carrier around during certain conditions?"

"Err... yes. I thought that was just a glitch, though." That he even knew it could teleport him around had been an accidental revelation, and it hadn't happened since that time Megatron tried to take it. And considering that and that he'd been punched around a lot prior to that, one might excuse his assumption.

Solus smiled, a lopsided little thing and held her hands out.

"No, not quite. The conditions to use it like that are rather specific, however. I can tell you more later, but for now... take my hands and simply hold the Blaster's name in your processor. I'll do the rest. The location can only be reached this way."

"I'm not sure I know you quite well enough for that," Optimus said with a chuckle but did as asked, as it was quite obvious why it had been necessary for him to come along - or at least for the Matrix to be present, not just for activating the Blaster, but just getting to it. She threw him another faint smile before her faceplate smoothed out as they twined their hands together. He did as asked, clearing - as much as he could - his processor of everything else but the Requiem Blaster.

Almost immediately he felt the slight tug, and then the brightness of the Matrix welled up in a flickering wave and static that crackled along his protoform.

--------------------
Core chamber of the quintessons' flagship.

Optics flickering around as the door closed with a whispering thump behind him, Jetfire noticed two things. One, the faint, wrong feeling that had been lingering in the ship was gone. Was the room insulated in some way from that? Two, the room seemed to be made up of cables. They twined along the floor in bunches or tangled messes, dangled down from the ceiling where they were bared as well, no metal covering them and snaked out of the walls from between the few plates that covered the walls or from under or around a bare few skeletally structured consoles and dark monitors.

The only light came from the center of room, contained in a lattice-shape cage of metal and energy and suspended between two thick snakes of coiled cables, one that extended up from the floor, the other descending from the ceiling. The light silvered the metal of the chamber in electric blue, and the light from the cage was like a miniature sun, tiny bolts of energy zapping out from the sphere to snap against the energy continually.

"... A spark?" Jetfire froze, two steps into the room as he stared at the glittering sphere emitting tongues of cyberstatic energy. Or, it looked like a spark, anyway. And if it was...

"The ship is... er, powered by a spark." That ought to be a question, not a statement, because he needed to check first. Even just a rudimentary examination would be helpful and if it was a spark they couldn't just destroy the ship.

He needed to get closer.

His next step found him stumbling forward however, his vocaliser stuttering on a clipped off cry of surprise as the floor heaved underneath him. The cables twitched, twisted, and then surged.

First there was one cable, curling around the small set of wings on the booster on his left leg. Then there was a second, yanking his right arm down and away from both subspace and weapons' compartment. Then there was a third around the top of his boosters and then... there was no floor beneath his feet.

"Blast it---" Trying to tug his arms closer to his chassis turned into a tug-of war, and he wasn't sure if the cables slithering into the openings of his engine nozzles and thrusters were a response to a threat or plain exploration.

"Is that quite... er, necess--- hm." Optics flaring bright and widening, Jetfire pressed his lips together as he lost the battle trying to pull his wings down and close to his frame, ending with them spread in a half-way position and cables all around them and that was surely a threat, by the way they were rhythmically squeezing his wings, threatening the integrity of them.

One he wouldn't abide for long.

Narrowing his optics again, his thrusters roared to life. Fire belched out, searing and melting the cables in them and below as he tried to twist away while the cables violently spasmed, slacking in their grip if only momentarily, and obviously they were tied to the ship and the...

... spark...

The faint touch of energy he'd felt in the corridor earlier was suddenly swamping the room, each twitching cable literally alive with that same energy-signature, and the spark was heaving in its cage, energy flaring out like an electric storm. He had, perhaps, a few seconds, if that, until he was swamped by cables. They were rising up from the floor, tearing themselves from the wall and he should move.

But he didn't. Instead his optics were locked at the cage and its contents, suddenly remembering the angry ranting of a female human laughing about how nothing could destroy her anymore, because he was immortal.

That... couldn't be it, could it?

"Nngh!" The cables descended, wrapping around his legs and yanking them up against themselves, effectively aiming his thrusters at the bottom half of his boosters, and certainly rattling him from his distracted recollection. "... Well, that's... ah, clever," Jetfire murmured as he briefly tried to glance behind him, and stilled when an attempt to yank at the cables around his thighs threatened to crush his wings.

"... Fine." Now that he had the chance, he could pick up the thrumming pulse of the ship's energy-surge cycle. Of the spark's spark pulse.

Of his own spark still being in perfect synchronisation with that spark pulse, and that was surely a coincidence, no matter what he might maybe (deeply) wish for, except for the little fact of the spark synchronisation echo being present. In fact, it was stronger now than it---

"Stop that this instant!" Voice crackling with... well, nevermind that, really. The important thing was that the cables, having been sliding over metal and around joints, and, more particularly, pressing in a knot that was growing heavier and larger by the moment against the chestplating that hid his spark chamber, had frozen at his irate snap.

Surprising, really.

Eyeing the cage with the... the spark, Jetfire admitted it might be time for another approach. Anything was better than twisting in the grip of cables that were now everywhere and seemed to know to precisely align themselves along the seams in his armour.

The real question was how aware was he...

Jetfire shook his helm and pushed down the vicious flare of hope that threatened to drive his vocaliser into neutral. He was a scientist. He'd approach this with the collected calm necessary to achieve progress. He could attend to the flare of emotions later. The question now was simply this; how aware was Starscream, if this indeed was Starscream?

Yet another echo of a synchronised spark pulse finishing the cycle suggested that it was Starscream, no matter how improbable that was. Perhaps he should've believed the girl... the girl that alternate Starscream had been possessing that he'd met at Maccadam's.

"... Starscream?" That might have been slight static faintly distorting the name, and he had intended to continue, but every single cable that he could feel or see trembled. Then a mass of them converged on the cage with the spark, forming up around them like a statue being made by pouring metal into a mold, but from the top and up.

There were no legs, only thighs, then the pelvic armour and the faulds, up along the torso - which looked odd, since cables couldn't recreate the sharp edges of the chest turbines or the exact angles of the armour - arms... helm.

The cage with the spark could be seen shining through where the cockpit should be, and there was no colour, but...

That... was...

Starscream cocked his helm, looking around in a swaying sweep but Jetfire wondered if Starscream could see anything like that, and then he faced him and every single cable wrapped around him made a slowly undulating squeeze, strangely... exploring. The expression on that dark face cleared.

"Jetfire..? I'M GOING TO KILL THEM."

Wincing at the static, Jetfire grimaced.

"... You may want to... er, try that again, Starscream. Half of it was---"

"KILL. THEM! What happened?!"

The shriek of static that rebounded around the room, probably from hijacked speakers for the consoles scattered around, settled into actual words on the second try. It still left Jetfire wincing at the volume as well as the unregulated slide across pitches and what he was pretty sure was infra- as well as ultrasound.

He should answer, and instead he just stared. There was still no colour, and there was a strange softness in the shape thanks to the cables that made up the effigy Starscream had created, but that was still Starscream.

"Jetfire, stop squeezing the cables and tell me what happened!"

Jerking, Jetfire let go of the cables he'd been grasping and then shifted his wings. Or tried to, rather.

"And perhaps you can let me down, and then I'll try to catch you up, quickly. We need to get out of here." Jetfire tilted his helm up at the subtly shifting grey mass that currently was Starscream, spreading his arms out.

"Let you---? Oh." It seemed Starscream hadn't precisely been paying attention to what he was doing, and he stared at Jetfire for another few seconds, still suspended as he was in the air by cables that were pretty lovingly curled around him. Jetfire met the rather unsettling flat mass that was Starscream's 'optics' and gave the Seeker an arch stare.

The cables undulated and squeezed, and far less... curiously than the first time.

"Starscream! Now." He wouldn't admit to the skip in his vocaliser, but Starscream's chuckle made it worth it, he supposed. His spark, either way, surged at the noise, and some of the tension in his pistons and cables bled out. There was no way to imitate that self-satisfied, much too amused sound.

And then he had his thrusters and stabilisers on the ground again.

"Thank you," Jetfire said, oh-so-dryly, and the simultaneously flat and moving expanse of Starscream's face twisted into a smirk that was... familiar and quite disconcerting both, "they killed you. You..."

He briefly turned his optics off, and then onlined them again, doing them both the favour of ignoring the cables snaking in to press against his boosters. Or the ones still wrapped loosely around his wings, touches that ought to be more alien than they were, simply because of who it was that was responsible for them.

"You pushed me out of the way of a laser, and it killed you. I would surmise they picked up your spark - however you are still in coherent form - on the battlefield and... for some reason decided to stick you in their flagship. You're... basically the ship's defense."

"I'm WHAT!?"

Cybertron protect against a Starscream scorned. Rubbing his audio receptor, Jetfire grunted and looked up again.

"Focus, Starscream! We need t---"

"They're using me, Jetfire! I AM FOCUSING!" The room thrummed tortuously with Starscream's rage, and Jetfire understood he really did, but they didn't have time for this.

--------------------
Sub-surface Cybertron, the Requiem Blaster's control chamber.

They materialised in a crackling fade-in that left Optimus feeling restless and charged, though that might partly be from the feeling of urgency. The room... space they were in was crystal. Sheets and spires, spirals and layers upon layers of crystal of some sort, rising up above and around them in optic-stabbing sharpness.

It felt like his audio receptors were trembling apart from the minute hum of the crystals.

"What now?" Optimus shook his helm and looked around, wondering if the space was... less than defined, or if it was just the crystals that made his vision hard to focus.

"Over here," Solus said as she passed him, fingers brushing his shoulder and leading him through the glittering brightness that actually seemed to have a method. The crystals weren't growing haphazardly, but rather there was a pattern. It was just hard to see in the overwhelming volume and reflected light of the crystals.

The control panel was a circular platform half a step high next to the crystalline wall, facing a crystal-and-metal pillar in the shape of a sword, though it was missing its cross guard. The wall behind the pillar had a slitted opening in it at the height of the pillar's missing 'cross guard'.

Eyeing Solus, who merely gestured for him to step up, Optimus did so. The moment both his feet were on the platform, hard light consoles flickered into life in a half-circle around the platform and the pillar it faced.

"Take out the Matrix, and put it in the pillar's cross guard," Solus said quietly as she stepped up beside him, still on the floor, "the Matrix was the cross guard of the Star Saber once, and while we don't have the whole sword, the Matrix will be enough. It was the key to activate the whole thing anyway."

Letting his chestplates part so he could reach the Matrix, Optimus pulled it out, pausing right before he pushed it into the matching slot in the pillar. This reminded him of the fight against Unicron, and what she'd said about the Blaster's intended purpose...

"If it was meant to be used on Unicron, why was he merely locked away and not killed?" Curiosity only. He himself had not killed Megatron the first time he'd had the opportunity, fighting the mech below Cybertron's surface. At his question, Solus sighed, shaking her helm as she tilted it back to look up into the refracted brightness that was above them, no ceiling visible.

"Because Unicron is as integral to creation as Primus is. Before he turned to consuming reality, his effects on it were far more natural. After... not at all. That doesn't diminish the fact of his being as intertwined into and necessary for creation as Primus is. We'd intended to use the Requiem Blaster until there was nothing left, to just keep firing... It stopped working after two shots however, and afterwards, when I actually had the time to look into why..." Her armour twitched, a liquid sort of shudder that made a faint, ringing noise of metal rattling against metal. "If we'd continued, if we'd shot until we'd torn the spark of the Unmaker into nothing, the destabilisation would've spread from our reality to others. That's why, Optimus."

He nodded quietly and put that aside, turning back to face the pillar. The metal was bluish-black with a liquid sheen, the crystal white-gold with a trace of electric blue at its core if you turned your helm slightly every which way. The Matrix hummed like contained lightning in his hands, like it always did.

::Megatron, Prowl." His comm. crackled, and briefly he wondered if there'd be no reception, like the first time he'd gone beneath...

::Here, Optimus.::

::Always so slow, Prime.:: But there it was, first Prowl's familiar quietness, the comm. allowing for some more familiarity than was most often used otherwise, and, of course, Megatron. Megatron and his slowly mocking and somehow uplifting words.

How annoying.

::I'm about to active the... weapon. Start to withdraw. I have no idea what will happen...::

There was a snort from Megatron and then he disconnected. Prowl lingered a brief moment longer but didn't say anything. He did send an encouraging ping, however. Nothing else to it, then. With a glance at Solus, who nodded at him, Optimus pushed the Matrix into the empty space for the pillar's cross guard.

It snapped into place with a faint click, echoing surprisingly throughout the space despite the muted noise and the crystals suddenly started to move.

--------------------
Quintesson flag ship, core chamber.

"---eed to..." Jetfire trailed off, tilting his helm into the comm. ping he received, half of it swamped by static, but, thankfully, still legible. Familiarity and habit made it easy to tune out Starscream's ranting, though the cables that trembled beneath his feet or tightened around an ankle or wing made it harder.

::Jet---re, I don't kn--- what you're doing, and wha---ver you did made --- flagship go dead defense-wise but g--- ut of there now. Pr--- activating the weapon.:: Prowl didn't bother to wait for a reply, and Jetfire didn't bother with replying just tuned back to the outside and bent a cable away from around his arm.

"---oing to make them regret ever crossing m---"

"Starscream, we need to leave. Now. Prime's activating the weapon, and if we're not out of here soon, you might end up wandering space instead!" And he himself would be dead, and he'd rather not try that again after the near-brush with death he'd had with Sunstorm's explosion and the Fallen then possessing him.

Starscream stared at him, mouth half open on the word he'd last spoken even if he wasn't even using anything in that effigy to speak with, and the cables around him slowly tightened... and then slithered off.

Then Starscream turned away from him, crossing his arms over his chest, plunging the room into deepening twilight.

"Great. And you suggest we get out of here how? I... seem to need some... acclimatisation period right after losing my body, you see. Which I doubt we have time for. So just leave." Starscream sneered and Jetfire stared quietly, for just a moment.

Then he shook his helm and crossed the space between them, walking as lightly over the cables that either made up the floor, or covered it. Reaching out, he rested a hand on Starscream's right faulds, pressing down on the unsettlingly pliable mass. He ignored the minute tremble to his hand.

"Sunstorm and the Fallen." Jetfire waited a brief moment, but Starscream didn't turn around. He cocked his helm slightly, however, and didn't go on another rant. "And I met someone at Maccadam's who claimed to be... er, an alternate of you. He was possessing a human girl because he'd apparently been killed at some point. So---"

"Claiming is right! There's only one of me and even if there's others, I'm far more---!"

"Starscream, would you please, for the love of Cybertron, focus, blast it all!" He should probably be more patient, but they didn't have time for that. All he wanted was to get out of here, with Starscream, and then his glitch of a Seeker could rant all he wanted about it.

"... Fine. How are we even doing this? I can't pass through this blasted container!"

Finally Starscream turned back around, and didn't even hesitate when Jetfire hooked a few fingers into the cabled that made up Starscream's waist and pulled pulled to get him to bend down. He'd made himself larger than Jetfire was tall, which hadn't really surprised him, but was amusing. Or would be, later.

"We'll do this in the firmly tested and... ah, scientific way, of course." Jetfire smiled up at Starscream, who snorted at him...

And didn't have the time to do more than widen those flat grey 'optics', giant hands landing on Jetfire's shoulders to push him off or hold him close, who knew, as Jetfire simply punched right into the container that Starscream had put as his 'cockpit'.

The forcefield disappeared in a fizzling pop as the metal shrieked and tore, the egg-shaped cage crumpling easily under the force of the assault and the room filled with a flare of sparklight. It sizzled as it sunk into the seams of Jetfire's arm, zipping along them and then smacked, weightless and with not even so much as a crackle, through the plating in his chest.

Jetfire staggered and had, once again, the distinct displeasure of fighting for control over his own frame, hearing as well as feeling Starscream's irate, foolish intent to not flee the ship, but find the quintessons that obviously was on it and kill them.

"Stop that! They're all going to be dead soon anyway, and I doubt the ones who did this to you are on the ship!" He wasn't sure if he'd yelled that into the chamber where cables were falling around him like cable-vine ripped out of their connections in the ground, or in the core of himself.

His vision was sort of... flickering, after all. But this time he was determined, even if this was Starscream (because it was Starscream) to remain in control of his own frame.

Move it, then! The snarl was as sulkily displeased as he'd ever heard from Starscream, no matter how he heard it, and Jetfire straightened up. The first two steps had him stumble over cables, but then everything evened out and he took off at a run as soon as the door opened.

There were no quintessons in the corridor beyond.

--------------------
Space, above Cybertron but not beyond its moons.

As the cybertronian ships slowly disengaged and withdrew towards Moon Beta, taking tentative refuge near its bulk, Cybertron suddenly retraced half a joor's rotation in a bare klik, turning the Mithril Sea to face the battlefield directly. The flagship turned with lumbering but inevitable slowness to face its giant cannon lens towards the retreating cybertronian ships, and if nothing else would've happened, the cybertronian offensive would, surely, have been over soon after that.

But the Mithril Sea was heaving, waves slamming against the shores of the huge bay Praxus, Uraya and the Neutral Territories created as shards of technology rose from the sea itself, slotting into each other. Had the bridge that once linked the Neutral Territories and Praxus together still been there, it'd either have had to fold back or be destroyed as a monstrously huge blaster slowly built up above the Sea, aimed squarely at the quintessons' flagship and whatever else was between it and its target.

The charging lens on the flagship sputtered out sharply while the Requiem Blaster started to power up.

Beyond the flagship a flickering twist of transwarp energies started to build up, but a spacebridge portal large enough to take a ship of the flagship's size, well... it would take time.

Time that didn't exist as the Requiem Blaster's tip flared brightly gold and then fired. The beam vaporized the space it went through, obliterated four quintesson ships that hadn't moved in time and sheared the flagship, just before it fell through the transwarp portal, clean in half.

The pieces of it fell like stars that flared out as they met the spacebridge, which winked out shortly thereafter. It also left six quintesson ships stranded above Cybertron and facing a... quite displeased cybertronian armada.

It might be small, but even just a single cybertronian could fight a force far greater than itself. Without the threat of the flagship hanging above them, the armada was quite free to tear into the six remaining ships.

--------------------
Elsewhere.

"Where the slag did you manage to get us now?! I can't trust you to do anything, you overgrown spacejet!"

Chapter Text

Elsewhere, within.

He was becoming exceedingly familiar with his own mindscape, but not for any pleasant reasons. Like right now, vision flickering between wherever they were outside and the familiar stretch of glass-ceilinged garden with its central crystal-constellation sculpture. And, also, the very familiar and unpleasant creeping sensation of disconnection from his frame.

"Starscream, can you stop that? Just--- Give me a moment." Crossing his arms over his chestplates, Jetfire glared down at Starscream, who planted his fists on his hips. Starscream had been trying to leave the core, which had led to them going from doorway to doorway around the edge of the core, Jetfire darting between Starscream and the doorway to stop him and Starscream trying to slide past him. Which of course had then corresponded with the flickering sensation of double vision and a strengthening of the feeling of disconnection every time Starscream almost managed to get past.

He wanted to touch, but just as back with Sunstorm, that wouldn't be a good idea. This was not the same as spark-merge (not that they'd even done that yet, and Starscream was in his frame and spark chamber, literally sharing his mindscape. Touching the Seeker here would be touching their sparks together, and since they weren't separated by being in their own proper frames... Jetfire didn't want to risk it.

Not even when Starscream finally stopped trying to pass around him and huffed, taking a step back and crossing his arms over his cockpit instead. The fluid play of emotion across that dark faceplate... Well, it wasn't something he'd thought he'd get to see again. Starscream was, after a fashion, still alive, and he wanted to touch, but it wouldn't be the same thing doing it in here. Both because of the risk and... well, while he certainly would be touching Starscream he'd rather want to do it the... proper way. Earlier, in the quintesson ship, there'd been no time then either, and that... hadn't exactly been Starscream's frame either, had it?

"Can you just stop fighting me? Who of us here have just been shot out of their body, been disembodied for days I might remind you and forced to occupy a giant clunker of a warship, used as its defense, and we also need to find out what's going on! I'm not dying again!" Starscream trembled faintly, visible as a literal ripple across Starscream's frame, as if it was, actually, a reflection - which, well, in a way it was.

"Starscream. This is my body, and while I... missed you," Jetfire said, a brief flicker of static disrupting his words before he could continue, "that doesn't mean I'm just going to hand you control over it. And if there's anyone out there, something would've happened already that we'd have noticed... and either way, the sense of passage of time in here compared to actual time passed is a bit inconsistent." Jetfire frowned down at Starscream, who snorted.

"It's not as if I'd go out of my way and hurt myself! And anyway, I just want..." trailing off, Starscream's expression softened into reluctant openness as he gestured in the air, avoiding to point directly at himself but still sort of doing it. Being without a frame for a few days had probably not been a pleasant experience, no. Jetfire loosened his crossed arms and then had to abort his reaching for Starscream at that. This was far more difficult than sharing space with Sunstorm had been.

Starscream looked up at him again then, those red optics flickering away, back and then narrowing before he lifted up in the air with no sound at all and reached out and if this wasn't here and now, Jetfire would've been far more pleased with the gesture. Would've pulled him in with far more force than necessary, even! As it was, he backed up, shaking his helm sharply.

"What?! After--- You can't just---!"

"This is my frame, Starscream. We're in... er, me." better interrupt him before he really had a chance to settle into indignant hurt, "you remember what started to happen while Sunstorm was possessing you, don't you? Merging sparks in here, because that's... ah, literally what would happen is my best guess as these are just representative proxies of ourselves, would be a risk I'm not prepared to explore what effects it'd have." This time, he didn't stop himself from reaching out, but with Starscream standing still even if his optics were sharply narrowed, he didn't, accidentally or intentionally, touch him.

Instead, he just traced his fingertips above the subtly flexing surface that was Starscream, feeling the rush of energy right next to himself. Beating in time with him. After a moment, Starscream looked back up, and while his faceplate was still twisted in a scowl, he too reached out.

And didn't touch, mirroring Jetfire's aerial caress by resting his hand in the air above Jetfire's chestplates where, had they both been in the physical world, Jetfire's spark would be hidden beneath.

"We can't just stand here, though," Starscream snapped after a moment, and Jetfire slowly smiled.

"No, I know."

They didn't move, however.

--------------------
Cybertron, Iacon. Vector Sigma's chamber.

Optimus and Solus appeared again in the middle of the floor of Vector Sigma's chamber. This time they didn't need to traipse through changing corridors to get where they needed to, and instead simply teleported back after Optimus got the Matrix back. Rubbing his mask, Optimus still vaguely wished there'd been another way of doing this, but he was still not sure what it might be.

"Will the Blaster disassemble with the Matrix pulled out, or is there going to be a giant weapon sticking out of the sea?" he mostly asked because it'd be a problem keeping people off the huge weapon even if it would remain inoperable without the Matrix to activate it.

"Have a look," Solus said from where she stood by Vector Sigma, and when he came up beside her realised some of the facets of the strange computer were showing several scenes. One of the battle in the space above Cybertron, one of the Mithril Sea where the Blaster was sliding apart into its component pieces and sinking back into the viscous, bluish-silvery liquid of the sea, another which was a diagram and calculation of Cybertron's rotation, showing a previous sharp jump backwards... and a sudden yank forwards and Optimus realised that yes, the Mithril Sea wouldn't have faced the battle earlier, and now wasn't, again.

It was both fascinating and a bit... unsettling what Primus could (understandably) do with the planet that was his body when he was awake and awake.

Another scene showed flickering views of the quintesson city in the Badlands, though it seemed rather empty so Optimus turned away... missing a few figures darting across the open space between one building and the next. The last lit-up facet of Sigma showed Iacon itself, the Decagon's shields active and humming while strategically placed cannons around the city assisted the defenders in mopping up the invaders.

That reminded him...

::Magnus, it looks like everything is going well.:: Not a question, and a smile in his words over the frequency while he and Solus left Vector Sigma's chamber to take them where they might be more needed.

::Since Shockwave didn't remove any of Iacon's defenses,our forces here could defend against the invaders even with the lack of recent experience and with only a few veterans... I see you managed as well. Where are you now?:: The lingering incredulity as Magnus obliquely referred to the Requiem Blaster was quickly swept aside by the brisk inquiry, and Optimus chuckled.

::On our way back to Command and Strategy. I have a feeling we will be contacted again, but I'm unsure if it's in anyone's best interest to broadcast it planetwide if we can avoid it. We can tell everyone else later if it becomes necessary to do so.:: His brief moment of amusement dripped away as he spoke, because a quiet sense of foreboding was creeping in, spreading from the Matrix.

The very showy, very heavy-handed invasion both on the ground and from space wasn't the quintessons' only plan, most assuredly, and some creeping disquietude whispered about raised stakes. That the invasion had been the tamer, more... considerate attempt, really, and what would come next wouldn't be at all as gracious.

He didn't mention that to Magnus, however.

::Understood. I'll be over as soon as I've wrapped up here.::

::Wouldn't expect anything else from you,:: Optimus said and mustered a smile for his tone, because Magnus didn't need to pick up on his worries yet. Let the mech mop up anything that might still be alive and congratulate the defenders on a job well done, as he'd do himself later - and he stopped his thoughts there, resolutely.

His feelings were just that, feelings. There wasn't even a sliver of flickered Matrix-vision to go with them, so there was no reason to treat them as indication of fact. Even if he usually did not get swamped with a sense of impending doom for no reason, as even his own threat assessment worked off of current situation and probable danger to push some possible warning.

His threat assessment might be at a higher alert than baseline at the moment, because things were doubtlessly not over, but it wasn't from threat assessment the cloud of unease was coming from.

And so Optimus Prime drove back to Autobase with a certain sense of wary reluctance, which was only briefly lightened by seeing Solus transform into a giant wheel and roll along beside him.

--------------------
Autobase, Command and Strategy.

Magnus, followed by Ironhide, Mirage and Brawn, had barely stepped inside the room when the largest of the screens sputtered to life and Optimus swore quietly, optics briefly going to Magnus and then the others. Couldn't their very unwelcome accusers have waited a breem or two?

"Supreme Magistrate," he murmured and stood up, barely inclining his helm. He didn't really feel they deserved more than that. If that much. But at least a bare show of politeness might better the odds, so he did that much at least. ::Magnus, where's Shockwave? Prowl, how close are you all to landing?::

"Prime." Kledji's voice carried a distant, rumbling echo vaguely coming from five different directions while he spoke through the spiny-crowned face, optics narrowed into a baleful gleam. Despite that, there was an undercurrent of... well, Optimus wasn't sure what it was yet. He couldn't tell, not from a single world. But it wasn't hard to figure that it was nothing good.

::Shockwave's looking over Iacon's defenses... I would have wanted to wait, but Megatron sent him on his way.:: Magnus sounded supremely displeased with that, and Optimus had to quietly agree. Why was Megatron trusting Shockwave enough to send him away to do something like that, considering what the mech had done so far and Megatron quite clearly didn't actually trust him... or at least hadn't let him off whatever hook Megatron was keeping Shockwave on.

"I have to commend the coherency and strength of your alibi and the witness account given, but the judges aren't convinced. This trial isn't over yet." The severe expression on the spiny-crowned face didn't change, but this time even Optimus could pick up the held-back amusement. One would think Kledji would've been extremely displeased at having that monster of a ship destroyed plus the small fleet, but if he was, he hid it well.

"No, it is over Kledji. You don't have a foot to stand on," Optimus said with a frown, hiding the trickle of amusement as he realised what he just said because these egg-shaped quintessons literally had no feet to stand on and continued, "and it'd probably be in both our interests for you to back down and release the others."

::We'll be planet-side in another few kliks, not a full breem. Optimus, don't do the first thing that comes to mind if new information comes to light. Please.:: Prowl's plea wasn't an unreasonable one, and he'd offered alternatives or made sure Optimus took the time to pause to consider more than the necessities more than once, but sometimes pausing for long enough to do so wasn't possible. Optimus still fired off a quick short-hand ping that amounted to 'I'll do my best', but everything hinged on what Kledji might say next.

"Ah, the others, yes. Perhaps you could tell me, Prime, why we should release our property? If you wish to exhort us into handing them over, being a bit closer to effectively threaten us might be a good idea." Kledji's masks spun as he spoke, settling on the wide, rounded one that made a mockery out of amusement with its frozen expression.

Optics narrowing, Optimus pushed down the unsettled feeling of walking on ground he didn't know if it'd carry the next step or not, ignored the dripping condescension in Kledji's words and pulled both natural and learned patience close. The condescension was, at least, somewhat familiar. Quite a few humans had directed it at them during the years on Earth, especially in the beginning when few believed or accepted them as 'real people'.

"If nothing else, perhaps as courtesy for accusations that aren't true, or not indulging in a crime of your own; slavery."

"Appliances can't be enslaved, Optimus Prime, so there's no slavery happening, is there? And while you and yours held up well in the cross examination, the crimes you're accused of still stand." Kledji stared, and then slowly, disconcertingly slowly, the wide, smiling face slid aside for the horned red and black-crowned mask. "And if you will not give yourself up for proper application of justice, or be willing to accept a plea deal of dropped charges if you just hand yourselves over, proxies will have to be employed."

"... Proxies?" Optimus froze at that, the rest of Kledji's statement lost against that word. Magnus, he noted distantly, had stepped up close behind him now. Not touching, but he didn't need to. The slow, heavy flow of Magnus' EM field next to his was soothing, especially as the sense of unease had seemingly shot up through his intake and was now welling in his mouth.

Danger.

Not to him, not directly anyway, but rather others. To---

"Proxies, yes." Kledji drew the word out as if it tasted like energon sweets and high-grade and slid sideways, to clear part of the screen. The room behind him was domed and vast, the center of it dominated by a pit that, currently, teemed with sharkticons. Three hulking creatures, almost square in shape and with snout-shaped faces, walked behind a group of six mechs. They were aiming no weapons towards the six however, and it was quite clear they weren't needed, because the six walked freely along, their faceplates lax and optics dim.

Three were gold and black with different accent colours each, and one of them - the one with mossy green, was pushed forward, led to the edge of the pit.

"The innocent proxies, who shall---"

"Wait!" engine roaring along with that single word, Optimus stood still for a brief, very brief moment and then shook off Magnus' hand where it seemingly had just appeared on his shoulder and stepped forward, "you can't just kill them for nothing! You can't just---"

"Kill them in your stead? Yes, I most certainly can, and she's found innocent!" Kledji's voice rung out, two of his tentacles flung towards the pit, and the guard pushed.

She might have, at that instant, realised what was going to happen. She might have attempted to toss herself aside, but it wasn't fast enough. Her optics flared right before she pitched over the edge and it was hard to tell if the muffled clatter was her chassis hitting the floor, or the sharkticons.

But there was no mistaking the screaming.

Looking away from the pit, even if the angle meant nothing was really visible, Optimus still caught the blue flare of a spark extinguishing from the corner of his vision. The brief blue light was reflected on the faceplates of the group of five standing by their guards. Two of them, the ones who'd shared colours with the executed one but with their accents in blue and purple instead, were minutely trembling, optics flickering.

They didn't move and their faceplates remained slack, however.

--------------------

Prime was trembling.

Megatron stood quietly in the doorway, eyeing the scene and completely ignoring the spectacle that had just occured on the other side of the video feed. Collateral. Unfortunate collateral, perhaps, but compared to the Autobots his aim was to crush the quintessons. Freeing their enslaved kin was secondary... and the Autobots would undoubtedly manage that part perfectly well on their own.

Prowl was standing off to the side, doorwings stiff and angled as he stared, expression dark, at the screen. Ultra Magnus wasn't touching Optimus where he stood right behind him, but by the way his hand kept raising and then falling, he certainly wanted to. Prime himself would cramp up his hands if he remained with them fisted at his sides like that for much longer.

He recognised the restrained quiver of barely held back rage and incredulity and was thus content to see what would happen next, even if he was pretty sure what it would be.

"You're not killing any more of them for us, Magistrate."

He couldn't quite hold back the faint grin at the gathering storm in Optimus' tone. It was a beautiful tone of voice, though it seldom popped up when he wanted to. And unfortunately he also knew that, given the available options, Optimus was too soft to wield the hammer his rage made.

"Unconditional surrender into the hands of proper authorities, then, Optimus Prime?" Kledji murmured with a slick sort of glee which loosened the silence of the others in the room into a quiet snarling. Megatron took this opportunity to walk into the room, aiming for the front of it where Optimus and Magnus stood.

"No." A momentary pause as Optimus straightened and Magnus shifted beside him, turning slightly - the mech was an insecure lump at times, but he wasn't stupid. He knew his sibling was about to say something unacceptable. He wouldn't stop Prime, though. "But I will, in exchange for at least some of them hand m---"

"Optimus!"

Magnus reached but of course he didn't stop Optimus in any conceivable way and so his protest was drowned in the loud brittleness of Megatron first driving his elbow into the back of Optimus' neck, then a punch to his throat and lastly a fist to the top of his helm. Optimus collapsed like a skyscraper falling in on itself, optics flickering once before they offlined and the Prime fell into his arms.

He completely ignored the twenty or so guns now aimed at him.

"We're not negotiating. Kill who you will, but we're coming for you, Magistrate," Megatron said with a sneer as he hefted the Prime in his arms, meeting the briefly brightened optics of the stout, round-crowned face with the facial decoration obscuring its mouth.

"As you wish. No deal, then. One proxy for your crimes, innocent of them or not, per cycle."

The screen went black.

"Megatron..." It was hard to tell if Magnus' growl was just from his vocaliser, engine, or both as he nudged his gun against the side of Megatron's helm, Prowl and Ironhide coming up beside him. Megatron barely gave either of the three a glance as he turned around, frowning at the very empty spot by the door. He was sure he hadn't...

With a shake of his helm, Megatron finally met the darkened optics of each of the three in turn, and the smirk on his faceplate wasn't quite one, but not precisely a simple baring of his teeth either.

"One of you tell me where his room is, while the other two work with Soundwave to gather an assault group. We'll review it when sleeping beauty here has recovered from his acute case of unconsciousness caused by self-sacrificial idiocy." Of course, Soundwave - and thus Megatron - already knew the room Prowl had given Prime, but in the interest of not twisting too many wires, he was asking.

"... Assault?" Magnus echoed the word quietly, soft enough to lack any accusation even as his hand remained steady and the gun remained aimed. Amazingly enough, Megatron didn't have to explain for slow-witted Ultra-rank guardians as Prowl's optics briefly brightened and he frowned.

At least someone had a position they were worthy of.

"The city in the Badlands. The troops they used to attack Iacon must've come from somewhere, even if the city itself has been kept inert in the mechastructure of Cybertron. Ironhide, show him the way," Prowl said, though the last was very reluctant indeed.

"What! Just lemme---" Ironhide's wriggle with his gun and the twisting squeeze of his hand finished what Ironhide wished to say but Prowl interrupted with a shake of his helm.

"We don't have time to argue about this, just show him over there and stay outside if you would?"

The old mech's engine gave a roaring rev and he growled as he stared up at Megatron for a steely moment before he whipped around with a grunt. He didn't put his gun away, but frankly, Megatron didn't care.

"I can give you my cannon if that would make you feel better." As if he needed an external weapon to kill Optimus if he wished to do so. They were all aware of it too, by the glares them were aiming at him while they parted to let him and Ironhide leave the room.

"The little one too," Ironhide growled even if, by the glare he directed over his shoulder, he knew just as well as anyone else that all removing the weapons would do was render Megatron unable to transform. Megatron tilted his helm in a nod, though couldn't - or rather, didn't bother - to smother the sharp smirk.

The door closed behind them on the noise of twenty-some mechs breaking out in arguments, but there were other things to consider than Autobot feelings about trusting their Prime and leader to the arms of the warlord of the Decepticons.

::Soundwave, where's the drone?:: Like this thing. Because that drone shouldn't have been able of walking anywhere without his say-so, and so this... could be a complication.

::Location: ... Not present in Iacon. Attempt to recall?:: Soundwave's prompt reply in his usual rumbling monotone even over the comm. frequency, was reassuring. It was almost problematic how reassuring it was, since while Soundwave was loyal, had never been or presented himself as anything but loyal... Well, he hadn't gotten to where he was for as long as he had without remaining wary of such unquestionable devotion. Of course, he also wasn't stupid enough not to take it when offered and make sure the mech(s) who gave it had no direct reason to stop giving it.

Soundwave, so far, seemed content. That wouldn't necessarily be a constant state, but for now it existed.

::No. Who else is missing?:: He didn't bother with refocusing enough attention to do more than breeze past Ironhide into the room he'd led them to, and put Prime down with more care than he otherwise might have just to be able to catch the twitch in the corner of the old soldier's optic. Too easy.

::... Elita One has been pinging Moonracer for the last cycle about her whereabouts, no reply. Firestar inquired about Moonracer's location in the last breem. Negative responses. Mirage just questioned the other present minibots over Cliffjumper's location: unknown. Springer's last known location was leaving Command and Strategy to follow Hot Rod, the latter probably left for the medbay.:: There'd been a brief flicker of silent surprise at his question, but then, as always, Soundwave delivered, and as Megatron disconnected his fusion cannon and the smaller one on his back, handing both over to Ironhide with a quirk to his right upper optic ridge, he continued to wait.

He didn't need to wait long.

::Security feeds show all four having met in the medbay, and then leaving Autobase. Last known location: Building across Iacon with security tags connected to Shockwave. They left in a small shuttle.::

Sitting down in the closest available seating as Ironhide reluctantly left, having had to put his gun away to be able to carry the weapons Megatron had handed over, Megatron crossed his arms over his chestplates while he studied the relaxed lines of Optimus' faceplate. Well, what could be seen of it, anyway.

::So either there were more undercover agents - only Autobots, curiously enough, unless the drone is one among them - than Arcee, or a few decided to take the matter in their own hands and be foolishly proactive. Hmm. Should be handled easily enough. Perhaps you should do Shockwave the courtesy and inform him he seems to be missing a shuttle? Keep me updated, Soundwave.::

::Affirmative, Lord Megatron.::

As the call was disconnected, Megatron leaned back in his seat. He doubted Shockwave had anything to do with this beyond unwittingly providing the transportation for their runaway rebels. The only really loose piece was the drone soldier, but he had an inkling, as he watched a twitch travel along Optimus' audial finials and picked up a twisting shudder to his EM field, that that would be the concern of the runaways, not the rest of them.

So for their sake, they better hope that the rewiring done to the drones Wreck-Gar had so graciously scavenged for him held, and that the quintessons hadn't been able to take it back. The clone drones of the Aerospace Extermination Squadron had, after all, been rather overwhelming opponents.

Chapter Text

Cybertron, the Badlands, the quintesson city. Earlier during the battle against the quintesson fleet.

She felt dizzy. Crouched behind an outcropping of twisted metal and a fetid bubbling pool of something to their left, Moonracer and the other three who had come with her stared at the outwards-angling walls of the quintessons' strange city. The feeling... vibration? that the recon team had picked up and been affected by skated along her wiring and set her processor twanging with false-pings. It was just so very odd because she could actually recognise the pressure. It'd been present on Quintessa as well, but she'd never felt it like this before.

Her best bet was that the slave shell programming had, somehow, protected the slaves from the full effects of the vibration. The question was still... why was it either the same or only vanishingly different from the effect Unicron had had on them while they were fighting? It was a question that would have to be put aside.

"So... how the scrap do we get in, if we aren't flying in and not going charging in?" Hot Rod huffed where he crouched beside Springer on the far right of Moonracer. He hadn't at all liked this sneaking up here business and had wanted them to charge at the gate when they spotted it. With a static sigh, she glanced at him, then back behind them toward where they'd left the shuttle they'd transwarped to the edge of the Badlands with to but left half a hic away.

She'd reluctantly agreed with Springer when he pointed out the guns and whatever else in the city's defense were probably automatic and they'd probably just be shot down if they tried to fly in, either with the shuttle or with Springer lifting them in one after the other. But that left the question of how to get in otherwise.

"... I suppose the main door, since we don't have anything to scale the walls with, which probably wouldn't have triggered the automatic guns." She felt a bit stupid for not thinking about that before now. "If we get up to the wall and follow it, we've got the element of surprise without charging right at them so we ought to be able to get in before they close the gate," Moonracer muttered, shifting on her feet. Nervous energy was bubbling all through her and not the usual, happy one. No, this was an uncomfortable, wire-pinching sort of nervousness which was only strengthened by the unpleasant dizziness from the faint vibration.

"Ought to work." Springer rubbed his chin as he looked along the wall and the ground between them and said wall, frowning. "I could probably give you guys some aerial support during. Doubt this interference would knock me out if I'm just in the air briefly."

"Not that I don't like that idea 'cause I sure wanna bend some tailpipe, but we could avoid alerting 'em immediately by just going through the wall," Cliffjumper said where he was leaning forward against the outcropping, peering between the twisted metal spikes. Springer looked over with a frown, then nodded, his optics brightening.

Moonracer, however, was left confused, and Hot Rod rolling his optics in clear disbelief didn't clear anything up either.

"Huh? That sounds great, but how?"

Cliffjumper grinned up at her and patted the regular-looking gun he'd just pulled out, nodding across the space towards the wall.

"Let's just get over there and I'll show ya."

Still confused, Moonracer glanced to Springer, who nodded, a faint grin on his lips, and she shrugged. The fact that they might have a relatively easy way in eased a bit of her uncomfortable energy, which was enough to make her smile as she jumped to her feet.

"Why not? Probably better than anything else!" Nodding decisively, she darted around the outcropping, Hot Rod right beside her - and then he was yanked back, Springer shaking both the mech's shoulder and his own helm. Hot Rod had tried to go for transforming and while that would get them across the open ground far faster... it'd also make more noise.

Better to save the noise until they were right next to the wall, or maybe even past it, however Cliffjumper's way of getting them inside would work.

The ground was twisted beneath them, pockmarked and torn with sharp points that bit into the seams of the bottom of her feet and prickled the wheels now set in her shins. She was sort of glad they weren't using altmodes to cross the ground, because while the material of her new wheels were sturdy, she still wouldn't want to chance having them ripped up by the speeds and pressure driving would put on them.

Lightly skipping over a luridly greenish-violet pool of something, Moonracer wasn't surprised when Springer and Hot Rod was right beside her, but Cliffjumper taking the leap as well was, on the other hand, surprising. She'd have thought he would go around it, considering... And then Cliffjumper almost tipped backwards into the pool, engine revving loud enough in the relative quiet to make her wince , though Springer's grip on his arm stopped him.

"Thanks," he muttered with a grimace and brightened optics aimed at the ground, but despite keeping an optic on the looming walls, Moonracer couldn't see that the noise had been noticed in any conceivable way.

Shrugging, she set off again, their little group avoiding other outcroppings and skating around the edge of a much larger pool than the first. It was almost... eerily quiet. Then the ground trembled underneath them as they passed into the shadow of the wall looming above them, and even the murky, pollution-cover of the sky couldn't hide the fact that...

"Hey, what happened to the sky? Hot Rod tilted his helm back, amazingly not stumbling and the rest of them glanced up as well. It was noticeably darker even through the cover. It looked more like early evening than the late midday it'd been just a bare few second ago.

"Uh... Until it affects us in some way we can actually do something 'bout it let's just continue," Springer said with a grunt, waving his hand at the wall still a short distance away, since with the wall leaning outwards the now-dimmer shadow cast by it preceded the actual wall with quite a bit of distance.

When they were finally huddling next to the smooth metal surface, Springer tapping at it with a thoughtful frown, Moonracer cast a look around and then down at Cliffjumper.

"How's this going to work, then?"

"Well, give it a few moments and then you can get your gun out and do the honours," Cliffjumper said with a grin as he aimed his blaster and fired.

What came out of it wasn't the expected laser or even electricity or anything else she'd thought a mech like Cliffjumper seemed to be would use as a weapon. No, instead a faintly opalescent, off-white gas poured out, dispersing as it hit the metal of the wall and spreading a frosted lattice pattern outwards with a crackling noise.

Moonracer hardly got her gun up after Cliffjumper nodded before Hot Rod was firing. She couldn't be annoyed given his drawn expression, but he was also muttering something under normal volume she didn't pick up with the air filled with the loud whining of laser fire and the high-pitched, tinkling noise of metal breaking like it was glass. Under Moonracer's stunned stare, the section of the wall Cliffjumper had sprayed down collapsed into a rain of twisted shards almost immediately, working inwards through the wall until they had a clear hole.

"... Wow." Laughing softly, Moonracer shook his helm and grinned at Cliffjumper. "That was pretty cool!"

The minibot gave her a lopsided grin and saluted with the gun, though as they climbed around the dangerously sharp shards littering the ground, something in his optics had her pinging him over the comm.

::That was what was supposed to happen, right?::

::Yeah, sure was.:: Dimmed azure optics flickered up at her before Cliffjumper threw a frown behind them when they'd passed through the thick wall, ending up on an empty stretch of road between two gun towers. ::Just... never had the metal be affected that quickly or break that easily. But maybe it's just the alloy the quints use, who the scrap knows.:: he shrugged and seemed to put the matter aside, and considering where they were that was just probably for the best.

::Comm only from now on, let's go. Moonracer, do you know where we're goin'?:: Springer spoke up before Hot Rod apparently could - at least he looked really annoyed for a brief moment - and looked to her. Nodding, Moonracer gestured them on.

::Hard to tell from here, but it's probably got a standard layout. I remember where the spacebridge hub ought to be.::

Leaving the shadow of the gun towers, Moonracer led them across open ground until they reached the next building, and while it was curved... Glancing at the part of wall that curled in front of them which Moonracer could swear hadn't been angled that much even just before they reached it, it did shield them from a patrol of lumbering snout-nosed guards. She decided not to question it and they rounded the building around its back, coming up towards the front of it again, now behind the patrol.

Dashing across the open road to use the row of twisted arch-like buildings on the other side for cover, she led them inwards and away from the wall. She'd seen what she was pretty sure was the spires of the spacebridge hub building, all they needed to do was get there. At least the city seemed to be mostly empty at the moment.

Despite that, there was a tense sort of exhilaration of running along buildings, pressing against them to hide in what murky shadows there were and...

::Is anyone else catchin' this, or is it that stupid vibration that's messing with me? Those buildings weren't that close before, were they?:: Cliffjumper hissed as they darted in between two buildings on the edge of the square across the building Moonracer was pretty sure they needed to reach, to avoid another patrol.

::You're being paranoid, mech!:: Hot Rod huffed, rolling his optics in a glowing downwards arc and getting Cliffjumper whirling at him, a suppressed growl reverberating from the mini. Springer snorted and threw his rifle out between them, shaking his helm.

::By the Matrix, stop that! I know you can behave better than that, kid, and you might be right, 'Jumper. Never mind that, though. Moonracer, we there yet?:: Neatly addressing them each in turn and dismissing the faint, possibly grinding noises as probably part of the vibration even if it wasn't and buildings maybe moving, he turned to Moonracer, helm cocked.

::Pretty sure it's the building across there, so we just got to cross the courtyard and check it out. Doesn't look like they've got guards on it either. I suppose they think the patrols are enough, considering...:: trailing off, she waved a hand in the air to indicate the nearly smothering unpleasant noise that scraped into their processors.

At least they could deal with it, even if all four of them had weaved unsteadily on their feet from stressed gyros and false pings regarding the direction they were currently going or even facing.

::Looks clear, so let's go, then.:: Springer said, casting a last look at Hot Rod and Cliffjumper before they ran across the courtyard and under the twisted arches. Inside, the light was passable to see by without upping visual acuity or sensitivity, but it had a rather unpleasant, washed-out gray tint to it.

Clutching at her gun nervously, Moonracer grinned in relief when they came to the end of the corridor and walked into the central room.

"The spacebridge hub!" The outburst was, of course, a rather obvious statement of what was clearly visible, but the relief that she hadn't led them wrong and wasted time was nearly overwhelming and needed an outlet.

"That's a spacebridge? Hot Rod stared dubiously at the arched claws constructed in a circle in the middle of the room, wide at the bottom and narrow at the top. Moonracer just shrugged and leaned the controls, still remembering how they worked---

"... Oh no." Despite the keys she pressed and dials she turned, however, the computer remained inert. "No... no, no. I hoped it wouldn't..." Shaking her helm and ignoring Springer as he came up beside her, she pulled out a cable from her lower arm, hesitating before she plugged in.

"Moonracer?" A hand on her shoulder, and she shook her helm sharply.

It still didn't respond.

All this, for nothing?

"I... I'd hoped that even without the shell program I'd be able to interface with their computer system, but it's not responding!" Static cracked through her words, vocaliser glitching as she slammed her fist down on the console. She had no idea what to do now, and she'd led them all in here and even if they got in there was no guarantee they'd get out without being noticed.

"Hey, everything ain't lost yet." Springer shook his helm and pulled her cable out of the plug, winding it up for her and then handing it over, so she could tuck it back in and close the hatch. He didn't comment on the slight tremble in her hand. "We're just going to have to figure out ano---"

"That's all fraggin' well and good, but can we deal with this first?!" Cliffjumper yelled and Moonracer jerked, whirling around towards the entrance of the room, gun in hand, but not raised. Both Springer and Hot Rod had their guns already up, though. Cliffjumper faced not one of the quintesson guards, but what seemed like a cybertronian in pale gray and lavender, vaguely Seeker-like.

"... Is that Lord Megatron's clone soldier?" Staring, Moonracer was torn between worry and a faint, possible hope. Worry, because as she understood it, the Decepticon warlord had reprogrammed the clone soldiers to obey him. Which ought to mean the clone soldier, optics dim and standing stiff even in the face of guns pointed at it, neither should nor could be here.

Unless it still had contact with, or had been stolen back by, the quintessons.

Hope, because...

"Yeah, and I don't care what the slag it's doing here, let's just kill it before it decides to attack us!" Cliffjumper snapped, engine growling and his blaster already whining with charge. Moonracer couldn't tell if the slight bouncing he was doing was him holding himself back from launching himself at the clone, or keeping himself in place from retreating to get further out of reach.

"Seems good to me, 'cause with these things it's better to be safe than sorry. Megatron can bill us later," Springer said with a frown, charging his rifle just as the clone slowly tilted its helm and raised its hands.

Palms out and open.

"Wait!"

Cliffjumper's shot went wild as he jerked from her yell, backing off and whirling around to stand sideways to keep the gun pointed at the clone and stare, optics bright with incredulity, at Moonracer.

"Wait? Wait? Are you glitchin'!? Do ya even know what these things are capable of? And if it's here I bet the quints got it back, or that fraggin' Decepticreep sold us out or---"

"Maybe, but it can get us to Quintessa!" She didn't have the patience to listen to the angry rant from Cliffjumper, no matter how understandable it was. She hadn't caught up on the whole of the history of the war yet, but she knew the quintessons had given Megatron clones to conquer Cybertron, so obviously any given Autobot wouldn't be very favourably minded towards them.

"If we're going to shoot the tincan, can we just shoot it and get back to figuring how to get to the stupid planet so we can rescue people!" Hot Rod grumbled from where he stood by the spacebridge, casting a glance from staring at the clone to Springer. The latter shook his helm and glanced down at Moonracer beside him.

"How? And you know trusting it to not have alerted half of Quintessa even if we can use it is a bit risky, yeah?" He didn't sound overly negative, however. More stating a fact, optics narrowed in thought as he eyed the clone, obviously actually considering the merits of the suggestion.

"If it has, we'll know to be ready. And what does it hurt to try? It's not attacking us, and if the reprogramming only makes sure it obeys Megatron, then there might be enough Quintesson markers left in its codes the computer system will recognise it," Moonracer said slowly, staring at clone and fingering her gun. That was what she was hoping anyway, and if it would hold off attacking them long enough for an attempt at that hope?

She'd take it.

"Good enough for me! We can scrap it later, after all," Hot Rod grinned, scratching the back of his helm with the barrel of his gun and Springer nodded slowly.

"Not really a good idea, but if we can make it activate the spacebridge for us... well, I'll take it."

"Are you out of your processors?" Cliffjumper snapped and dragged a hand down his faceplate, glaring at each of them in turn before settling his optics on the still clone again. "That thing's---"

"Live a little, will ya? We can take care of it, if something happens! You've been in the war from the beginning, Springer too, and I'm pretty good with a gun myself!" Waggling said gun, Hot Rod gave Cliffjumper an arch look, but before the minibot could say anything - and he sure looked like he was going to, optics narrowed and teeth bared - Springer revved his engine.

"Gentlebots, keep it together. We'll try this way first even if it is utterly slagged. You, get over here!"

The fact that it hadn't revealed any weapons so far with all the guns pointed at it, even more so when Springer gestured with his rifle at it, was at least proof of restraint on the clone's part. But whether that was to lure them into a false sense of security or not, well... that was harder to tell.

It didn't move until Springer called to it at any rate, though Moonracer noted both Cliffjumper and Springer looked uncomfortable with that. She wasn't sure why, though, since it obviously had to have enough language processing to understand orders, even before Megatron's reprogramming. They moved out of the way for it when it came up to the console, and this time the computer answered as if it hadn't remained unresponsive to Moonracer earlier.

Relief flooded her when the crackling blue-white portal of transwarp energy popped into existence in the center of the spacebridge, and, one hand firm on her gun she half-ran over to it. Right before she went in with the others, the clone right behind them, she touched her chestplates.

Hopefully this hadn't been absolutely stupid.

--------------------
Quintessa, a spacebridge hub in a building somewhere.

They burst out of the spacebridge to guards in the room.

Not an army by any means, but a handful of large, spiky creatures that seemed to have guns instead of hands were, nonetheless, an obstacle. Tossing herself sideways out of the way of Springer and Hot Rod and straightening up, firing her gun, Moonracer caught one of the creatures in the chest. He didn't go down, but Cliffjumper's following shot hit him in the same place and he collapsed. Springer and Hot Rod took one each with repeated hits to the heads or chests - and then the clone was in the air above them, hovering near the ceiling, arm cannons humming.

"See!? What the scrap did I tell you!" Cliffjumper yelled as the clone fired.

The shots, however, zapped into the remaining guards in rather impressive explosions, instantly downing them.

"... Wha---"

Moonracer suppressed her - rather relieved - giggle at Cliffjumper's wide-optic and slack faceplates, and even if Hot Rod smirked, she'd caught him having a rather worried expression just moments before too. All four of them still kept their distance from the clone as it landed and they ran out.

"Which way?" Springer called over his shoulder as it became obvious this was a far larger building than the spacebridge hub they'd used to get here had been, because there were branching corridors every few steps.

"If we can, just go to the end of the corridor. We need out, and then to find a--- right!" Firing at the group that came out of a doorway a few doors down and immediately turned to them, Moonracer cut herself off and changed both mind and direction, immediately. One of the snout-nosed guards in the group, lumbering after what she knew were quintessons of the scientist caste, went down with a smoking hole in his forehead.

They dodged right at the next corridor, and Moonracer felt frustration claw at her insides. She wanted out of this building as soon as possible, but there'd been two of her former fellow slaves right in that group. They weren't going to be fighting any of them if it was the least bit avoidable.

"We could've taken 'em!" Hot Rod shouted as they dashed down the corridor and the only reason Moonracer didn't end up yelling at him and instead shot down part of a decorative arch in the ceiling behind them was that Springer got there before her.

"No, kid, we couldn't have. We're here to rescue all cybertronians on the planet as far as possible, not kill them."

Hot Rod had the grace to duck his helm with a grimace, even if he still looked faintly mutinous.

The question was just how to get out from where they were. Moonracer remembered the general layout of quintesson buildings well enough, but that didn't help them with quintessons in the way.

And they were in the way, forcing the group to more often than not turn away from their current corridor in a spray of laser fire. Sometimes they could barrel on straight through, especially with the help of the clone's uncomfortably impressive firepower, but how long until they were overwhelmed?

Ending up at a t-intersection, the row of doors to the right pinged her memory and she grinned.

"This way!"

Waving them over, the corridor suddenly crackled with electricity and Cliffjumper shouted as an electro-lance tip burrowed itself into his right arm while Hot Rod got another one in the left half of his spoiler. Behind them a group of ten mechs, their optics dim but the scowls on their faceplates rather impressive came down the other end of the intersection.

There was basically no choice but to stumble into one of the elevators, the doors cutting off another thrown electro-lance. It fell harmlessly to the ground, the pronged end crackling for a moment before it died out as the elevator started to move.

"Moonracer, you know where we're goin?" Springer was frowning, focused on the spear-tip buried in Hot Rod's spoiler and finally just yanked it out. It drowened Hot Rod's muttered 'be careful' in a static snarl, joined by Cliffjumper's suppressed hiss as he yanked out the tip in his arm.

"Uh... I didn't press any keys."

Silence.

The three Autobots stared at her, and then they all turned their helms to stare at the clone. It stood, blank-faced, at the control panel.

"Smeltin' great," Cliffjumper muttered, and Moonracer had to agree with the sentiment as the seconds stretched and the elevator didn't stop.

"... Is this thing changing directions every so often?" Hot Rod looked up from where he'd been trying to get a view of his injured spoiler, and Moonracer nodded.

"The elevator system's extensive, goes all over the place. I remember that much."

"Underground transportation system, huh." Springer's idle comment was, of course, not necessary. It did fill out the uncomfortable silence and gave at least some brief distraction from not just the way they were still travelling, but also from that vibration. It made Moonracer have to reset and refocus her optics every now and then, and this could get to be a real issue if they had to fight for any longer than the bare seconds or barely a klik it'd been so far...

The elevator stopped.

Everyone's guns went up as the doors opened, but they opened to a humming quiet smothered in a dimly lit twilight. If there were quintesson forces waiting for them, they were being not just quiet, but hidden.

"Where did the tincan land us?" Hot Rod squinted and, for once, wasn't the first to react - Cliffjumper was as he snorted and stomped out, just barely ducking away from Springer's outstretched hand.

"Ain't gonna find out if we don't--- uh."

The lights flickered on, revealing rows upon rows of tanks as the other four stepped out of the elevator. Each and every single one had a pale gray and lavender occupant, each tank connected via cables that ran along the ceiling to a single mech strung up at the head of the room, to the left of the elevator.

The Seeker hung suspended amid an intricate cage of wiring, clamps and cables, her helm opened into sections to bare the rounded core module, her cockpit likewise opened up to bare the spark, which had delicate little prongs from some sort of device mounted in front of it, almost poking into the sphere of energy.

Her teal and purple colours were dulled, but there.

She wasn't dead, even if she appeared to be offline.

"Sweet Primus..."

Chapter Text

Then and now.

//Searching for anchors for the neural net...

... failed.//

They hadn't been made to function as single units except in temporary emergencies. There was the unit, the whole million-some strong of them, a single, vast net of sensory and data input they all made use of. They broke off into smaller units as needed and ordered, to keep order, to hunt down Autobots...

But those were still temporary arrangements and even more seldom was anyone brought to stand alone for more than breem, if that.

Their decommission by the Autobots sent jagged spikes of disruption through the neural net and separated them all into non-functional stasis lock. That, well, that was a long time ago and really didn't matter. Might not ever have mattered again, if not the kind-of cybertronian but not precisely that called itself Wreck-Gar had found three of them for Lord Megatron.

They had been repaired (such as it was, function forever sub-optimal), their neural net reduced to three anchors. Three; a much-limited dimension of the sensor net but yet functioning and functional.

Then it had been reduced to two when Shockwave had been brought back in under Megatron.

Even that might have been acceptable.

//Searching for anchors for the neural net...

... failed.//

But then the last anchor beyond this one had been destroyed as well.

They hadn't been made to function alone.

//Sensory net perimeter at intolerably sub-optimal size.
No available anchors to re-establish neural net or sensory net perimeter.
Cyberstatic charge matrix strained to 65.4% to maintain tolerable functioning.//

The updates were duly logged, but command central would only care so far as everything kept running, and function stability had stabilised at 65-71% fluctuation strain. That would not extinguish the cyberstatic charge used for the frame, and so nothing was done.

Something should be done, however, because this was not how things ought to function.

This was how function was being re-defined though. The limited sensor net was cold uncertainty, the lack of wider neural net to confirm the decisions of actions to be taken as correct against as much data as possible was... there was no word for that.

There wasn't supposed to be a word for that, and yet, as the strain on the cyberstatic energy matrix increased to its greatest top, there was yet that something that demanded a word for it. Orders demanded immediate action, but action required proper data, a proper sensor net perimeter, proper amount of force to be put into the action to ensure the order was fulfilled...

And yet, despite the lack of those parameters action had to be taken.

Orders had to be fulfilled.

So action was forced, straining cyberstatic energy to not just keep the frame lit, but to make up for the lack of additional sensory and data input by considering the data that was available. It strained cyberstatic energy that just wasn't enough to deal with all the demands - had deliberately been allowed to proliferate only to the amount needed to keep the chassis alive with no strain. Further, that cyberstatic energy was strung up on a lattice when coalesced, not swirling free in a spark chamber.

That, too, was a strain, a limit... one which wasn't supposed to be (able to be) forced further or breached, but the energy that made up a cybertronian's life force, individuality and species specifics was hardy. Hardy, and always reaching. Limits were superficial, even those that had been created to make sure the amount of cyberstatic charge available couldn't make an individual spark.

That didn't stop that energy from doing what was needed, and when what was needed was to make up for the lack of something that wasn't supposed to be alone..?

Well, changes had to be made.

Changes that strained the cyberstatic charge present, but didn't wear it so thin there was nothing left. The clone might not be supposed to be an individual, and it would be a long time, if ever, until it would truly become a person, but one thing was being learned; how to be alone. Learning and wondering how anyone else dealt with the echoing emptiness where there ought to be a full neural net, a sensory net that reached as wide as necessary in the moment.

Alone.

It wasn't a word that was known – should need to be known – and what had to be done was to listen to the cybertronians speaking, break that word 'alone' out from the other words. 'Isolated target' was something that was known. 'Temporary isolated function' was something that was known.

Alone? That wasn't a word that existed, but now had to do so, because there was no other word to describe the minute hesitation, the unforgiving echo that accompanied the prolonged isolated function state.

Isolated function did not carry any further descriptor to make sense of those accompanying feelings that shouldn't even be there, but were.

So the word was picked out and added to the vocabulary, so that the state now existing could be described.

//Searching for anchors for the neural net---

Command to suspend search... Confirm?//

The question hung, blinking in accusing blue glyphs in the HUD as the strain on the energy matrix that was the cyberstatic charge slowly rose with every moment that that command wasn't withdrawn.

Withdrawing it would be simple, would be...

Doing something that was a waste of resources, no matter the hope (... hope? Yet something that had been taken from the language it didn't – shouldn't – use) it might give.

//... confirm command. Suspend action indefinitely.
Warning: cyberstatic charge matrix strained to 71.9%
... stabilising.//

How did they, the ones in the room talking to the creators deal with the silence, the emptiness? Were they just not aware it was there, having known nothing else?

And yet the search had been suspended.

The action was against what should be able to done, and yet had been done. It left the silence uninterrupted by anything at all... And in that silence something else whispered.

To be a clone you had to be based on somebody else's energy signature. Somebody else's spark pulse. Somebody else's spark.

The Aerospace Extermination Squadron, like any other clones ever created had been drawn from a single particular spark, of course.

And in the silence of this reduced sensor net, in the silence ofno others to make up the neural net, the faintest vibration of that origin could be picked up. No longer suppressed and hidden behind the creators' programming, the reprogramming Lord Megatron - command central - had put in had no way of knowing that slight connection existed.

Or rather, had no way of blotting it out.

Decepticon clone technology had never found a way to sever the clone's connection to their original, which made them capable of such things like tracking their origin's energy signature - it was their own after all.

And in the silence that the Aerospace Extermination Squadron clones hadn't been made for, the single one still functioning finally heard the template's whisper.

Heard it, listened, and couldn't do anything else but heed that insistent demand. It couldn't be blocked out any longer.

But how to fulfill it? The success of such an action taken as the situation was was no more than 5.67%.

Perhaps these others... they had kin on the creators' planet so perhaps some of them would go there. But would any of them act even knowing of the existence of their kin?

Actually listening to what was being said, processing the words and the language instead of waiting for the cue of Lord Megatron's voice, it took a surprisingly short amount of time to pick up what was needed for any act to follow the template's furious whisper to rise to 10%.

Acceptable.

So when the opportunity presented itself, what happened was another thing that ought not be possible; the clone left.

Left and followed the four who left Iacon for the quintesson city in the Badlands.

Left, and pushed the correct keys in the elevator on Quintessa to get the group to the cloning chamber.

Left, and stood in front of the template and the next batch of clones in a silence it had never been meant for.

What next, then?

To follow the rage of the template, or to sink back into the sea of data a shared neural net was with these new clones? Even if they had never known the silence. Even if that silence could never be unknown by this point.

Could things even go back to everything being as it was before?

Passing the four staring at the army in their tanks, it made a choice.

Chapter Text

Quintessa, some quintesson city, cloning chamber.

"... So they are literally clones."

Springer's mutter had Moonracer look over her shoulder, briefly surprised at having doorwings in the way after spending all her previous existence without altmode kibble. Flicking the offending appendage sideways and angling it flatter, she managed to catch Springer's optics, tilting her helm.

"What else would they be? I thought you knew that's what they were," Moonracer said as she turned back to face the intricate cage of technology and machinery the Seeker was strung up in, hoping Springer had seen Hot Rod disappear among the rows of tanks just now.

She had no idea where to even start with this, but she wasn't going to leave the Seeker strung up like she was. She just wished she knew stuff like this better. She knew how to shoot and could pick off tiny targets at great distances with no issue at all, but this? This was nothing she knew, but it might be something to learn... So many things she could turn her attention to after this, as long as they succeeded!

A glance sideways caught Cliffjumper's narrow, sharp stare between Seeker and her as he came up beside her in a slow, careful approach and gripping his blaster firmly, but he grimaced and shrugged when their gazes met. He didn't know either.

"That's what we called 'em, yeah, and what Perceptor later called them after he got a look at their data to figure out some way to stop 'em. I figured it was because they're basically copies of each other physically and got identical energy signatures and scrap... hey, Hot Rod, you okay?" Springer rubbed his chin as he spoke, a motion Moonracer could see reflected in the metal of the machinery in front of her as she let her fingers dart over all the keys and dials, not quite touching them at first. At least she was finding the interface that controlled the wider net of technology like this.

"'Course I'm fine. These things are dead..." Hot Rod's voice drifted up from somewhere among the rows, and Moonracer snorted. Not activated yet, more like.

"You understand this scrap?" Cliffjumper asked as he glowered at the console and then up at the Seeker, still perfectly offline, "and I don't think this is a good idea... even if we shouldn't leave her there, she's still a Seeker. And why the frag didn't they use those things against us when they attacked?"

The only reason Moonracer didn't snap at the scowling minibot was that she could tell he was feeling bad for the Seeker - he was just having issues with the 'Seeker' part. She could kind of understand it, but honestly.

"A Seeker that hasn't had anything to do with the war. And I might not be tuned in to their network anymore, but I still understand the language, so I ought to be able to get her down." Shrugging, Moonracer didn't even notice she was rubbing her chestplating when she mentioned not being tuned in any longer, but then dropped her hand down. It was just... unsettling to feel that scraping unnaturalness jangling against her wiring and spark. Quintessa was, in a way, her 'home' - she hadn't known any other planet before now at any rate, and now... it was attacking her.

Attacking her because she was now able to make her own choices, no longer fettered by the quintessons' chains. No longer protected by them. As much of a 'protection' as it had been, whatever that frequency was that jabbed at their processors.

"And I'm pretty sure they didn't use the clones because they never found a way to counteract whatever you did to neutralise them. Not much use to throw powerful weaponry at you if you can just shield against it," Moonracer said, bouncing on her feet while she read the text on the screen and Springer and Cliffjumper exchanged a shrug. That was true, after all. They still knew how to neutralise the clones and shut down their shared neural net, so if the quintessons had never found a way around that...

"Ohh... I think I got it!" Resisting the urge to clap her hands, Moonracer grinned and instead typed a few commands which led exactly to the lines of text she wanted to see - well, she hoped anyway.

Then one of the screens flickered on right before she entered the command to disconnect 'the system from the host'.

"I believe it would be beneficial for us all, my dear, if you don't do that."

Moonracer's hand froze above the keys, Cliffjumper swore as he whirled around, gun uselessly pointing against the screen. Behind her, Springer came up closer, a solid weight behind her back.

"Don't see why I shouldn't," Moonracer said and she could easily admit the only reason her vocaliser didn't spit static or waver was thanks to the extra support. Not that she couldn't, or wouldn't, have stood up against the bulbous-headed quintesson on the screen anyway, but the fact that she had backup, and backup that approved, was an anchor.

"From the facts you have right now, perhaps, but allow me..." the quintesson said with a slow smile, and compared to the five-faced ones, his single face seemed more like an actual face than the judges' mask-like ones did. Instead though, his whole head on top of the cylinder that, apparently, was his body seemed too large for that cylinder. Especially with how bulbous it was, rounded flares framing his bearded face and behind that, a swollen-seeming arch of purple and green metal.

If it was metal.

The tentacles that swept in front of the screen against a console just barely seen moved with a liquid grace belied by the rounded stiffness of the head and the cylindrical body, and they showed no obvious seams.

"If you actually think we're gonna believe there's weapons in here you can point at us, you've got another thing comin'," Cliffjumper said with a huff, and while Moonracer agreed considering this was a cloning chamber, not a weapons plant, something still caused a brief, but sharp, withdrawal of cyberstatic energy.

It left her hands feeling cold.

"Ah, ah... not guns, no. And even so, I don't need to point guns at you..." Another slow smirk from the quintesson, and then something beeped from the console in front of her... and from the other end of the alcove, where the controls - presumably - for the clones' containers were. Several lines of text popped up on the screen, and Moonracer felt another flush of coldness in her hands, sharp and sudden.

"You may choose, my dear things; stop the clones from activating... or save the templa---"

Cliffjumper shooting the screen into shattered darkness interrupted the quintesson before he could finish.

"What do we do!?" Whirling around, the mini looked at her and then to Springer, and for a moment her processor was frozen in staring at the running tally of life support slowly being deactivated from the strung-up Seeker. The way she was exposed, there was no way she'd survive life support being taken off before she was properly closed up and disconnected from the machinery.

"I---I..." If the clones activated, they'd lose. But losing even one more of their own wasn't right either, but she was the only one who could read the language! Then Springer laid a hand on her shoulder, and while she couldn't keep herself from jerking, she looked up, optics probably into panic-bright.

"I'll take the other side, we hook up via wireless and sync up visual feeds, you see what I see and can tell me what I need to do since you'll be able to read what I'm lookin' at. Sound good?"

"Y-yeah. Let's---"

"Uh, mechs? A little help here?"

The relief which had gotten her twitchy flow of cyberstatic energy back to normal drained away in that instance, because Hot Rod was slowly backing down the central walkway between the tanks. Backing away from a clone that must have been activated before the others, its golden optics and expression flat.

Flat, but implacable.

"Fraggin' scrap!" snarling, Cliffjumper fired, though the clone seemed unperturbed by the shots. Merely lunged forward, it grabbed Hot Rod by an arm and tossed him aside as it fired, forcing Cliffjumper to dive in among the nearest row of tanks and Springer only barely managed to avoid the shots. They grazed his side, and when he tried to dive sideways, towards the controls on the other side of the alcove from Moonracer, he had to back up or get hit by the shots snapping into the floor in front of him.

"Blast! Kill the clones, Moonracer! We can't save all of the slaves, even less a single one if we're dead, and this thing's gonna need our full attention!" Springer called as he whirled around and leaped to land behind the clone who'd just kicked Cliffjumper into a container which cracked, sending out a web of fine cracks, but held.

Hot Rod had gotten back up and as soon as Cliffjumper was out of the way, however unwillingly, he peppered the clone with shots. It didn't seem to care about them, moving subtly even in the limited space to apparently direct the shots to land in locations where the twisted. Half melted metal craters resulting from the lasers didn't matter, or were deflected in their entirety, sending them burning into the floor, containers, cables...

As Springer took aim again, it tossed itself back, slamming itself into the floor with Springer on the bottom. The crack made Moonracer wince and she realised she had to decide.

Even with three mechs against it, the clone held up - and it hadn't even engaged its enhanced combat mode. It was obvious why the Aerospace Extermination Squadron had been such a force to be reckoned with and---

Even over the sound of battle, metal denting and the armour glass of the clone tanks cracking, the noise of a hiss and a low, insistent gurgle could be heard. The tanks were draining.

She was running out of time.

They were running out of time.

A beep from the console beside her informed her in white-on-green running text with all the impersonal politeness one could desire that the strung-up Seeker was also running out of time. She knew what she had to do as Hot Rod cried out as his arm was twisted, the blast of fire from his flamethrower going up into the air and the joint strained too far, but having to sacrifice even one more of them wasn't right either.

She whirled away from both battle and the console just as Cliffjumper chanced spraying the clone with glass gas - but that would take a klik to affect the clone's metal - knowing she had to...

To--- She ran right into the clone trooper that had come with them, metal rattling as she staggered back. It'd been standing by the side of the elevator door all this time, staring at... the Seeker, for some reason.

"You! Do something!" Moonracer knew that was stupid. Knew it was improbable it would - could - do anything, especially this close to all these other clones but she had to try. Or rather, she hadn't thought at all and the words, a plea really, had come bubbling out anyway.

She didn't know what she had expected, but the clone reaching out and grabbing her, its yellow optics flickering brighter suddenly, wasn't it. Then it tossed her.

"Ah---!" She crashed into the console she'd just been standing by, in time to see it cross the floor to the other consoles, the ones Springer had thought to take control of.

There was no time to question it.

Not with Springer staggering upright, launching himself at the clone they were fighting, and while his punch shattered part of its shoulder intake while Cliffjumper was aiming at its knee joints, it tossed itself sideways, slamming itself and Springer into Hot Rod.

Not with the liquid in the tanks almost drained, and an unknown number of optics slowly brightening as the clones in the tanks booted up.

Not with the fuel cable detached from the Seeker, and not when the program that apparently allowed connection with the bared spark to the rest of the frame was about to disconnect - if that happened and was left to stand for even a short while, especially as exposed as the spark was, the Seeker would extinguish.

She got to her feet, ignoring the ache throughout her chassis, her cold and nearly stiff hands, the earlier hesitation and just did. Hoping that the clone at the other console wasn't helping the clones boot up faster, but helping them.

The computer informed her in a nearly cheerful ping that the spark pulse assistance program had just been turned off; she used that to find the way to withdraw the strange pronged device near the Seeker's bared spark and the controls to close up her bared processor. She ignored another vicious crack to the right of her, down among the tanks as well as the muted click of the containers disengaging their locks to open them up.

It took another moment and a few seconds of fighting with the right command to close up the Seeker's spark chamber and then her cockpit to cover that and she didn't dare look away from the data of the Seeker's vitals, even when an alarm started up. It was a brief, angry shriek, a massively sharp contrast to the quiet little one that had informed her that the spark pulse assistance program had been turned off.

The clone went whizzing past her and tossed itself into the fight down among the tanks as the Seeker's vitals sharply dipped---

And then stabilised.

Kept being stabilised.

Tossing herself around the console, Moonracer started to rip out cables while the device that held the Seeker up slowly disengaged, and in the edge of her vision she could see the clones in the tanks twisting. Not in any way to get free, but rather jerkily, aimlessly as sparks spat from their cockpits and their helms, optics flaring and dimming jaggedly.

The clone that had come with them tossed the Autobots fighting the other clone aside heedlessly of where or how it tossed them, and then literally drove the other clone backwards along the corridor between the tanks, right into the wall at the back.

She didn't care. She cared about--- Staggering underneath the weight of the Seeker as she was released from the last of the clamps and cables, they went down to the floor with a clatter. Moonracer quickly located an access hatch and bent it open, connecting the hack for the shell program before anything else, because they didn't need to be fighting more. Especially not one of their own.

The only thing to do now was wait.

"Cliffjumper?" Springer's voice was steady, if laced with slight static.

"Yeah. I'm whole."

Moonracer caught sight of the minibot, covered in dents, staggering back towards her and sit down on the edge of the slightly raised floor that the console alcoves were on while Springer walked over to Hot Rod, helping him up. Help that was accepted, which probably said something.

"How's the arm? That was the worst of it, right?" Seemed more a question meant to placate worry more than Springer asking out of confirmation to know what they had to work with, what injuries would have to be worked around. Hot Rod huffed, then grimaced as he wriggled his right arm and then surrendered it to Springer for inspection as he glared down the corridor at the now-still clones at the end of it.

"Fine. Not got a lot of movement, but ain't gonna stop me. Is it over?"

At that, Moonracer - and the others - glanced around them. The tanks, empty of liquid, were otherwise still. The clones within hung limply from the cables that still connected them to the chamber's main machinery in the ceiling, but there were not even a flicker of light suggesting any sort of life from them. Their cockpits were sooty and cracked from the inside - whatever the clone had done to destroy them, it appeared to have been successful.

"Moonracer?"

Jerking, Moonracer dragged her optics away from staring past Springer and Hot Rod to the two clones on the other end of the room, and looked down at the Seeker. Her fans, staring up a normal venting cycle now that it wasn't facilitated by the machinery keeping her open and supplied in a twisted way had started at some point, and there was a low, quiet hum of systems working.

The plating beneath Moonracer's pale hand was warming from the suspended coolness of earlier, and her colours were brightening, the shades of purple, teal and details of black and gray deepening and becoming more vibrant.

"I... We're okay."

She hoped it'd be, anyway.

"What about them?" Hot Rod's voice cut loudly through the silence, and they all looked over to the two clones, who weren't moving where they stood up against the wall.

"As long as they, or the other one, whatever, aren't attacking us..." Springer shrugged and while Cliffjumper looked like he wanted to protest, he ended up just rubbing the back of his helm and let out a grunt.

"So what, now we... wait? Is she even gonna be able to move or are we gonna have to split up?" Cliffjumper turned enough to be able to frown at the still Seeker on the floor, and however reluctant, there was concern in that voice. And, clearly a basic willingness to do what might be needed in case they did need to split up.

"No matter what, we're not splitting up. That's just askin' for tr---" Springer was interrupted by Moonracer's cry as the slight quickening of the low hum of working machinery from the Seeker was accompanied by one of her hands whipping out, clutching Moonracer's arm. Guns went up, took aim and were then lowered, because besides the grab, the Seeker didn't seem about to do anything else.

"Ah!"

"The clones?" the hiss from the Seeker was mostly static, rough and wavering as her vocaliser nearly glitched out, but understandable. Moonracer stared into narrowed, barely lit red optics for a moment before she understood what the Seeker meant.

"They're... er, deactivated. By the clone that followed us."

Slowly, her gaze wandered from glaring up at Moonracer with a fuzzy sort of intensity to beyond her, eyeing each of the three mechs and then finally focusing on the two clones on the other side of the room. Moonracer took the opportunity to disconnect the data disc containing the hack. The Seeker didn't so much as twitch, too focused on the two clones.

"Well, at least... it had some use... beyond wandering around like a... lost little protoform," she muttered with a slight smirk flickering over her dull gray faceplate. Moonracer and the others shared a glance, because what was she talking about? That clone had seemed pretty decisive so far. Hot Rod knocked the side of his processor, and Cliffjumper snorted.

"So, you've got a name and do you think you can stand up? We really can't hang 'round here much longer," Springer said with a shake of his helm as he crossed his arms, eyeing their surroundings before his optics landed on the Seeker. She had now gotten the full vibrancy of her colours back, beyond a dullness that still lingered at the edges and her optics seemed incapable of glowing brighter than barely default.

"Slipstream," she said with a snort, static nearly rendering her name inaudible as she eyed them each in turn and then laughed. It was slow and dry and not a little mocking, causing Cliffjumper to bare his teeth and grip his gun tighter and Hot Rod to huff, "and if this is all of you, I got to say I'm impressed a bunch of civilians got this far... and if I can't stand up I'll do you the favour of shooting me myself." She waved Moonracer off as she reached out to help her, her dimly ruby optics narrowing as she slowly... unsteadily, got to her feet.

She looked like she might pitch over once or twice and despite the insult earlier Moonracer had to hold herself back to not lend her some assistance, but after a klik she was standing upright and quickly stopped the slight swaying. Like that, Slipstream was, like any Seeker, taller than Springer, mostly curves instead of angles but otherwise sporting a clearly cybertronian design with the wings on kibble attached to her arms and some more kibble on her back. Moonracer was pretty sure that all those extra smaller fins around her large wings and at her feet must be some detail particular to Slipstream; they looked somewhat out of place, for some reason.

"Took you long enough," Slipstream said, not looking at either of them, and Moonracer looked around, confused. The clones had left the other end of the room and four weapons went up to point at the damaged clone - the one that had come with them raised its hands, and when the other one didn't attack...

"We oughta get rid of it," Cliffjumper muttered with a narrowed stare at the damaged one, and then at the other one, shaking his helm. Slipstream chuckled as she, too, eyed the clones narrowly. Moonracer vaguely agreed, but... extra firepower was extra firepower, wasn't it?

... As long as they weren't shot in the back.

A faint crackle from another screen made them all tense as they turned around.

"So destructive without some proper regulations and limits put in place... and off buttons. I see you succeeded, my dears. Congratulations are in order I suppose, but what do you even hope to achieve? Even machines can be shut off, and however you freed the template, you can't reach all of our appliances," the bulbous-headed quintesson from earlier smiled narrowly at them, the ends of the tentacles wiggling disturbingly along the bottom of the screen.

"If you haven't figured it out by now, you might be surprised," Springer said with a sharp, lazy smile and hefted his blaster against his shoulder, "and we work best in adversity---" Springer jerked and Moonracer had to duck as Hot Rod fired, destroying the screen and disconnecting the quintesson scientist again with a scowl.

"Can we go? Who knows what they're doing to Arcee!"

--------------------
Iacon, Autobase, Optimus Prime's room.

He came online with a lingering dull ache and accompanying heaviness in the back of his helm, which trailed down in bright rays into his neck and beyond. It was impossible to not recognise that, because few knew how to hit exactly right. Or wrong, as the case may be.

"... Megatron..." groaning, he extricated his arm from where it'd been partly trapped underneath him and rubbed his neck and back of his helm. He'd relaxed far too much around the other, regardless of the situation, if Megatron was capable of doing that with no difficulty.

And what had happened after he---

"Glad you can still tell my handiwork from someone else's, Prime." The chuckle wasn't quite mocking, but all the same all too familiar and Optimus sat up fast enough his gyros spun, leaving him dizzy and defeating the purpose of getting upright fast since he had to pause. He didn't end up attacked, however, so it didn't matter in a way. Squinting at the mech sitting stretched out in a chair on the opposite end of the room as he rubbed his faceplate, Optimus shook his helm.

"Only you would know well enough where to hit to take me out like that. What did you do?" Because he must have done something. Megatron wouldn't just put all possible decisions to be taken on hold when he had such a perfect opportunity, regardless of if he had opposition.

"Do? Why would I have done anything beyond shutting your idiot aft up?" Megatron smirked, wide and not particularly nice and not at all phased by Optimus' flat stare back, "you brought it on yourself, Optimus, trying to hand yourself over. I'd have hoped you'd have thought of handing over the Matrix for safe-keeping at the least before you put yourself in quintesson hands, but it seemed far more expedient to put a stop to the idiocy immediately than check that you thought of that later, and I don't need to lose more troops than necessary when your idiot forces try to rush Quintessa to get you back. Even if that would lessen any resistance that could be mounted later."

Another smirk, far too intent to even be half-way joking.

"Megatron... answer the question." He still had a processor ache from sensor nodes being brutally squashed between armour and the processor modules and probably some scraped wiring as well - his self-repair was working on it, but it'd take a bit yet - to deal with this.

"Nothing's been done yet," Megatron said with a glowing roll of his optics at the floor and a wave of his hand, making Optimus realise he wasn't wearing his fusion cannon, "you can check with your second and Ultra Magnus if you want... and that wandering red scrapheap is right outside. All I did was set in motion for a preliminary distraction group that would 'offer' themselves up as a delaying tactic. Since you dimsparks wouldn't be able to stand if too many mechs died on Quintessa." Another roll of his optics and Optimus knew what Megatron was thinking.

Acceptable losses, they didn't even know those slaves after all. Acceptable losses in the face of keeping themselves free and capable of striking back, and maybe that was military sense, but to him? He couldn't accept that. Most of the Autobots wouldn't either. There was nothing such as 'acceptable losses' when it came to cybertronian - or human, or any other alien if they'd been caught up in their war or as an attempt by the Decepticons to subjugate them - life, especially innocent such.

"Distraction..?" he trailed off, quickly checking in with Ironhide - who had to be talked down from storming inside and tossing Megatron out - Prowl, Magnus and then Alpha Trion.

"Not a complete waste of an idea, I suppose. Solus has offered to be one of the group and can make sure we'll get into the city easier. Something to nullify the Unicron-like emanation apparently," Megatron said with a grunt, rubbing his chin, and if that could be done... It would obviously make things far easier and hopefully less disastrous than the recon group's result to get into the city.

"If you can stand up without pitching over, we're ready to leave."

Looking up, Optimus frowned at the shamelessly amused smirk shining from Megatron's bright optics as he stood up and crossed the room. This time there was no punch thrown, only a hand offered, palm up. The deepening grin on Megatron's faceplate made it obvious he'd seen the narrowing of Optimus' optics.

"No thanks to you." And yet he took the offered hand and was, with only slightly more force than necessary, hauled upright. Megatron's hand lingered, then, and Optimus caught the mech's optics even as he, too, didn't shake his hand free.

"No, it's all thanks to me, Optimus," Megatron said, and Optimus let him raise their joined hands because he knew he could get out of the steel-firm grip it was in, and because he knew there was nothing that would be done to it right now that was... offensive. Though Ironhide would undoubtedly have protested the brush of Megatron's lips against the back of his Prime's hand.

"And that, Megatron, is not a positive claim, I hope you are aware." He slid his hand out of the grip without any issue and reached past where Megatron would normally have torn his hand away and thrown him for getting too close. Those optics were intently glittering burgundy as Optimus cradled the side of Megatron's helm, thumb sliding from lips to along the sharp angle of a cheekplate and down the cleaning groove in his cheek.

"Depends entirely on how you see it and what your goal is, doesn't it? You're an archivist, Prime. You should know." Mocking, challenge and alluring promise all in one, and Optimus, after a moment of silence, snorted and dropped his hand.

"Perhaps. I doubt a lot of other species would agree, though. Or many of our own." Quite a lot wouldn't be on board with going on a conquering rampage across the galaxy, after all, even if they wouldn't have to join in the fighting. Supporting the war machine with civilian effort was still assisting it, after all.

"And yet there's some who would."

He didn't even bother to reply to that, rather turned his back to Megatron with all the apparent care of someone suicidal, and went for the door. Megatron chuckled behind him and then followed, gathering his weapons from a glowering Ironhide when they got outside.

::Are we ready, Prowl?::

::As ready as we can be.::

They had other things to do before there was a chance Megatron would rally the Decepticons around his cause of recreating a 'glorious' past as their rightful due and purpose again, after all. Part of which involved saving some of their kin, part of which involved the aliens keeping those kin both as slaves and hostage and wanting to do the same to the rest of them.

--------------------
Quintessa, an elevator somewhere in a quintesson city.

If Moonracer wasn't busy coding the elevator to drop them - she was relatively sure - on a level with a communications hub, she'd absolutely have been laughing at Hot Rod's extremely frustrated pout and wound-wide bright optics as he tried to convince Springer to let him take the gun Springer had made him hand over to Slipstream back.

He wasn't having much luck, and she had to tune out his complaining to concentrate so she got this right. No matter how complicated and labyrinth-like quintesson city layout and buildings seemed to be, they had their own extremely rigid logic, which Moonracer was taking advantage of now.

It was just a question of not letting the ache in her wiring from that noise distract her, or get confused as she had to rely on what she remembered from her time in slavery and no longer immersed in the quintessons' information network. Slipstream had tried first since she had been hooked up to their computers, and then admitted that while she'd been hooked to the systems for a... very long time, she'd been barely aware or in outright stasis-lock, and so she couldn't remember enough.

"Okay, done! This ought to get us where we need to go," Moonracer said with a smile that was mostly forced, but at least no one pointed out the huge 'if' in that statement. They all knew it was an if, a maybe, and what would probably happen if they didn't end up where they needed to be. No need to point it out or blame the only one of them who had the best chance of getting them where they needed to go.

"But she's got---"

"Afraid of aerial cooties, hot shot? I promise I'll take good care of your dinky blaster," Slipstream said with a slow smile that showed far too much teeth and enough humour in her tone to have Hot Rod puff up - both figuratively and literally, as his armour shifting outwards, loosening in its seams at her tone. Especially when she drew a finger down the length of the gun, quirking an upper optic ridge at him.

"And don't you worry your shiny little helm about it, I'd rather use my arm cannons, but with a lack of extra resources to dedicate to the cannons, they are, unfortunately, rather useless. The only drawback with frame-connected weapons." Shrugging, Slipstream (and everybody else, though Cliffjumper had had to swallow a snort and Springer had to look away to hide his smirk) ignored his blush-brightened optics and sputtering at her comment about his shininess as she looked over the blaster and nodded.

"Not too bad." And then she winked at Springer, while still ignoring the once-again puffing Hot Rod. Springer, of course, winked back.

Moonracer shifted on her feet and, despite her amusement, wasn't sure what to think of Slipstream- she was funny but her humour carried a constant edge of sharpness to it... and even when she just stood there there was a faint air of amusement about her. As if she knew something and found it funny, even if she'd only come online just a few kliks before and only had enough fuel and energy reserves to keep up with them.

Besides that, the elevator was now kind of... crowded. Slipstream wasn't small, and neither were the two clones that stood against the wall. They weren't squashed, but there wasn't a lot of space either. Especially not for their EM fields, which meant they were all shifting around slightly at the constant, crackling tension of charge pushing against them and inside their little bubbles.

It was frustrating, but it'd be over soon. Though, Moonracer thought Hot Rod probably felt the need for things to be over soon far more sharply than anyone else of them. She tried not to laugh at his blush and the way he continually looked away and then back at Slipstream where she leaned against the wall opposite from where the clones stood. Before Hot Rod could burst from Slipstream grinning at him, her optics flickering up and down his frame and Springer would have to intervene, the elevator slowed down and then stopped.

"Moonracer, with me. You two, in the rear, one in the air, the other on the ground," Springer said as he eyed the clones and while there was no way of knowing if both of them would do as told or... anything, really, at least the one who'd come with them from the beginning inclined its helm just as the doors slid open.

Springer burst out and jumped sideways, dragging Moonracer with him and already firing into the scattered group of hulking guards gathered outside. Not enough for the quintessons to have known they'd come out right here, but they were, obviously, on high alert. It was only a matter of time until the corridor got flooded... and probably not just by the various quintesson guards, but by those they wouldn't actually want to fire on.

"Down the corridor!" Moonracer called and pointed while they ran, then abruptly switched to a close-band encrypted frequency, ::The sixth door, past the arch.::

Slipstream suddenly dropped towards the floor from above them, falling right into two guards. As Moonracer and Springer ran past with the others following, she could've sworn Slipstream had just used her wings to slice open the softer metal... if it was just metal... of the throat of at least one of the guards while she shot the other in the chest, ignoring them trying to whale on her. She staggered upright, disentangling from the pile, and shot down the corridor to join them, barreling through another handful of guards in passing and allowing 'their' clone to shoot them down.

Moonracer, even as she fired without completely having to look and unerringly hitting her targets with an ease that was both startling and familiar, noticed that the clone that they'd picked up in the cloning chambers wasn't doing much. It was mostly lumbering after them in the rear, not firing in a proactive way... but also not stepping out of the way, allowing anyone else to be hit. It rather countered when fired upon while 'their' clone gave some active aerial support from the rear.

Slipstream, after her first burst in the air, was now running alongside the rest of them, every other step making her wobble - but she didn't collapse and she kept up. She was also fast enough to be able to ram herself into any guard that came close enough and then catch up with them and she seemed to take singular pleasure at tearing into those unlucky guards.

"Fraggin'--- got company we definitely don't want!" Cliffjumper yelled as he pointed past them, which revealed a flat-expressioned squad of cybertronians, equipped with the energy lances that seemed to be the standard.

"Doesn't matter! In here, now!" Springer nearly destroyed the opening mechanism for the door as they reached it, but it opened obediently and Moonracer was first in, followed by Cliffjumper and the nearly drunken-seeming new clone. She didn't wait for the two quintessons in the room to turn around; she just fired and then dashed across the floor, pushing them out of the way.

"We can hold the door, Moonracer, but not indefinitely. Do what you need to as fast as possible," Springer called from the doorway, having pulled Hot Rod to his side when the mech came barreling through, with Slipstream on the other side. Cliffjumper had been motioned up to stand beside Moonracer, providing extra cover while their clone hovered near the ceiling of the room, and the new one just stood off to the side, expression sort of empty.

She resolved to not pay attention to anything that might be happening behind her, only what she needed to pay attention to.

That was, this console and to find the way to broadcast the hack as loudly and clearly as possible all over Quintessa.

This was it.

Chapter Text

Quintessa, Jetfire and Starscream's currently joint mindscape. At the same time Moonracer and the others are freeing Slipstream.

Starscream was frustrated. While he could, of course, understand Jetfire's refusal to just hand over control, he needed to feel a proper frame around him again. Maybe it'd just been a few... days? since his apparent... death, and maybe he'd spent most of that stuck inside that giant ship, but that neither counted nor were the same thing as a chassis.

The ship had been an empty struggle trying to grasp awareness of his surroundings and self - he could feel through it, yes, but it'd drawn him thin enough that it basically had left no self to appreciate the information he was getting from the ship's sensors and radars.

Utterly, insultingly useless! He'd been used, and that left a slowly seething rage warming up the still-thin outer corona of his spark. And either way, if there were some sort of obstacles to deal with outside, he was surely the better choice!

But of course Jetfire wouldn't just give him control, even if he should. It wasn't like he would do that for anyone else, not even the mech right in front of him if the situation was reversed, but that wasn't the same thing. Jetfire should, and that little thought drew from the lingering affront, frustration and the affection he knew Jetfire had for him.

Of course, if Jetfire had just handed over control to him, the respect Starscream had for him but wouldn't admit he had - was not even really aware of not admitting to having it - would've dropped like a rock. Jetfire had a strong will, had always had that, and that was part of the reason they'd ever gotten as far as they had. Even (especially) back when the air guardian had been full of a certain naïvety, his optics bright with newness and before all of this had hardened the edges, he'd still been willful.

If he hadn't been, Starscream would've run him down, trampled over him and left him behind without a thought, like had happened to many others in both the academies he'd joined.

So looking up at the softened expression, optics dim in a sort of relaxed trust he wouldn't ever have expected to see again, regardless of their current... ah, relationship or not, Starscream could reluctantly admit to being pleased to see it.

That wouldn't stop him.

"I'll go have a look," he said with a smirk and propelled himself backwards from Jetfire, ignoring the startled protest and Jetfire trying to reach for him. He just made half a turn through the little garden that represented the core of Jetfire, briefly reaching out to touch the central constellation-sculpture, and was gone through one of the doors.

Jetfire shouldn't have relaxed.

Anyone else trying to invade or leave would probably have been stopped before they had a chance to get this far, even with Jetfire having dropped his guard. Starscream was, instead, tearing through strangely sun-lit corridors that, in the real world, had long been nothing but ruins.

If nothing else, he knew Jetfire well enough that he could take advantage of the slightest little give fast enough he couldn't be stopped.

Probably how he'd managed to shoot the idiot jet with his null ray back in the pit with the rareified energon, because Jetfire ought to have known better!

A last, sun-drenched rush and it melted out into an explosion of sensation of an idly working engine, fans in vents working, cables flexing and pistons keeping rigid, and Starscream staggered, almost falling backwards. He steadied himself at the last moment, twisting around to try and see why he'd almost---

Oh.

The giant rock Jetfire called a flight array, with those stupid extra boosters on top of the normal ones that his wings were attached to.

"And you claim to not have an ego," sneering, Starscream shifted his shoulders, flicked his - Jetfire's - wings, and straightened up. Perhaps this would work, even with Jetfire's ridiculous frame.

He felt... solid. He actually felt present and couldn't help the smirk as he patted the Autobot insignia engraved on the metal above Jetfire's cockpit, since that was here the spark chamber was located, underneath the metal.

"Don't be such a worry-wart. Like I said, not gonna let anything happen." Well, that was probably a truth with modification, but it worked just as well as the actual truth. At least he didn't usually toss himself into, or stayed in, fights he couldn't win. Like some other people he could mention.

There was still a bright agitation from, what he assumed was Jetfire's spark, but Starscream tuned that out with another pat and actually paid attention to his surroundings.

If nothing else, Jetfire had been correct in his assumptions that they were alone wherever they'd ended up. And given that where they'd ended up wasn't space, or on the ground somewhere presumably on Quintessa since logically the quintessons' home planet would be their flagship's destination... Or even at all close to anything that looked like a space bridge? It looked like there'd either been a malfunction in the space bridge portal, or they'd been... redirected?

"... Didn't know that was possible." Crossing his arms - or, well, attempting to at first because he misjudged the circumference of them, and why the blast was Jetfire so huge? - Starscream frowned.

He was standing in the middle of two half circles of computer consoles, with amphitheater-like seating leading upwards to the walls. Turning around until he stood facing one of the breaks in the two half circles, there was a stair instead of seating which lead up to a... an occupied chair.

Tensing, he tried to engage his null-rays, realised they weren't there and swore--- And then realised the frame in the chair was a uniform dull gray, and that every limb lay splayed in limp nonfunctionality.

If that mechanoid was alive and Starscream didn't really believe it was, it certainly wasn't conscious.

It also didn't look particularly cybertronian, even if there was something about the angles and seamlines in the frame that still seemed to suggest familiarity if nothing else. Frown deepening, Starscream activated the thrusters to go have a look.

"If that could wait for a moment, I would be obliged."

"Gah---!" Whirling around, Starscream was already half hovering and ready to either tear whatever intruder he'd apparently missed apart, or try to find an exit. Instead he simply ended up staring at the green-toned hardlight hologram standing in the middle of the circle made by the consoles.

"... And what the blast are you? The dead guy's vanity project?" giving the hologram a sneering once-over, because it did really look like the mechanoid on the... throne... up there, Starscream snorted and shook his helm.

Depending on how useful it was, it might, at least, reveal where they were.

"Ah. That is... not quite correct," it said it with a slow, almost sweet smile and a flicker of its optics that rubbed Starscream entirely wrong and he glanced around, immediately tense. Nothing happened.

"And while it has been a most interesting sort of experience, I would rather wish to not explain this more than once. I need to talk to both of you, so if you could be obliged into possessing my chassis, that would be more expedient than anything else currently going on or that could be thought of."

"Your..." staring from the hologram that he couldn't tell if it was being creepy or not, to the apparently actually dead mechanoid up on the chair, Starscream grimaced, "fine. Your body. And if I agree to this, which I don't see why I should since there's absolutely nothing in it for me, how in the pit do you expect me to possess something that can't support a spark?"

Crossing his arms - this time with no issue - Starscream smirked and felt pleased. No way was he just going along with this like an idiot. The hologram eyed him with a lingering look and a slight tilt to its helm that brought to mind a particular sort of scientific interest. Starscream found he didn't much like it aimed at him.

"You're not going to be able to get out of here without assistance. This... chamber is sealed off from the rest of the world."

Starscream had never heard a blander indication of 'so you're stuck here (unless you do as I say)'. There wasn't even anything overtly malicious in the hologram's tone. More like politely informing him of an absolute fact. Not that he couldn't technically leave if he wished to. It would just mean leaving Jetfire's chassis (and Jetfire) behind.

"Say I believe you, that still doesn't fix the issue of the fact that, if you're dead your frame isn't fit to support a blasted spark, you imbecile!" What did he do to deserve idiots like this? Just because he could apparently survive being killed and posses other people didn't mean the frame could be in any random condition. Because if that was the case, he should just have been able to drag around his own scraps while possessing the shot-through frame.

"There's energon on the other end of the room, and a container there. Bring some with you, and I'll show you what needs to be repaired."

Following the gesture, Starscream did find a pool sunken half a step into the floor on the opposite end of the room from the seat where the body sat. Perfectly in view from the seat's elevated position, actually. Quirking an upper optic ridge, he picked up the finely wrought metal container and dipped it into the nearly luminescent pink liquid.

"If there's energon in here, how come you died? Too busy to refuel?" sneering even as he parted his lips to catch the faint fumes from the energon, he quickly realised how pure this was, and while this might not actually be his body, he was presently inhabiting it...

So he emptied the container in one fell swoop because if there was something wrong with this? Well, he could always help Jetfire later if something happened.

"Motor functions were removed. It wasn't here to feed me, you see," the hologram said where it was floating beside Starscream. When he looked up at it after refilling the container again, it smiled blandly again – that almost sweet one that perhaps wasn't supposed to be creepy, but still looked like it.

"So vicious... merciless in their amusement. If they weren't fundamentally tainted it would have been interesting to see how they developed..." It shrugged and said nothing more, and Starscream sneered but didn't ask. Rather he got to his feet - nearly pitching over again thanks to Jetfire's blasted flight array and he'd disconnect it if he could figure out how - and crossed the room to the stairs. Walking up them, he glanced at the hologram floating along beside him.

It looked so slagging weird, lacking feet and trailing tentacles along the fuzzy bottom of the projection.

"I could just hack the computers down there."

"Unless you know the quintesson language, I doubt it. But it would be interesting to see how our language adaption programming has developed, so by all means, you are free to try. I can wait. There is nothing on those computers, however, that would allow you a way out of here," it gave him another far too intense stare, amusement somehow projected from those flat, flickering impressions of optics.

That stare raked down his wiring all wrong and Starscream almost turned right around to do as he'd threatened. Even if he couldn't hack it, Jetfire had that... symbol understanding thing going on, so maybe he could...

Briefly nudging Jetfire got a (of course) 'we should see what he has to say', however, and Starscream huffed.

"If this traps me here I'm going to destroy both of you," he muttered as he stared at the... corpse. It still didn't look cybertronian, even if it most probably was considering energon was apparently used in refuelling. It just... looked very, very odd. There were two sets of arms, the upper set huge, obviously capable of pulling huge weights. In fact, that upper set of arms was almost grotesquely large compared to the lower set, which was far more delicate. Those two smaller arms also had five proper fingers on each hand, while the upper set had two fingers that were basically enlarged into claws.

It looked hilariously clumsy and impractical.

The bottom tapered off into armoured plates with no legs. Rather snake-like, if snakes happened to have tentacles bursting out of their ends, which trailed over the platform the chair sat on like limp vines. If the frame had an altmode, it would be weird and probably animalistic - around the neck was a protrusion like a fanged lower jaw, and from the back rose the other half of the head of whatever creature it was.

The faceplate of the mech in question was... long, fine-lined. Delicate, almost. Though a delicacy offset by five optics, four set two and two above each other and the last at the root of the nasal ridge.

In short, absolutely, utterly ridiculous. Not to talk about ugly.

"Close the opened fuel pump and the panels in the side... yes, there. They did not afford me a fast death, contrary to their usual actions... and then... mmhm, exactly," the hologram spoke, shrugging when Starscream gave it another arched stare when he removed the clamps keeping the empty and bared spark chamber open and also the plates that would cover up the spark chamber, "they wished to be sure I would actually - eventually - extinguish, and weren't sure merely letting the energon slowly drain would would be sufficient."

With the clamps gone, the torso shuddered jerkily and then the spark chamber and the plates closed up. A last, protective motion delayed for... however long the frame had been left like this. Closed up, the rounded chestplates revealed an amber-coloured stone - crystal or gem of some sort, he wasn't sure, though Jetfire probably would the silly know-it-all - set into the chest. Within it, intense threads of yellow, red, and seemingly displaced-looking bright blue danced.

Staring at the greyed-out frame with its one point of defiant colour, Starscream grimaced. He felt absolutely no desire to jump to that compared to where he was now. Jetfire's frame may be ridiculous and stupidly oversized, but it was Jetfire. That, however?

Disgusting.

"I could leave."

"Hmm... you could." the hologram's helm was tilted when Starscream glanced at it, and there was that intense curiosity again. "In fact, you're perfectly free to do so. Your companion would be capable of assisting me and I would get him out after he lent his aid."

Starscream couldn't tell if that close scrutiny was from it wanting to see him jump frames or float around frameless for whatever reason, or if he would leave Jetfire. And he could leave. Jetfire could take care of himself, after all. But if he left, he might miss something that could be of use. With a growl, he collected himself and jumped.

Jetfire staggered, almost dropped to his knees, and flailing reached out out for something to support himself - a little warning next time, Starscream? His hand hit something too soon to have reached the floor, and when his visual input stabilised he saw he was grabbing the arm rest of a chair. A chair with the corpse of the hologram Starscream had mentioned.

"The motor functions aren't just disabled, they're severed!" If there was anyone capable of sounding thoroughly offended even when having been informed of the fact prior to being subjected to the reality, it was Starscream. Jetfire snorted, suppressed a grin, and straightened up.

He still felt somewhat... unsettled. His spark somewhat jittery when coalesced and the cyberstatic energy not quite as 'full' as it ought to be when it pulsed through his frame, but it wasn't as bad as after the prolonged time the Fallen had been possessing him.

"I believe I mentioned that, yes. Otherwise I would have taken off the clamps and closed up the fuel pump myself, after all," the hologram said with a shrug. Having not been exposed to the hologram's behaviour himself, Jetfire wondered if this was an accurate representation of the individual it had been when alive, or if there were freedoms taken with how the hologram could express itself. It did things that weren't necessary – motions and gestures, and spoke with more inflection than anyone would usually bother to give your basic A.I.

"Blasted scrap," Starscream grumbled, managed to sort of wriggle the torso and then slumped, "so can we finally get to the point of who you are and why you redirected the spacebridge to put us here?"

Jetfire, who'd had to look away to not reveal his grin at the wiggle - it wasn't very nice, now was it, since Starscream had jumped frame, and to one that he didn't have full control over - put himself beside the seat so he could look at the Starscream-possessed corpse and the hologram at the same time.

"Yes, now that we're all... present and able to listen properly, it is time. I apologise for redirecting the spacebridge. You wouldn't have landed anywhere you might have wished to be if I hadn't, however, and anyone else within my reach that could likewise had assisted is currently... preoccupied, and it's best they are left to their own devices," the hologram said and Jetfire glanced sideways, sharing an arch look with Starscream.

Even when aimed at him through five purple optics there was no mistaking the particular glow... or the twist to that thin, mobile mouth. It did look somewhat strange to see Starscream's expressions on that faceplate, however.

The A.I behind the hologram must be rather advanced, to (be able to) consider all those points and extrapolate from them... And Jetfire, like Starscream earlier, wondered over its and the corpse's look. Who had it been when alive?

"While I was alive, I was known as Quintus Prime, and I was one of Primus' thirteen first."

Jetfire had to resist the urge to let out the sigh that wanted to escape. Again? Perhaps he shouldn't have wondered. He caught Starscream looking annoyed in the edge of his vision, then Starscream glanced to him and smirked and Jetfire huffed and turned to face the hologram of... apparently, Quintus Prime, again. He pretended to not hear the low chuckle from beside him. He wanted to question, to prod, but at the same time... it was just a name. One of the first or not, did it precisely matter?

... Kind of.

If nothing else, it mattered in regards to what it was doing here, so far away from Cybertron.

"Finished?" the tone of the voice was amused, as was the tilt of the hologram's helm. Starscream snorted, struggled for a moment, and then shook his helm. Jetfire was pretty sure he'd tried to wave a hand to get the hologram to continue.

"We've had... several incidents of a past we weren't aware of cropping up lately. It's been... ah, elucidating but somewhat difficult to adjust to," Jetfire said when it seemed like Starscream was going to sulk over his inability to move any of the four arms or... however many the tentacles were instead of elaborating on their reaction.

"I'm... somewhat aware, yes. My ability to glean information from my creations isn't perfect, but I can monitor through what they can see with the equipment they've put up, and the quintessons have done their level best to keep their eyes on Cybertron."

They stared at the hologram, who calmly looked back, the whole of it rippling lazily.

"What?!" Starscream got there before Jetfire, though his tone was encompassing enough he did a pretty good job at expressing the incredulity, suspicion and wariness.

"You... created the quintessons. Why?" How? whispered around in Jetfire's processor. They didn't seem like A.I, and had, he was pretty sure, some organic components - somehow - and how did you create organic species if they didn't evolve on their own? And again, why? They seemed... singularly unsuitable to interacting even vaguely beneficially with other species if their behaviour towards the cybertronians were an indication of their usual conduct.

"Why not?" there was a brief and eager, nearly exultant, smile, "I have researched many forms of life. I have created many forms of life, through methods instilled in me by our creator. So many forms of life, to see them grow and explore and interact with the world... Life is..." it trailed off, staring quietly for a moment before it focused back on them.

"I kept mostly to mechanoid species, though I did try my hand on an organic or two. It wasn't until I came here I thought to try to blend the two," the hologram had started to pace - well, float - as it spoke, spreading its hands, optics narrowed, looking at something neither the other two could see, "I'd been warned to not draw attention to myself, to not make any of my projects too large, as that might alert the Chaosbringer to us before we were ready. So I left, both to explore the various surroundings life could be kindled in, and to make sure if I did slip up I would not bring all of my siblings with me."

Pausing, the hologram of Quintus Prime turned away from them, staring at the pool of energon on the opposite end of the room. The tentacles sprouting from the hologram's bottom end shifted and rippled even when the rest was still.

"I had not considered the possibility that leaving Cybertron would leave the light of my spark bright enough in a comparatively still void that that alone might single me out. I was sure that my new creations were, simply, a bright inspiration of innovation. I chalked up their... ah... particular mentality and viciousness to their blended nature and was interested in seeing where it might go. So very, very interested in seeing how they would interact with the rest of the universe when they got that far... I noticed the touch of Unicron in my creations far too late. I'm still not sure what the Chaosbringer's intentions were with them," the hologram said, shrugging as it turned around.

"I had to leave when my siblings called me back - Unicron was approaching. It was... a taxing fight. I'm not sure how much of me - any of us who survived - actually survived, but the exposure to Unicron's particular... energies," the hologram's optics narrowed again, not out of anger or disgust, but rather a sort of terrifying curiosity, "made me realise what had happened to my latest creations. I couldn't leave them like that, so as soon as I was able, I returned here, to try and purge the touch of the Chaosbringer. It might have been interesting to leave it, but the taint had been introduced in an uncontrolled fashion..."

The hologram sighed, a ripple of lime-coloured light through the darker greenish hard light projection and shook its helm slowly.

"My words didn't reach them, and in the time I'd been gone it was clear they hadn't just found out about the taint and the origin of it... but was embracing it. It would have been interesting to see them control it, but what they ended up as, and are now... is an epidemic on the universe. I might be curious, but letting the touch of Unicron linger in such a way was simply unconscionable. In an attempt to stall and find out a way to simply terminate the project so I could start over in a far more controlled fashion, I agreed to do it their way."

Jetfire stared. Slowly shook his helm and dragged a hand down his faceplate. While he wasn't sure how he felt about the mention of simply 'terminating' them, that Quintus seemed to want to fix it by just starting over... Curiosity was one thing. Scientific research and search for knowledge was one thing as well. This seemed... to be simply for its own sake, regardless of the consequences.

"A trial," Starscream said, and those two words held a universe of scorn. Jetfire was pulled out of his thoughts and frowned. Regardless the questionably flippant mention of simply 'terminating the project', from what Jetfire had seen of Kledji's contact with them so far, such a trial would be anything but fair, and that Quintus been tricked into agreeing to that...

"Yes. A trial. A trial which did not end... ah, to my benefit. As far as I'm aware, I'm the only individual they put to trial that has been deemed 'guilty'. They generously offered me a stay of execution if I would reveal how I had created them and share this ability with them. I... declined. Had the circumstances been different, I might have revealed it to them. I didn't really expect them to go through with it... and I didn't expect them to be able to overpower me. We had defeated Unicron, after all, and these were paltry shadows of his through my own hand." There was lingering arrogance and surprise in the hologram's tone of voice in those last few words, and Jetfire shook his helm. With such an attitude it wasn't surprising, and Quintus had probably still been fascinated enough that he hadn't put up as much of a fight that he probably could have done... Though perhaps he wasn't configured for fighting, like Alpha Trion didn't seem to be, so that might have hindered him as well.

"And yet... I was left here. All I wish for you to do, now, is to take that gem in my chestplates back to Cybertron - does any of---" the hologram suddenly stopped speaking, tilting its helm and the whole hologram went sort of fuzzy at the edges.

"Your... ah, siblings? Alpha Trion is on Cybertron and Solus---"

"---is alive, yes. If you could give it to her when you all return to Cybertron, I would be much obliged." Quintus' hologram was suddenly focused again, and Jetfire nodded slowly, optics narrowing even as he turned to the corpse Starscream was possessing.

"Question... you seem unusually responsive and intuitive, even for an A.I based on someone's actual personality. The last time I... ah, encountered something similar the mech in question wasn't dead, and was using a hologram to communicate," Jetfire said as he trailed a finger over the gem set in the chestplating of the chassis, but he was looking at the faceplate. The faceplate which was making a grimace at him and he held back a lopsided grin.

He wanted to kiss that grimace, but that wasn't Starscream's faceplate. Possessing that chassis or not, kissing a dead mech's lips wasn't something he wanted to do. Even when everything strained to properly touch, and Starscream was now staring narrowly at him, those thin lips pursed in thought.

"Life is a curious thing, and while spark energy, while resilient, ultimately is rather fragile outside of particular circumstances, I still managed to save a thread of my extinguishing spark where I stored this A.I."

"You sound like someone else I know who can't keep his one-eyed, fat fingers out of anything with a bit of spark energy either," Starscream snapped as Jetfire pulled the gem out and then leaned forward, briefly resting their foreheads together.

Before Starscream could protest – or demand this go further that might be implied in the way he tilted the helm just slightly and pushed Jetfire straightened up, tucking the gem away in subspace.

"And what now? Got anything else utterly amazing to reveal or can we go?" Starscream's biting tone matched his expression. He was so utterly done with this blasted slag and he wanted a new chassis like yesterday. And not just because while possessing people might be interesting and something to explore, he had other things to do that required his own blasted frame, thank you very much. He didn't glance at Jetfire when that thought passed through him.

Quintus' hologram seemed unmoved at the vitriol aimed at it and instead tilted its helm and fuzzed out again.

"... Soon. Given the situation I will be matching your leaving with others' too, if things go well."

Frowning, Starscream glanced aside and shared a look with Jetfire at that.

Others?

--------------------
Quintessa, a monitor hub elsewhere.

The room was positively boiling with the hissing shrieks of lasers, which didn't make it particularly easy to think. Especially not with Cliffjumper yanking her out of the way every few moments to avoid the lasers flying into the room. That also made it harder to do what she was trying to do. Every blast scoring into the consoles and screens, further, decreased the chance of success. If something broke...

Then she was yanked again, fingers flying by keys and dials and almost messing up the progress she had so far.

"Ack! Cliffjumper, can you stop that!" It was an unreasonable request, she knew that. By the glare Cliffjumper levied up at her, he found it to be as well.

"Yeah, I would, if ya could actually handle gettin' scrappin' shot in the back!"

"... Sorry," Moonracer said with a grimace, then gave him half a smile. Cliffjumper snorted and cracked his elbow into her hip - not too hard, and it was obvious what he meant.

"Yeah, yeah. Just get on with it as fast as you can," Cliffjumper said, his voice briefly softening at the end before he turned back towards the front of the room, firing at the quintessons in the entrance again. If nothing else, if nothing happened they could keep this room as long as they had ammunition. But Moonracer knew they were fighting against the clock, because the quintessons had a planet full of potential hostages. Not that this thing from the start hadn't been a hostage situation anyway, and negotiation had been out of the question from the very beginning.

Gritting her teeth and ignoring the skipping warble of her engine, Moonracer turned to the console again, trying to get as wide a reach as possible. It required remote-hacking of some other monitor hubs to slave them to this one so they'd broadcast along with it, which was why this was taking time. Not to talk about that hacking wasn't something she'd really done before, but some of the commands just stood out to her and instead of questioning it (she probably should), she just followed them.

But hopefully this wasn't a trap. Hopefully this would be enough to encompass the whole of Quintessa, and all she needed to do was---

"Stop firing, stop!"

Whirling around with a jerk at Hot Rod's cry, having been a bare shade away from plugging in the dataslug containing the hack for the slavery shell program to broadcast it, Moonracer clutched it to her chestplate and stared. The shrieking sounds of laserfire died down almost abruptly and no... no.

A group of hulking quintesson guards stood before the doorway, Arcee between them and weapons pointed at her. She was pointing a blaster at her own throat as well, faceplate blank.

A screen, one of the ones that were still unbroken, flickered to life and one of the minor judges appeared on it.

"Perverting the course of justice is a grave crime, but if you put your weapons down now we could be... lenient."

Chapter Text

Quintessa, the monitor hub the infiltration team is in.

This was not happening.

She didn't want to sacrifice any one of them, whether that would be Arcee, Slipstream, or the rest of them on the planet. She shouldn't have to! Moonracer, as she stood there squeezing the dataslug in her hand, briefly wondered why the quintessons hadn't brought out the 'all the slaves are hostages and we'll kill them off if you don't give up' threat again. Instead they were confining themselves to these more limited pressures... even if that was admittedly very effective in regards to Hot Rod.

Maybe they didn't want to repeat a threat, since it'd lack proper drama?

It seemed terrible to think such a thing in this situation, especially as it sort of made her want to grin. It also seemed terrible because despite (maybe because of) how the quintessons were, she could... really see this being true, especially with how terrible it was. The quintessons were a particular sort of cruel that served few ends - among those their own amusement and whatever might inflict the most damage (mental as well as physical) on their victims.

"Well?" the judge's eyes, burning orange in that wide, supposed-to-be-jolly face, slid over each of them and then settled on Hot Rod.

Moonracer winced. Of course it'd go for him. For all that she didn't want to sacrifice anyone else, and she doubted Springer or Cliffjumper would either for as long as that was possible... Even from what little she'd seen she could tell Hot Rod was the weak link here when it came to Arcee.

"Would you like to be responsible for this innocent lady suffering for your transgressions?" the judge spoke slowly, the smile on that mask fixed like always. There was, however, a depth to it that betrayed his enjoyment as he stared at Hot Rod. She could only see his back, but the way he shifted on his feet, the tips of his spoiler twitching on his back, it wasn't hard to tell what was going on.

If he could just not...

"Hot Rod, you better keep that gun where it belongs," Springer snapped, staring with a narrow, lividly neon-bright glare at the judge on the screen. Hot Rod turned his helm towards Springer, then his shoulders sagged. Moonracer hoped he'd listen. She wasn't sure she wouldn't give in in his stead, or along with him, but she hoped not.

And she hoped he certainly wouldn't---

"Here."

The gun clattered to the ground with a clear ringing note, and the whisper of unpleasant static that permeated Quintessa buzzed along her wiring as Hot Rod kicked the gun towards the guards, holding his hands up in the air. Moonracer felt like her joints were going to crack from how tense they were, especially when the judge's eyes slid to her.

"Just don't hurt her."

"You're a fraggin' idiot, she's already hurt! What'd ya think bein' a slave would mean you sludge-dri---"

"Cliffjumper, mute it!" The crack of Springer's voice cut through Cliffjumper's yell and was a deeper counterpoint to the judge's laughter. She couldn't look away from those wetly glowing eyes as they stared at her, but she could, in the bottom edge of her vision, catch the tenseness along Cliffjumper's frame.

She had also heard the harsh brittleness in the words that couldn't just be brought about from a simple moral objection to slavery - there was real knowledge there. It made sense, too, given what the situation must have been after Megatron had conquered Cybertron with the Aerospace Extermination Squadron.

This was what this whole thing rode on; not just the continued slavery or regained freedom of their kin on Quintessa, but the continued freedom of the rest of the cybertronian species. All of them might not give up in the face of the threat of innocents being executed if they didn't hand themselves over. They might fight - and then they would die. Or be caught, and be reduced to the barely existing state that was living with the shell program choking you.

Her next vent out rattled the vents.

"And what about you, girl? You wouldn't let your sisters suffer for your misstep, would you?" the biting amusement smoothed out into gentleness and some of the harsh edges of that fixed smile softened into something almost like understanding.

Patronising and condescending, but understanding nonetheless.

"We would be lenient, as you have clearly been led astray by these faulty things, but you should give yourself up. Otherwise I won't be able to protect you from the full extent of the only punishment possible, even for something newly constructed," the judge said and the words slid like gold-sweetened energon and acid rain through her thoughts.

She was clutching the dataslug too hard.

"I don't think I need to tell you to not listen to him, Moonracer, but really. Don't. We'll fix this." Springer hadn't turned around to speak, his optics fastened on the judge and the guards at the head of the room. His hand, Moonracer saw, was locked tight around the grip of his gun, tension making it trembling minutely.

Not hesitation-tension, though, and that got her to loosen her own grip on the dataslug.

Sometimes...

Sometimes, no matter what you wanted, what you acted towards, you had to accept facts.

"We'll fix this, but let's do it in a way that won't get Arcee killed! We can do that!" Hot Rod cried and she wasn't sure if he was ready to jump her or the quintesson guards. It didn't matter, though. She'd already decided, no matter if it would hurt her - and Hot Rod, and more specifically Arcee---

::Heads up!:: Slipstream's voice cracked through her like lightning, followed by three shots that screamed through the silence. Moonracer jerked, engine stuttering in surprise, but she'd already made her choice.

The surprise that made her feet wobbly couldn't keep her from whirling around and jamming the dataslug into the port intended for it before Cliffjumper slammed into her and sent them both clattering to the ground, out of the way of a few shots that seared past close enough to deaden the colour nanites in her right shoulder and upper arm.

"Get off!" Pushing Cliffjumper off herself, she got up on her knees and, almost missing it due to her fingers trembling, pushed the button that opened the broadcast. Staring at the screen, her vents roaring in her audio receptors and engine running way too high and wasting way too much, Moonracer glanced down at Cliffjumper.

"Um. Thanks. For... for pushing me out of the way," she smiled, ignoring the trembling edges to the smile that she could feel. Cliffjumper shook his helm with half of a tense, lopsided smile flittering over his faceplate as he turned around, shooting towards the front of the room. Glancing over her shoulders - once again surprised by the wheels and doorwings there, Moonracer was prepared for the worst.

Arcee and Hot Rod were on the ground, and she couldn't see if there was any damage - but Arcee's struggling slowed even as Moonracer stared, and Hot Rod crowed as he pulled the gun she'd been holding out of her grip. On the floor beside them one of the guards lay, two trails of smoke winding up from his head and the other guards...

Were being well and truly taken care of; Springer had apparently jumped one of the guards, wrestling with him until he could swing him around, opening him up for 'their' clone to reach out and break his neck like it was nothing. Another guard fell under Slipstream's blasterfire, and while a third behind him aimed his gun at Springer, Slipstream unceremoniously stopped firing and simply crashed down into him.

Tuning out the noises from Slipstream tearing into the guard, Moonracer just hoped that out in the corridor, if there were any of their kin there, they weren't being slaughtered before they could defend themselves. Or anywhere else on the planet. The hack for the shell program needed some time to work through the program, and until then the slaves would be vulnerable.

It was done, though.

They'd... done it.

"You will regret thi---" The screen shattered into darkness and silence and Moonracer bit her lip to keep from smiling as she glanced down at the very irate minibot beside her.

"Shut the blasted slag up, sludge-spewer!"

Moonracer stood up, feeling both like she was about to fall apart and like she could fly despite not having wings or thrusters. What did they do now?

"Moonracer, Cliffjumper! Help clear the corridor outside with us. There's some out here that needs help. You two, get these things out of the blasted doorway!" Springer's call from the doorway snapped her out of her scattered thoughts, and she was grateful for that. Following Cliffjumper and Springer out into the corridor, they stepped around the clones - even the one that hardly reacted to anything – as they got the dead guards out of the way.

Slipstream was already out there, apparently having sniped Hot Rod's dropped gun to use both, firing in different directions and trying to keep the hulking quintesson guards away from the nearly dozen cybertronians scattered on the floor of the corridor.

"Cliffjumper, help her with cover. Moonracer, you get them inside the room with me."

It was something to focus on, and despite having to dodge lasers burning past and firing herself once or twice, dropping a few guards while mostly focused on half carrying, half dragging the mechs inside it was... easy. Even when one shot burned into her right thigh and almost made her drop the minibot she was carrying, it was far easier than what had gone on just before.

And when the door slid closed behind them, Moonracer felt electrified.

One of the twelve mechs were dead, and that burned. All the others, however, were merely unconscious from having the hack working through the shell program. and beyond a few burns or twisted craters from shots having hit, they were all... in surprisingly good condition.

The hulking guards weren't that good at keeping up under consistent pressure. She was pretty sure the sharkticons were more reliable against a force that put up any proper sort of opposition, despite the look of those lumbering brutes they'd been shooting at.

"How's Arcee, kid?" Springer asked as he passed the other three, giving each of them a clap on their shoulder. Slipstream rolled her optics in a glowing arc and snorted at the clap bestowed on her, though, which had Moonracer laughing quietly. That earner her a wink from the aerial and Springer both and she grinned.

"She's... I couldn't stop her but she's..." Hot Rod didn't seem to know how to say what he wanted, and Moonracer squatted beside Springer, feeling worry bubble up to the surface again. Not that it had disappeared just before, but it'd been temporarily pushed down for a moment...

Arcee looked... well, she wouldn't offline from it, but half of her faceplate and helm on the right side was a twisted, partly melted mess. She'd apparently gotten a shot off before Hot Rod had tackled her after Slipstream shot at the guards... It was still far better than it could have been, and Moonracer allowed her shoulders – and doorwings, she found with some surprise – to sag in the relief that bubbled up.

"She'll be fine. She's though, and this ain't gonna kill anyone. The medics will fix her right up," Springer said with a shake of his helm and a smile at Hot Rod. They just needed to somehow get off the planet first... Arcee and some of the others of the eleven mechs they'd dragged inside the room started to shift, their vent-cycles and engines picking up from the slower ones of stasis lock.

"Wh-ha... I... H-hot Rod? Springer?" Arcee quite literally jerked awake in Hot Rod's arms, her functioning optic flickering unsteadily as she looked to each of them, uncertainty slowly bleeding away to be replaced by warmth. She looked further, the flickering glow brightening in surprise at the full room. Then she looked at Moonracer's, and her gaze brightened briefly as it met Moonracer's faint smile before she looked back to Hot Rod and Springer.

"Arcee! You might not wanna check a mirror before the medics can repair you, but you're gonna be fine, okay? It's all going to be fine and I couldn't just leave you and do nothing---"

"You should have!" Arcee as well as Hot Rod looked very surprised at her outburst and then she slowly shook her helm with meticulous carefulness, "thank you, though. All of you..."

Moonracer smiled, her spark chamber prickling and the cyberstatic wiring feeling flushed and tight at the same time as she stood up. She ended up helping the little green and yellow minibot she'd carried inside to stand up, as well as some of the others gathered around. Slipstream was hovering by a red and black aerial who was still offline with a tight, narrow cast to her faceplate.

"So... what'd we do now?" Cliffjumper threw an arm out to indicate the by now rather crowded room, and Moonracer looked as well. She didn't have a clue. They couldn't stay in here for too long...

The screens fizzled and flickered to life, even the previously broken ones, and all of them who were awake enough to notice tensed.

"Perhaps I could be of some assistance."

--------------------
Quintessa, the High Courtroom. Just before Moonracer activates the hack.

For all that they were tied up with handcuffs, Solus walked at the head of the small group with an ease that belied the situation. The guards around them more like trailing along rather than holding a tight formation around them, and keeping a noticeable but deniable distance between themselves and Solus.

Ironhide looked torn between supreme discomfort and furious anger, while Frenzy was sort of skipping between obnoxiously grinning at Ironhide's expression, uncomfortably shifting and trying to squirm out of the handcuffs as well as unable to decide whether he wanted to walk close to the other two or as far away from the Autobot(s) as possible. That of course meant he'd have to walk closer to the hulking quintesson guards with their energy lances and spikes everywhere...

::Peace, both of you. This won't take long,:: Solus kept her faceplate clear of any indication of having spoken, despite the fact that she wanted to smile. Reassuringly, sharply, predatory. The quintessons would once again learn to regret trying to kill them, control them, enslave them.

Perhaps they might even learn the lesson for the last time.

Maybe. She didn't hold much hope for that, though.

::Yer awfully slaggin' calm 'bout this, Sol-- uh, Pri... errrr...:: Ironhide stuttered as he came to what to call her, and she twitched her helm in lieu of a slow shake of it. Once again she had to keep from smiling.

::While all other weapons might have been removed, Ironhide, Frenzy still has his weapon - but don't try to use it. And I still have mine.:: She cast a glance down at the minicon, optics narrowing a little. He sneered at her and then huffed sharply - nearly rudely - over the close-band comm they were conversing on.

::And how ya gonna use your weapon if you're tied up, huh? Just lemme shout these squidheads down and lets be done with it! Fraggin' Autotbutts,:: Frenzy grumbled and squirmed again, squawking as he was jabbed in the back by a lance, then tried to kick after the guard and got whacked over the helm.

Solus resisted the static sigh, while Ironhide snorted without trying to hide it.

::These are nothing to me. Now patience!:: The sharpness of her tone - which caused both Frenzy and Ironhide to twitch and actually apparently settle down - wasn't just because they were now stopping before the stairs that led up to the Supreme Magistrate's judicial chair (more like throne). It was also because there was something here that seemed... very, very familiar.

It clung like a shadow, like always, to every quintesson they'd passed and that were gathered in the room, and it was further present in the lines of their architecture... Not the Unicron-like emanation, though. This was something else, and she... Stilling, Solus Prime narrowed her optics as she stared up at the Supreme Imperial Magistrate Kledji, but didn't see him at first.

She saw someone else, vaguely outlined in a brief greenish glow behind the Supreme Magistrate, and suddenly the lingering familiarity to the quintessons made sense. A terrible, frustrating, tragic sense, because that brief glow was not the presence of a full spark. Straightening, she put that thought aside.

"Imperial Magistrate."

"Lady."

Solus felt a corner of her optic twitch, both at the word and the tone Kledji was addressing her with. She remembered well another quintesson of the same position using the exact same tone and title to address her the first time the quintessons made official contact with them. In the interest of not stirring things up too soon - and well aware of the two black and gold mechs, standing right by the edge of the sharkticon pit in the center of the room - she merely inclined her helm.

"A pleasure that you would do the right thing and spare at least a few of your kin from a punishment others should be given," Kledji said, false amicability coming from the stout mask with its round blue and gold crown decoration, his tentacles sweeping in what could have, had he been anything else but a quintesson, been a welcome.

It's a little hard to feel welcomed when this was technically at least intended to be the first step into slavery. Not just for them, but the rest of Cybertron's population as well. It would not come to that. Ever.

"Pureslag!" Ironhide burst out before she could respond, and she merely took another half step forward to step in front of him and redirect any attention back to her. Not quite enough to make the guards do more than shift threateningly towards her, but far enough.

"A punishment you as well as we know is undeserved and a sham. Like your whole species," Solus said loudly, her voice ringing in the hall. It felt good to be able to say it. The first time she'd stood in front of the quintesson representative she'd given them the benefit of the doubt, despite the jangling unpleasantness skating along her wiring that emanated from the quintesson retinue.

Kledji stared down at her, their gazes meeting for a few quiet moments... and then Kledji started chuckling. It was quiet, nearly molasses slow, and surprisingly pleasant. The implications weren't, however.

"Ah yes. You would be claiming to have been there at the inception of your mechanical species. What proof, beyond your own probably long-since-glitched memory do you even have?"

"I don't know, Supreme Magistrate," Solus said slowly, tilting her helm as a vibration seemed to go through the air, not quite in physical hearing. The two mechs by the sharkticon pit sunk down to the floor as if their legs were no longer strong enough to hold them, their guards staring down in wide-eyed, grunting confusion. Kledji and the judges surrounding him had all stilled.

"Perhaps you ought to check your own historical records... like, ah, around the time you first made official contact with Cybertron." She met Kledji's eyes again and let a vibration slide through her arms, gathered from her own unique energy signature and make and then pulled.

The handcuffs shrieked apart under the combined assault of her strength and the shearing vibration and she immediately went for the protrusion at her back. The hammer unfolded as she drew it out and swung, sending the guards around the three of them toppling to the floor.

"The hammer!" it was a whisper and shriek in one from the gaggle of judges - they hadn't recognised her, but they apparently recognised her hammer, and Solus Prime smiled.

"My hammer, yes, and we're done wi---"

"Kill her! Kill her and drop the rest of them into the pit! They're all guilty of deceiving the court!" Kledji's bellow thrummed through the room, a surprisingly deep yell as his tentacles flailed wildly and the sickly green eyes of the snarling, green-cowled mask flashed.

"H-hey now, I ain't got anythin' ta do with her---"

Solus didn't listen to Frenzy's stuttering or Ironhide's roar at the guards to keep their 'filthy mitts' off of them all. She merely raised her hammer over her helm, met Kledji's pale, widened optics where he sat on his throne as the guards reached her...

She dropped the hammer and its head met the floor with a sound like one million bells struck at once.

The sound didn't echo.

It didn't die away either.

Rather, it grew, and every single quintesson in the room collapsed as either their legs didn't hold them or the hover mechanism of the judges cut out.

Oh, they definitely had something to do with Unicron, that much was clear.

"There we go," optics narrowed and her mouth in a flat line, Solus turned and snapped first Ironhide and then Frenzy's handcuffs, "Ironhide, could you maybe assist the two by the pit?"

Staring at her, Ironhide nodded slowly, and Solus turned to consider the quintessons on the floor again. They carried both evidence of having Quintus' touch in them, as well as Unicron's...

"What happened out in space, Quintus..?" murmuring, Solus frowned at the brief flash of green, tilting her helm at the following indistinct murmur of reassurance over a comm. frequency long unused beyond recently with Alpha Trion.

Explanation later, as well as a gift. Exit will be provided. They weren't precisely words, but she understood anyway - then an angry shriek from behind had her whirling around ready for a quintesson contingency plan.

Instead she ended up watching the black, gold and blue mech push Ironhide away, her faceplate twisted by fury. Either she was stronger than her general size and thickness of armour would suggest, or surprise made Ironhide almost fall to the ground as she staggered to her feet, snagging one of the quintesson guards' fallen energy lances up.

"Get off me! I'm--- They killed her!"

Solus stepped aside as the mech staggered up to her, merely lending her a stabilising hand to her arm. She could see where this was going, and she did not care.

"S-Shadow Striker! Wait!" the other sibling - black, gold and magenta - slowly got to her feet, reaching out for her sister to stop. But even with Ironhide, after he got to his feet, steadying her, she was not as steady and together after the shell program was removed as Shadow Striker was.

"No! I'm going to kill every single one of them! Starting with him!" Shadow Striker snarled, skipped backwards a few steps and then lunged forward, letting the lance fly. It hummed as it seared through the air.

Solus stared up at Kledji, who, like all of the quintessons, were perfectly aware of what was happening.

They just couldn't move.

His eyes widened, and the masks twitched and trembled like they wanted to twirl to change but couldn't and then the lance pierced through the egg-shaped body diagonally upwards from the bottom. The noise was wetly shearing, like metal and flesh being ripped apart at the same time.

Solus turned away from the sight and stopped Shadow Striker from picking up another of the fallen lances as a transwarp portal swirled into existence over the floor halfway between the judges' seating and the door.

"Help your sister for now. We aren't prepared for this. Yet."

Shadow Striker's optics, a livid near-red magenta, flashed as she bared her teeth in a snarl... but then her gaze wandered back to her sibling, and she slowly nodded.

"... Fine." growling, she stomped back to where Ironhide and her sibling were standing, still by the edge of the pit. Solus thought Ironhide did a rather good job at not smirking at Shadow Striker as she glared at him until he moved and then she slipped into the spot he vacated.

"Ya sure that thing's safe?" Ironhide scowled at the transwarp portal, and Solus chuckled.

"As safe as one of these things ever can get. It will get us back to Cybertron." She snagged Frenzy as he seemed about to hang around instead of leaving, probably on whatever orders might have been given him, but she wasn't going to leave anyone behind. Casting a glance around the room before she went through the portal, Solus shook her helm.

That explanation better be forthcoming, Quintus.

She knew he wasn't here any longer; whatever that was still lingering on Quintessa was a bare memory, strains of his presence. But it was enough to be able to answer her with a jaunty twinge along the comm. frequency and she chuckled as she went through the portal.

--------------------
The tomb of Quintus Prime. Now.

"I am done with this, and I want my body back as soon as we get back to Cybertron," Starscream snapped while he and Jetfire watched the hologram of Quintus Prime fuzz out while its concentration was focused elsewhere. Beside him, Jetfire shifted on his feet and glanced down, then away. The wings even twitched.

"We'll... er, get on that."

Starscream narrowed his optics. All five of them, and that was even more of a strange sensation than all the limbs he now technically possessed but couldn't blasted well move.

"What? What did you do to my chassis, Jetfire?" hissing, Starscream strained against his immobility but got nowhere. There was a burning curl in his spark, something that both wanted to whack Jetfire and slam him up against the nearest wall. Because they'd gotten all the way here and then his... death (almost death?) had inconveniently disrupted that progress and he wanted to make sure things were still as they'd been.

Especially considering how and where they'd gotten to where they'd gotten, because all that annoyance was too much effort to let it have gone to waste. He would have what was due him! But for now he pushed those thoughts away and thrust his chin out - at least he could do that - as a thought occurred to him when Jetfire didn't immediately reply.

"Don't you tell me you... Jetfire! You didn't have a funeral already?"

Jetfire winced as his tone cut through the air and then finally turned to him with a frown in his darkening optics and his arms crossed.

"Thundercracker and Skywarp insisted, and what reason was there to wait, Starscream? That sort of injury you don't recuperate from," Jetfire said and while there was implacable reason in Jetfire's voice, Starscream snarled.

"How do you know?! Look at what happened to m---"

"You can leave now," the hologram of Quintus Prime suddenly said, his voice thick with indulgent amusement as he swept an arm out to indicate the transwarp portal that had popped into existence at the bottom of the stairs, "it will take you to the spacebridge hub I'm redirecting all the portals to, and from there you and everyone else will be able to go back to Cybertron. Thank you for your help."

"This is not over, you calculator oaf," Starscream huffed with a toss of his helm and didn't bother to wait to listen if Jetfire had any protest or something to say to his defence; he jumped instead and simply took over.

This time, he didn't stagger as he settled in Jetfire's frame, despite the differences, and gave the flickering, fuzzy hologram a once-over.

"That's all?" he didn't really believe it, but even in the face of narrowed optics and suspicion thick in Jetfire's deep voice, the hologram merely smiled again - that bland, infuriating and sort of creepy smile that seemed to be his preferred one.

"Yes, that's all. I will tie things up here and make sure all get home, so you should leave now."

Starscream still didn't believe it as he walked down the stairs, but nothing happened at all as he walked. Nothing happened as he got down on the floor - beyond Jetfire trying to be difficult and get his frame back, that was. And nothing continued to happen as he went through the portal.

It was, really, sort of anticlimactic. But then his expectations might be sort of skewed.

Chapter Text

Quintessa. The Tomb of Quintus Prime.

As the portal flickered out, Quintus redirected his attention towards the other things still going on, and didn't bother with 'walking' back down to the consoles in the middle of the room. Rather, the hologram simply flickered out and reappeared in the center of the circle of computers, where screens were now humming to life.

It was a vanity, really. The A.I that housed the last threads of his spark was in the computers. He was, technically, the computers. He didn't need the screens to show him what he was looking at, because he could see it without them.

But, as said. A vanity. A small one, to alleviate the stresses of existing this way.

Soon, it would be over.

For now, though, he focused back on that monitor hub where a number of the creator's younger children were holed up, in time to watch the little red mech sputter and point at the screens. He was waving the gun in his other hand around, his optics bright and narrowed.

"--- No! You actually want to listen to somethin' that looks like a rejected experiment between one of those five-headed egg-bodied squids and one of us?" the mini snarled and looked from... Ah, yes, Moonracer, then to the big triple-changer and the Seeker... Slipstream, right, who had been hooked up to her own support system for so very long.

He didn't smirk at the minibot's description of him - it was, in a way, truer than the little mech could even know, but in a completely different way than he meant. Explaining things to yet another group would take too long, however, so he carefully kept his expression clear and left any amusement to dance among the circuits the A.I was housed in, sending shadow flickers across the remaining threads of spark energy.

"Runt's got a point, but at the same time---"

He shook his helm, let out a ripple of light that stood in for a sigh, and interrupted before Slipstream could stir up more antipathy - several of the mechs who had by now recovered from the shell program being deleted from their processors were muttering and hissing in agreement.

"At the same time, you all wish to leave as promptly as possible. I am going to assist you as I am helping the others scattered around the planet to get home," pausing, he smiled faintly and tilted his helm, "if, however, you wish to fight your way out, that is possible as well. I could give you directions to the closest spacebridge hub. It's not... advisable, however."

Really, truly, not advisable, but he knew they all knew that, so he wouldn't point it out. They were pretty well trapped, and while they would be able to hold out reasonably well in the room thanks to the door being a bottleneck and the quintessons really not possessing any greater armaments meant for ground combat, it didn't mean they wouldn't eventually lose.

Especially if they tried their luck and charged out. They didn't have enough weapons for all of them, and even with one... or two, if the second clone could be counted on, clones and their powerful weaponry, the quintessons would be able to overwhelm them.

"Not much of another option, hm," the big, green mech said as he rubbed his chin and Slipstream snorted and stood up, taking the slimmer but just as tall red and black Seeker with her.

"Where would you dump us? And what about the others? We're missing our third, where is she?" Burning, accusatory determination from a Seeker with a trine she was (or had been, back before slavery and now could be again, despite the lapse in time) intensely invested in. He spread his hands, light rippling along the hard light shapes as he generated a transwarp portal up against one of the free walls.

"The destination is the spacebridge hub I am redirecting everybody to. I'm keeping a spacebridge open there for you to go to Cybertron. As for your companion, little sister... haven't nearly all of you lost contact with someone when you were enslaved? There are many of you here, now. If she still lives and were reached by the clever shell program hack, she is now free. Hopefully you shall meet again, hm?" he smiled, slowly, blandly, and knew it wasn't reassuring in the least. He couldn't help it however, as it was always interesting to see the reactions to that particular expression.

Slipstream revved her engine, but if she was about to say something it was interrupted by one of other mechs getting to her feet.

"I don't care if it's a trap, I'm going. Not staying here an astrosecond longer!" shaking her helm, orange optics flashing, she turned on her heels and stomped through the portal. After that, the rest of the newly freed mechs went as well, though Arcee briefly had to fight against Hot Rod holding her back before she gripped one of his shoulders and stared at him.

"We need to go, Hot Rod. This is better than any other option," she said, optics bright and intent. He let her up after that, sharing a look with Springer, who nodded.

"What'd you say, mechs? We goin'?"

Cliffjumper grumbled and snarled, but he followed after the others - though not before casting a glare back at Quintus. He merely smiled at the mini, which obviously made him even less happy, but he did go through after everyone else had.

With them through the portal, he turned to the other screens which were showing a number of other locations spread all over the planet. The buildings were different, whether they were outside or inside were different. The only thing that was the one constant was at least one cybertronian plus a swirling portal in every single location.

Most of the newly freed mechs were, obviously, hesitant to simply go through a portal they had no idea where it led.

So, in the interest of speeding things along and making sure they stayed free, both because of Moonracer's effort and to make sure he didn't leave before they were all off the planet, the shadow of Quintus Prime whispered along a comm. frequency none of them knew they had. It was doubtful they even noticed it was being accessed.

Wordless reassurance, whispers of home, of safety - everything Quintessa was not. It was something of a cheat to reach this deep and to push them this way, but the light was calling him home. A home that belonged to each of these mechs as well and he was not leaving them behind.

One after the other, they went through the provided portals.

One after the other, they appeared in the huge room he'd directed the portals to, where the spacebridge that'd take them home flickered at the center. Most, understandably, were being distracted by chance reunions - he couldn't help the small smile when Slipstream and her companion apparently found their third, a sturdily built mint and white Seeker.

Would he have to push again to make them actually move..?

But Solus' bright, commanding voice cutting through the din of the growing crowd started the mechs moving, and Quintus Prime smiled.

The crowd was huge and growing larger by the moment, but the portal wasn't limited to the number that could go through, only how many could go through at once. As they went, he reached into the workings of the computers in his tomb and deactivated workings - the lights started to flicker out first, and then reached for another command.

Something popped in the silence and he stepped back from the computer consoles. Tipped the image of his helm back and felt the hard light projection start to thin as the crowd in that spacebridge hub started to dwindle as well.

"It took a while, and there were some mistakes on the way, but I believe I can come home now." There was a light in the room that wasn't quite there, beckoning from through the spacebridge portal that he was just viewing second-hand. He could still feel the warmth of that light, the colours beyond the suggestion of burning gold.

An explosion rocked the tomb, and Quintus Prime smiled.

"The children are on their way home, now... and I will be as well. Until all are---" the hard light hologram cut out as the computers exploded and the explosion spread from there to the rest of the room. The pool of energon ballooned out like an earthquake and an eruption at the same time, tearing through the room as the last few cybertronians went through the portal. The screens cracked and then melted on the last view of Solus staring at the empty room and then going through.

One.

There was only light.

--------------------
Cybertron, the Badlands. Above the quintesson city. Somewhat previous to the spacebridge portals being opened on Quintessa.

The Nemesis descended slowly upon the alien city sitting on cybertronian metal like an infected boil, engines roaring in the cooling afternoon winds. Most of the current 'crew' had had misgivings about using a Decepticon warship as their point of attack. In some ways the Decepticon warship, but since it was the best armed and armoured ship currently at their disposal, protests had been put aside. Well, marginally, since there'd still been grumbling and sharp gazes during the whole flight. Everybody had... behaved, though.

For all that Megatron cared they could've started beating each other senseless as long as they were still able to stand and shoot a gun at their destination. His only interest here was to give the quintessons a swift kick in all their five faces - and their behinds for those of them who seemed to be more conventionally built - and take something they were using away from them.

That it happened to be some of their own made it even better.

"Soundwave, turn on the autopilot for the last stretch." Knowing he'd be heard even if he currently wasn't standing on the bridge, Megatron spoke straight out into the air as he watched the ground grow closer from the open hatch he stood by. He was rather impressed that none of the closest Autobots (excluding Optimus, but even him, even with their recent... understanding) hadn't even tried, or made a single motion towards pushing him out. Not that it mattered, since they were all going to leave by the hatches soon anyway.

"Autopilot, Megatron?" Optimus shifted his helm to glance at him where he stood on the other side of the open hatch. It wasn't quite accusing... actually, it was merely pointedly curious.

Resisting the urge to sigh, he nodded. Optimus had learned a thing or two about strategy, tactics and military planning during the war, but it was still not his first instinct, obviously. He did far better when he had time to plan beforehand with input from others, as otherwise spur of the moment changes on the battlefield led to 'heroic' charges. Actions meant to minimise the casualties given that the Prime could take more punishment than nearly any other given soldier among the Autobots, but given that he was the Prime he shouldn't really be doing them either way.

"Because of the emanation the recon group encountered, Optimus. This way, there's no one that can be affected by it, thereby making sure the Nemesis isn't affected through the pilot being affected," Prowl said, having gotten there before Megatron could explain. He was amused to notice the Autobot second-in-command was studiously not looking at him, but rather the datapad in his hand. It wasn't, however, surprising that Prowl understood what his intent had been.

At least he didn't need to waste words on explaining.

"Ah. Good idea. Grimlock, you can drop if you're ready." Optimus' glance went between the two of them before he raised his voice to address the huge mech and his little group lurking further back in the room. There was a heavy, rolling snort and a low rev of Grimlock's engine.

"Sparked ready, Prime. Good. Tired of waiting." The growled words were accompanied by a rattling thump of a fist hitting a palm before Grimlock swung around and the rest of the dinobots plus those who would drop with them went to one of the other hatches.

::Thundercracker?:: Megatron wouldn't usually have to check in with his aerospace commander, but since it was Thundercracker filling the role, despite him being the most competent option at present, Megatron made sure to. He'd need to consider a more permanent option soon.

::We're ready, lord Megatron.:: Thundercracker sounded cool and collected, of course. Thundercracker was very good at presenting himself as being as together as possible, regardless of if he was.

::Drop when Grimlock does, then. You already know what you need to do,:: Megatron said and then turned his attention outwards, giving the Prime a faint, grin. It could, if one was generous, have been called solicitous. "Ready, Optimus?"

Optimus, contrary to what he probably should have done, didn't look up from checking his rifle, though he did twitch his audial finials slightly in acknowledgment when Megatron's hand landed on his shoulder.

"Considering Grimlock's going, I better be. He never wa--ah!" Optimus cried out as Megatron pushed, sending him spilling out the hatch and his optics were comically wide when he twisted around in the air.

"Megatron!" that roar was just as much bubbling over with anger as it was with exasperated frustration. Giving the falling mech a salute, Megatron turned around and smirked toothily at the slack-jawed Prowl and then tipped backwards himself.

It wasn't as if this wasn't what they were going to do either way. He just helped Optimus along.

Soon, the air above the quintesson city was dotted with dark shapes as more groups fell - Megatron noted several of the aerials had to turn off their engines and thrusters several times as they automatically tried to turn them on instead of falling. Like this, however, the rush of angry prickling disorientation that rose up from around the city like a miasma couldn't affect them on the way down.

The charge around his spark chamber flickered uneasily as he fell into the emanation's influence, but that was all.

He landed with a protoform-rattling thump, the ground ringing in sympathetic vibration beneath his feet as he straightened, cannon already humming on his arm.

"Megatron---"

He probably shouldn't be as amused at Optimus' pinched expression as he was, but he simply indulged in it for a moment and then shook his helm, interrupting Optimus before he got much farther than that.

"Focus, Optimus. We have a job to do." He waved a hand at the sharkticons that were approaching, but didn't fire into the group at first. Rather he aimed at one of the buildings to the side of the road they'd landed on, at the same time as another explosion further away rocked the city. The building crumbled, sending rubble clattering onto the street and felling the first few rows of sharkticons.

Of course they got up again, but by that time both he and Optimus were firing into the oncoming group, sending the rotund, pointy critters tumbling and wordlessly shrieking. If there was enough left of them to tumble and shriek, in the case of Megatron's cannon.

"Fine. Later, then."

He just snorted at that and when one of the sharkticons that had avoided their fire launched at them, he stopped firing, pushed Optimus out of the way and jumped, grabbing the sharkticon's upper and lower jaw in his hands when they clashed together and ripped them apart with a roar of his engine. It offered more resistance than the ones on Quintessa had so very long ago, but not by much.

And being hands on, at least, precluded staggering around due to the whisper of unpleasant aura that was stabbing down on them - though lighter than it had first been. Probably thanks to the Matrix, if there was some connection between the Unicron-like emanation the quintessons wielded and the one that had pulsed from Unicron itself.

Letting his mace fold out, Megatron almost missed his sword as he waded in among the sharkticons, easily ignoring the shrieking hiss of the lasers from Optimus' rifle.

Something was missing, here.

It wasn't that there was something necessarily wrong as they worked themselves from all directions towards what Elita and Chromia had identified to be the spacebridge hub. There was no part of his threat assessment programming that was being pinged due to probable impending ambush. The quintessons probably wouldn't even plan combat that way, even less a fight they hadn't planned for.

No, as Megatron mowed the sharkticons down and let his fusion cannon wipe out two buildings and part of the road when it seemed additional troops - larger, hulking things with spines on their shoulder armour - were about to come down own them, he just knew something was missing.

Glancing up, he caught a wing of Seekers tearing past, being able to fly - albeit more carefully - what with the Nemesis taking out the anti-air cannons and the aura muted. Thundercracker was doing his job.

Thundercracker, however, was silent.

Ah.

With a snort, Megatron kicked a sharkticon away and caught another in the back as it jumped at Optimus, even as the Prime shot it from the front. So that was it. Usually, every battle in which Starscream took part was filled with a near constant hiss of Starscream's assessment of the progression of the battle.

Things that should be done better, differently, acerbic pointers about how Megatron's on-the-battlefield orders weren't taking proper account of the aerials present, snips about this is how it's done. All the while Starscream performed to perfection. Otherwise, of course, the mech would never have ended up in either of the positions that he had held.

He was - had been brilliant, quick-witted and could respond to a battlefield in a nearly terrifyingly quick way. Of course, he'd also had to keep information and plans away from Starscream at times. His former second in command wasn't nearly as clever as he gave himself credit for, and his flexibility got tangled up in his cowardice a lot. he'd also ended up pushing Starscream too hard at first, but things had worked out. The Seeker had been perfect as a second in command and aerospace commander both, even with his annoying mouthiness and constant push for more control off the battlefield.

He wouldn't be easy to replace.

With a grunt, Megatron leapt over a fallen tangle of sharkticons, swore as his foot was snagged but turned around even as he fell, pummeling the sharkticon. Optimus caught him before he fell to the ground, pulling him away from the threatening pile up and got him upright in a single smooth motion.

He returned the gesture by obliterating half the street behind Optimus, where more reinforcements had been coming. They didn't need to speak, their optics only just meeting before they parted and continued down the street. Four millions years both against and with each other (as on Quintessa) left no need for planning or talking while they fought.

In the distance, the building that housed the spacebridge hub came closer, and on the opposite side of the city, beyond the twisting building that was their goal, a huge section of the city just seemed to collapse with a muted metal shriek and golden-sparked smoke. Did they even have mechs in that area?

Shaking his helm, because really, if the city was falling the city was falling and that was to their benefit, Megatron grabbed a sharkticon by its tail and swung it around against its fellow, feeling a smirk pull on his lips.

The silence still felt wrong, and while he knew it wouldn't ever be filled again (strangely enough he'd kept expecting it to, in Starscream's particular not-quite-nasal and static-roughened snap), but there was... maybe, someone who was of similar qualities. Leozack didn't quite possess Starscream's particular self-righteous drive to power, but he was nonetheless capable, and old enough that experience would outweigh the pure ruthless brilliance of Starscream.

It would have to do, and now that Starscream was... well, no more, he would actually be able to keep his attention someone like Leozack needed on them to not go too far.

Tossing the sharkticon he'd been swinging around like it was a living mace at the guards amassed in front of the spacebridge hub's entrance, Megatron fired his cannon at the ground.

"Megatron can you---"

The crater bloomed out beautifully, the metal turning into twisted slag and warping further away from the impact point. The front of the building trembled, sagging forwards but not collapsing. As it came to a stop, it looked for all the world like Alpha Trion or Kup had had their faces partly melted.

"Not collapse the building before we can use it?" Optimus asked with a huff as he gestured with his rifle at the building where the entrance was half melted... but serviceable. There was also a twitch at the corner of his left optic. Megatron refrained with smirking and instead ran a hand down the barrel of his fusion cannon, ignoring the heated metal.

"Visits require knocking, even if the quintessons hardly deserves normal politeness. I knocked." He said it mostly to see Optimus fight with frustration and exasperated laughter both as their forces slowly gathered in the square in the front of the building in various states of reigned in violence and a few cases needing more or less repair.

"I think they know we're here by now, Megatron," Optimus said dryly, shaking his helm as he looked around the square.

Skywarp warped in with Thundercracker, swinging a sharkticon tail around in one hand like a miniature mace and gave Elita a grin as she passed him, giving him a frown.

"Are we going in now?" she looked from Optimus to Megatron, her voice and expression tight and cool. A gun - unused - hung at her hip and she had an energo-spear in her hand. That one, at least, had been used and used well, given by the faint traces of oily residue from fluids spattered along the shaft. Chromia seemed to have taken to guns, but she had a spear slung over her back as well.

"In a moment. Skywarp! Get in there," Megatron called across the plaza, causing the black Seeker to jump and then throw off a salute at him right as he faded out in a purple hum. Barely a few second later he reappeared, this time right beside the four of them. Still holding the severed sharkticon tail.

"Looks clear, but the spacebridge was just powerin' up when I got there, so there might be reinforcements?" shrugging, Skywarp wandered back to Thundercracker at Megatron's nod.

"Fan out and see what comes through. No shooting until we know what it is." At the last, Optimus cast a glance first at Megatron and then at the rest of the gathered troops - both Autobots and Decepticons, former or not.

--------------------

It'd been hard for Moonracer to contain herself and not push past a lot of others and run through the portal as soon as they'd been deposited in the spacebridge hub room, but the others deserved to go through as much as she did. But she wanted to get back to Elita. And Chromia and Firestar.

At least it'd been cute to see Slipstream and Windblade reunite with Lyzack, though Slipstream had finally had to slap the back of Lyzack's helm as she'd been ranting about the 'the squids taking my sword! It was a gift from my brother you know that!' and so on. That sword had been lost for well over ten million years by now, so while this was the first time the Seeker would've had time to deal with it, it was long since over.

There was also something going on with Jetfire - the way he walked had changed a bit from what she'd seen last, but she pushed that thought aside as she finally got the chance to run through the portal back to Cybertron (well, hopefully) herself.

She burst out of it staggering past the mechs who'd come through with her, and room was the same one they'd left for Quintessa in. It didn't look like anyone who'd gone through had started moving from the hall, but Moonracer huffed and shook her helm.

"Sorry! Let me just--- Let me through!" she was not waiting, by the Matrix! So she gently pushed and squirmed and ducked herself to the other end of the room and took off at a run, ignoring Springer's call for her to wait a moment!

She'd waited long enough and while it'd been her own decision to do this she wanted---

"Ack!" Moonracer ran right into a huge barrel, registering a moment too late the shadow that'd been standing by the door which'd looked very different compared to when she got in here...

And there was a crater right outside...

"Uh. You guys sure know how to make an entrance, don't you?" Moonracer smiled nervously up at the tall silver mech standing in front of her. Megatron, she was pretty sure? - and he gave her an arch look and then stepped aside as Elita's voice cut through the humming air.

"Moonracer! I can't believe you---"

"Elita!" Moonracer knew that now or later, Elita would chew her out. She'd rather take later, however, and skipped across the crater and threw herself at Elita, who caught her even if she staggered back a little. Chromia grinned at her from behind Elita and reached out a hand to twine theirs together.

It was such a strange thing, being comfortable with each other because they'd worked closely together for so long, but they still didn't know each other very well since all that time had been under the quintesson shell program.

"Firestar's back at Iacon, still."

Behind them, as Elita put her back on the ground even as she continued to cling to the taller mech, others were finally starting to pour out of the building.

"Don't think you're not in trouble still, Moonracer," Elita muttered into her audio receptor, but didn't seem inclined to retake her scolding now that it'd been momentarily averted. Moonracer couldn't help it and started to laugh, burrowing against Elita. It was relief as much as it was amusement... though she wasn't sure at what, exactly. It was just good to let it out.

Chromia squeezed her hand, and Elita's hand on her back, between the doorwings and the wheels set in her back between them, was warm against her metal.

--------------------

Solus went through with Jetfire... and Starscream, though currently it was Jetfire in control. Starscream had wanted to go through as soon as possible, of course. Jetfire had apparently insisted they stay for as long as possible, and finally wrestled back control when Starscream apparently had been disinclined to listen.

The huge mech had opened his mouth a few times, but stopped himself each time with a shake of his helm when she looked to him. Whatever it was, she assumed he would tell her later. For now, they were walking after the last few handfuls through the corridor to get out into the cybertronian air.

She wished she could've spoken to Quintus - or whatever had been left of him - directly. Most of her siblings were dead and gone, and here she'd now just missed him by a shade... at least she could tell Alpha Trion what had happened to him. Jetfire had told her that much. When they finally passed through the strangely sagging arch of the entrance and ended up in a crater in front of the building, Solus tipped her helm back and let the late afternoon light warm her faceplate as Jetfire passed her.

"Megatron."

She shouldn't smile at the confusion she could pick up from the way Megatron and Optimus' EM fields jangled out at Jetfire using a tone of voice he probably never had used in his whole function. She onlined her optics in time to see a glittering sphere of energy shoot from Jetfire's chest and seemingly slam into Megatron's.

Jetfire's optics had widened and his mouth opened but froze on the wordless call as Megatron jerked, went down to his knees with a hand to his chestplate and stared sightlessly with dim optics at the ground. Then he suddenly snapped upright, engine roaring as Starscream's spark flew out again, dancing around Jetfire a few times before it hid back inside.

She was pretty sure she heard a very quiet 'almost had him. No sense of humour at all, hm, Jetfire?' before the huge jet shook his helm sharply and pinched his nasal ridge as Megatron glowered at him.

"Starscream's not... ah, dead. Somehow. I'm not quite clear on the exact... er, workings behind it, but his spark somehow hasn't extinguished. Working theory is... somehow, a more stronger connection or attraction between the spark energies," he spoke loudly enough everyone close enough - and Thundercracker and Skywarp a bit further away, could hear. Optimus stared. Megatron stared and then slowly dipped his helm to stare at the ground as he rubbed his chin. Solus was pretty impressed Jetfire seemed to have come reasonably close to the function of the type of spark Starscream apparently possessed - well, the function as far as her and her siblings had managed to figure it out.

Skywarp stared, golden optics narrow amber before he warped away, then popped back and opened a portal so he could push Thundercracker through it. They didn't come back after that.

"... Welcome back, Jetfire. And... Starscream too." Optimus shook his helm as he added Starscream at the end, and might have continued if it weren't for the ground trembling underneath them. The seams between the plates were glowing gold.

"The quintessons?" Optimus asked, casting a sharp frown around. There was, however, something in the tremble, the shade of the light... so she knelt down, tracing her hand right above the metal.

"... No. But we should get away from the city."

And as another part of the city on the other side from them suddenly crumbled in another flare of light, it seemed clear that at least some of the earlier destruction had apparently not been made by their hands...

It didn't take too long to get everybody away from the immediate area of the city, despite the amount of mechs in the vicinity. Most of the newcomers had been moving away as soon as they'd arrived, unwilling to stay close to anything that had had anything to do with the quintessons. As the sky shaded into oranges, opalescent white-gold and livid reds as the suns started to set, the light seemed to bleed into the ground around and throughout the foreign city as well.

It grew into huge arcs that lashed around the buildings and the wall that surrounded the city, and then... the planet heaved.

The ground underneath their feet trembled again and then a low, torturous sound of metal sliding against metal rose up as the light pulled on the buildings, the wall, the very ground the city was built upon. The city was torn down as much as the planet rose up around it, light and metal wrapping around and swallowing the metal it was crushing.

When the noise and movement stilled, where once an invasion point had stood in all its twisted glory was now nothing more than jagged hills rising up into a dip in the land. The liquid in the new lake glittered in the setting suns, viscous like mercury.

There was a last, shivery tremble from the ground beneath them, and then all was still. Even the aura that had clung to the air had lightened - what was left was the Badlands' usual faintly ill and heavy atmosphere.

--------------------
The Nemesis, en route to Iacon. Not quite a full breem after liftoff from the Badlands.

He knew it wasn't over, but it felt like they at least had managed to reset the board. Since thanks to Moonracer's actions (and those who'd gone with her) and Solus providing a distraction, they had gotten back, as far as he had understood, more or less the whole of the cybertronian population that had been enslaved on Quintessa. The question was now how the quintessons would react... and connected to that, Megatron.

If the quintessons retaliated, they could focus on dealing with that. If they settled back to stew in their frustration, it'd be merely a question before Megatron acted.

Was it... bad, of him to hope the quintessons proved themselves, for once, to not slink back into the shadows for what basically amounted to another slow-cooking ambush? Pulling away from that thought as Magnus shifted at the comm. station he'd been using, Optimus walked over to stand at the chair's back.

"The ships?"

"Vibes and Broadside are arranging as many as possible, but it's going to take several trips anyway," Magnus said, shaking his helm slowly. There was a quiet, nearly stunned wonder in his tone and Optimus could certainly understand it. They'd known the quintessons had had slaves. Had had cybertronian slaves.

That they were that many, however?

There'd been no way to imagine that. Their population had now basically tripled, if not more than that, from all the mechs that had come through the portal. Most of them, while waiting for transportation, were walking away from the Badlands. They'd fit as many as possible in the Nemesis, but that amount had still barely made a dent in the waiting crowd.

"I admit I thought the stream of them walking out the building would stop far sooner than it did," he said with a smile glittering in his optics, however faintly incredulous, "it's a good thing Cybertron can support the numbers again."

Magnus sat up straighter, shifting his shoulders and glanced back to the rest of the bridge - it was quite empty, with only Megatron, Soundwave, Shockwave and Prowl present.

"For now." The tired frustration in his voice was easily heard, despite that he'd said it quietly enough Optimus had had to jack up the sensitivity in his audio receptors to hear, even this close. Squeezing the nearest of Magnus' shoulders, Optimus caught his gaze, feeling that tired frustration echoed with his own.

"For now, yes. But there's still the quintesson situation, and perhaps---"

"Incoming transmission." Soundwave announced steadily, and the main screen flickered on immediately after. It showed the quintessons' high courtroom, though this time there were no blank-expressioned cybertronians being kept at the edge of the sharkticon pit, and the gaggle of judges around the throne all looked somewhat on edge.

What was (probably) interesting was that it was actually possible to tell the judge now occupying the high chair wasn't Kledji. Mostly it was something in the angle of some of the lines on the crowns on this one that differed, just enough to be noticed.

"Perhaps you would like to reconsider this whole venture?" Megatron asked, sneering as he stared at the looming image of the bulbous-crowned face on this new quintesson judge.

"In face of such overwhelming evidence, we've elected to acquit you of the current charges," the quintesson said, its small, oval eyes glittering sharply, "but you are hereby charged with the murder of the former Supreme Imperial Magistrate lord Kledji and the theft of an ancient quintesson artifact. As you further have shown to be in contempt of the court, disregarding proper legal procedures, I, Supreme Imperial Magistrate Lord Derodomontatus, declare you have forfeited any further rights to defend yourself in this court. This isn't over, cybertronians." Derodomontatus paused, and his faces twirled around nearly delicately, settling on the wide, smiling mask with a quiet click.

"But given that your actions have found me in this position, court will be back in session at a later date. Congratulations." The sneer in Derodomontatus' voice could barely contain the patronising tone, and then they were left staring at an empty screen.

That had been... sudden.

Rubbing his chin, Optimus glanced up at Megatron where the mech sat in the captain's chair at the head of the bridge.

"Would you consider extending the ceasefire, Megatron?" Tilting his helm, he gave Megatron an arch little look and got a snort in response.

"Later, Optimus. Let's clean up before we discuss anything further."

That was probably as good as it'd get, really. It was good enough for Optimus, however. As long as Megatron wasn't actively working towards his goals, that would cut down on potential losses. It was quite obvious that unless something truly catastrophically happened that would render either side incapable of keeping on going, Megatron wasn't going to stop with trying to put a cybertronian empire at the head of galactic politics, to 'protect' the species living there.

The only thing to hope for was to delay and distract.

::Are you sure this is a good idea, Optimus?:: Prowl asked quietly, coming to sit down at the station beside the one he and Magnus were at. Ultra Magnus tilted his helm, as much in greeting as in agreement with Prowl. Magnus wanted peace, yes, but given what had happened with Shockwave...

::If it keeps us from killing each other for as long as possible, I think it is. And a ceasefire will keep us all alert. We'll need something different than how Iacon is set up at the moment, though.::

Even if the city was large enough to hold the whole of the current population, even with the new additions.

::You don't think this will stop Megatron,:: Magnus frowned at him, and Optimus twitched his shoulders in a shrug.

::Not with his ambitions. Hopefully I and this... thing with the quintessons can keep him busy,:: he said it blandly, turning to stare up at Megatron until he arched an upper optic ridge at him while both Magnus and Prowl sputtered.

It wasn't perfect, but it'd have to do.

Chapter Text

The Nemesis, en route to Iacon, two breems after liftoff from the Badlands.

Hot Rod found Arcee - and Springer - standing by an open hatch, staring down at the clouds and ground below as the Nemesis flew back to Iacon. The sight of Springer's arm resting around Arcee's shoulders as if it belonged there made him want to storm up and loudly proclaim his presence. Made him want to slink back without making any noise. Made hot, twitchy energy rake down his circuits, and he tightened his hands into fists.

If that was how it was going to be, he could take a hint.

He'd just thought...

Hoped---

"Hot Rod!" Arcee's cry had him jerking up right, spoiler twitching. He ended up staring at a delicate hand held out to him, and into Arcee's smile. A smile that was brighter, sweeter, deeper than he'd ever seen it before. Not that any other smiles she'd sported had been insincere, but it was like a weight had been lifted off her...

Oh. Of course something had been lifted off her.

The quintesson slave shell program.

"Hey, Arcee... Springer," Hot Rod nodded, shifting on his feet. He felt utterly superfluous and while he wanted to walk up on Arcee's other side, because that was better than nothing, he didn't like this feeling. It was like any other times Arcee had been talking to someone else she'd seemed to really pay attention to, but this time it was worse than that.

"Hey, kid. Wondered when you'd come by," Springer said as he used the hand around Arcee's shoulders to wave him up, and with Arcee twisted around and looking at him... he came. He didn't take her hand, though, out of some sense of spiteful pride, no matter how rude that probably was.

"Lots of people on the ship, hard to find someone you're lookin' for, and others wanting help, you know, all that stuff. So what are we... you doing?" Forcing a grin, Hot Rod leaned against the side of the open hatch, wind rushing by sharply and rattling his frame.

"Just talking about getting to see and experience everything properly," Arcee said, optics and voice bright. And while there was still her usual restrained care in the tones of her voice, it was still... more. It was almost overwhelming how much more she currently was. He hadn't really paid much attention to Elita's group - mostly because he'd been keeping his distance since he got beaten up and kidnapped before the whole Unicron debacle - so he didn't have much of anything to compare to, there.

Arcee, though, he certainly had paid attention to.

"Least there's more to see than during the war, huh?" his gaze flickered over to Springer, and then back to Arcee, "though Springer can tell you all about it, 'course." Which wasn't something he could do. He hadn't been there. Not before the war, not even during it.

Arcee, not privy to his thoughts, laughed quietly and smiled.

"Sure is. But what's better is that I get to do that with you here. If you want to..." trailing off, she tilted her helm as he stared at her. He hadn't...

"But... Springer..?" Glancing from Arcee to Springer and then back, he gestured loosely at them and scowled at Springer's snort.

"You're the one actin' like this gotta be some sort of exclusive thing, as friends or otherwise, Hot Rod."

As Springer shook his helm, Hot Rod felt a burning curl of embarrassment and frustration sear through him - Springer always made him look so slagging dumb because he was so much more... well. More. Tall and imposing and knowledgeable and charmingly daring---

"Like I said... I'd love you both here, but that only works if you guys want it too," Arcee said with a weighted little frown on her face, emphasising the concern in her voice in a way that was wholly new in intensity and expression both.

"... I guess I could." Shifting on his feet, spoiler twitching, he looked up at Springer and was surprised at the grin. Aimed at him, and not in any way condescending. In fact, it was sort of... he shook his helm and pushed that thought away, because surely..? And he wasn't sure what to do with that either. It was like when Slipstream had been grinning at him, all heavy intent and dangerous charm, though not quite as... threatening?

Something like that.

"How could I say no to the two of you?" Laughing, Springer dropped his arm from around Arcee's shoulders and walked around her to pull Hot Rod close, trapping each of the shorter mechs under an arm each. Squirming, Hot Rod almost snapped a demand to be let free, but then there was one of Arcee's hands in his and... maybe the weight of Springer wasn't too bad.

Maybe.

At least his voice wasn't obnoxious, Hot Rod thought as Springer started to point out long-gone features of the landscape below as they passed it, and Arcee's hand in his was firm and just the right size.

--------------------
The Nemesis, half a cycle after liftoff from the Badlands.

Cliffjumper had finally managed to extricate himself from the cluster of minibots that had somehow gravitated towards him and the minibot mech that had been in the group they'd rescued from the corridor. Not that it in any way was mysterious that the two of them had somehow attracted a group of minibots. That was usually what happened, one way or another, if there was more than one minibot in a given area.

It did make it kind of difficult to get away, however. But he'd finally managed and was trying to find the mech that, after a relieved contact over comm. had totally been ignoring him. Fragging glitching, stuck-up aft. How come he had to go find him if he'd been so slagging worried---

A sudden hand on his shoulder yanked him to a stop and then he was trapped against a chesplate with two arms around him.

"Gah! Fraggin' let go or I'm---"

"I can't believe you! Why didn't you say something?!"

Cliffjumper stopped fighting to get loose as the familiarity of the field flaring around him and the tone caught up with him. Well, all that, plus the shape and colours of the arms. Why had he thought it'd be anyone else - oh right, Decepticon warship.

With a purely mental snort, he pushed that thought away and resisted the urge to tilt his helm back to peer up at Mirage.

"'Cause you'd have wanted to come with, you stupid glitch. If somethin' was gonna happen, better it just be to one of us," Cliffjumper muttered, scowling. He tried to cross his arms over his chestplates, but Mirage's arms were in the way and he let them fall back to his sides again.

He might be leaning back into the kneeling noble behind him, though.

Maybe.

"Oh yes, because we couldn't have lost. Or I couldn't have died at any point during this," Mirage said, voice fairly dripping with snooty sarcasm. Cliffjumper didn't bother with restraining the urge to crack his elbow back and plant it in Mirage's midsection. Mirage just tightened his grip in response, even if a very offended noise escaped him. Not even pained, just offended.

"Better odds than we had anyway, but she clearly needed the slaggin' help," huffing, Cliffjumper briefly laid a hand on top of the one over his chestplate and then tilted his helm back, thrusting a finger up at Mirage, "and before you say anythin' else, you can't claim you wouldn't have done the exact same blasted thing."

Mirage closed his mouth and stared down at him for a moment. Then he slowly grinned, drumming his fingers against the metal that covered Cliffjumper's spark chamber and leaned down. Mirage didn't say anything as he brushed his lips over a horn and Cliffjumper snorted again, somehow keeping from flustered squirming.

Slagging stupid nobles.

--------------------
Iacon, Autobase. A joor after the Nemesis' return from the Badlands.

Jetfire left the medbay with some hesitation, letting the doors close on Hook's complaints about having to use substandard equipment. Starscream had insisted on getting his body back nowhere near to where Shockwave would have easy access - or rather, he'd hissed at Jetfire in the privacy of their currently joined mindscape that he'd make his life unbearable if Jetfire let Shockwave get his hand on him.

So with some finagling, it'd been possible to get Hook to agree to monitor Starscream's growing protoform at Autobase - not that any equipment in the whole of Iacon was any different, either way.

Starscream had then tried to lobby for one of the fully upgraded protoforms so he could just jump right in. Hook however, had, with a painfully slow explanation drowning in condescension, asked him if he wanted to be himself or have to fight off all the programming the fully upgraded frames came with? It would, after all, take far more effort and time to scrub one of the fully upgraded protoforms completely clean than having Starscream spend some time in a tank and allowing protoform to grow around him. Then they could just immediately upgrade the protoform, since he was hardly a newspark that needed time to adjust.

Starscream had, with sneering superiority and a comment about how Hook better not lapse in his famous care, agreed.

By Hook's expression as Jetfire had left, while the Constructicon probably wished he could sabotage Starscream's growth-cycle, he wouldn't. For his own pride if nothing else.

As such, Jetfire felt only... somewhat reluctant in leaving the medbay. He wanted to stay, not just to make sure things went all right, but... Rubbing the metal over his spark chamber, Jetfire wouldn't claim he felt... erm, lonely, or anything. But he'd had Starscream that close, and after what had - should have been - Starscream's death...

He shook his helm. This was ridiculous. He'd see Starscream again in a few days, and could go to the medbay in the interim.

For now, he had a last wish to honour.

As such, Jetfire met up with Solus Prime and Alpha Trion on the empty airstrip of Autobase, chill evening wind sliding over their metal as the suns had, by now, disappeared below Iacon's skyline.

"Jetfire. Is this about what you kept interrupting yourself from saying earlier?" Solus greeted with a small, if curious, smile.

"Er... yes," Jetfire said, rubbing his chin as he shrugged, "I was going to relay Quintus Prime's last message then, but well, considering I had a passenger and given his... ah, ambitious nature, I thought it better he continue to not know what it was about."

Quintus had, after all, remained very... obscure about why he wanted Solus to have the gem. Jetfire was almost sure he'd pieced it together, but he hadn't wanted some stray comment to reveal anything while Starscream would be able to overhear. So he'd waited until now that Starscream's spark was safely tucked away in a tank, drawing protoform around it to form the first components of the protoform.

Pulling the gem out of his subspace, he handed it over to Solus, whose optics had gone wide and bright - Alpha Trion's optics had widened as well.

"He didn't... precisely, explain what it was, but it's not just some... ah, memento, is it?" Jetfire asked as he watched Solus turned the gem over in her hands, then allowing Alpha Trion to hold it as she looked up with a dry, lopsided smile.

"No, it's not. Even if it certainly is that as well. You might have figured it out, I take it..?" she trailed off, her optics glittering even if there was a heavy cast to her EM field, drawn suddenly tight around her as it was.

"However it works, that gem is what he used to... create? the species he explained to us that he did. The quintessons among them. Apparently Unicron had some... influence on their creation and he didn't notice."

"The Emberstone, yes," Alpha Trion said with a nod and a faint sigh as he handed the stone back to Solus, "it's capable of instilling life in mechanoids in another - if similar - way to that of our sparks. Quintus called it warm-wiring. There was theorising it'd work for organic species as well, but as far as we know, there was no confirmation of that."

Solus and Alpha Trion looked at each other, Jetfire shifted on his feet, wanting to get his hands on the Emberstone - but knew it was better than he didn't. He or anybody else. So instead he straightened up and looked for words.

"I'm... ah, sorry for your loss."

Solus looked back at him and shook her helm, stroking a thumb over the Emberstone. The energies within seemed to follow the motion of her thumb.

"Thank you. And thank you for bringing this back. It will be safeguarded. And we're used to loss, by now. All lights are lost when separated, but only until all are one," Solus said, and Jetfire nodded, somewhat startled at the phrase.

But it made sense, didn't it?

He left the two there on the airstrip and walked back inside, considering the phrase. It'd been a farewell, once, that 'until all are one' phrase. Meaning that even if something should extinguish one of the speakers, they'd meet again in the end, even if that end was the (supposed) Well of All Sparks. The whole phrase strengthened that supposition... and it wasn't odd that it might once have only referred to the farewell given to or by those grieving, yet hopeful, who'd lost someone close to them.

Jetfire felt somewhat like he and Starscream had cheated in a way - all lights weren't, apparently, lost when separated. Not when they somehow returned. Of course, he'd also felt very lost until he knew Starscream had survived, so it still... applied.

All lights are lost when separated... and the last of Primus first would have to wait a bit longer until they were all one.

--------------------
Iacon, the rebuilt Tower of Pion. Two days after the slaves were freed.

"You're sure this will work?" the Prime shook his helm as he stared into the opened chest cavity of the oldest of the two clones. He sounded incredulous, but Slipstream was rather sure it was for what he was looking at more than her suggestion. She didn't begrudge him his incredulity, because who wouldn't be when they found out the clones' cyberstatic charge was confined to a lattice structure where the spark chamber ought to be?

It wasn't even enough to make a whole spark, and once again faint revulsion shuddered through her. She pushed it aside however and snorted, giving the Prime a faint grin. He seemed vaguely... unsettled by it, and she then had to push aside her amusement.

"Unless Solus Prime has some other suggestion, I was hoping that the introduction of more spark energy would prompt the protoform to rearrange the lattice and build a proper spark chamber." She was pretty sure that mech... Megatron, would be displeased at what she was attempting. But these were clones of her, and if they couldn't be full cybertronians, if this didn't work she wanted them killed.

Of course, the Prime might object to that, at least for the older clone that actually displayed some burgeoning initiative. But even drones, especially old ones, could show initiative and what sometimes seemed like strains of personality. She'd find a way around both of the Prime and the Lord of the Decepticons if necessary.

"I can plug in, and if the additional spark energy doesn't trigger such a command, I should be able to do some adjustments on the fly," Solus said as she rubbed her chin thoughtfully. Slipstream was still quietly and extremely well hidden amazed at the fact that one of the original Primes was right there.

The Prime nodded, straightening up while his optics narrowed with a nearly thoughtful determination - that, however, made it easy to see why he was who he was. Slipstream didn't know this Prime, but he seemed alright.

"I don't see why we shouldn't try. If it works, they certainly deserve the chance."

She spread her hands and stepped back even as she gave the Prime another slow, thoughtful look and smile - they all straightened up and turned to the open balcony that was attached to the room as engines approached, though. The red and black jet that appeared hovered at the balcony for a moment, then flipped around and transformed. Slipstream relaxed and the two Primes turned back to the clones, Solus plugging into the older one.

"... Windblade? Already back, then?" tilting her helm, Slipstream waved the slender aerial over after she'd landed. She'd assumed Windblade would've been gone for longer, if only because it was something of a flight between the Iacon and Vos states. The expression on Windblade's faceplate was soft and wide, nearly wounded but not exactly. It was an expression she didn't like on Windblade.

::How did the trip go? The memorial?:: Slipstream asked, optics narrow as she let Windblade fit herself against her side while they looked on as Optimus let his chestplates part, revealing the incandescent glow of the Matrix.

It stirred light and brightness within her, and Slipstream rolled her optics at her own reaction. The Matrix should be afforded reverence, yes, but this automatic reaction was a bit annoying. Windblade shifting beside her, wings twitching where they were angled down to avoid Slipstream's, called her attention back to the mech beside her and away from her exasperation at herself.

::The memorial... it's... I thought all the shifting over so much time would've destroyed it. It's above ground now, Slipstream. It's above ground and whole.:: There was that expression again, but the glittering, nearly glitching words over the comm. frequency revealed it for the joy that it was.

::Where it should have been when we made it,:: she commented with a nod, optics locked on Optimus cradling the clone against him as the glow from the Matrix flared, reaching out and into the open cavity in the clone's chestplates. At first, nothing happened. Solus frowned... and then the lattice started to shift as the raw protoform metal the lattice was attached to started to move, reforming with the flowing ease of water.

::I'm just glad it survived. He didn't deserve---:: Windblade cut off into static, the glowing happiness falling away for a brief flash of old frustration, rage and sadness. Slipstream snorted sharply and shifted her hand to pinch one of the protrusions on Windblade's helm, and the shorter aerial barely kept the yelp to the comm. only.

::Did any of us? Caminus was home, but a lot of places was home to people before the quints yanked us all away. He will always be remembered.:: By some more than others, but then, given that Windblade had been Caminus City's custodian, it wasn't that strange that she'd still be moved by her charge's passing.

::... yeah. I know...:: Windblade mumured, but at least her emotions had settled. She also slumped against Slipstream and that just wouldn't do... but remedying that situation could wait for a few more moments.

The Prime stepped back from the clone, making it possible to see the new spark chamber forming around cyberstatic charge that was coalescing into a proper sphere, no longer strung up or too little to form an actual spark. Vicious pleasure flickered through her - the quintessons would have nothing of them. Not even this would keep their taint.

As the spark was finally ensconced in its new spark chamber, the clone's pale gray and lavender colours started to darken into black and vivid violet. It was surprising but not wholly unexpected. Then as the metal closed up around the spark chamber, the clone staggered, clutching his helm and then looked around with a slow, confused wonder in its optics.

Windblade stared at the clone and then smiled faintly. Terrible origin or not, what they were looking at right now was a protoform fresh in wonder at the newness of everything. All it had was a bit more background to it than otherwise.

"So what will you name him, until he's decided whether it fits him or not?" As she spoke, the clone looked up at her, and then at Slipstream, who huffed.

"... Hotlink. The other one will be Bitstream. They can decide for their own if they want sky-names later or whatever," Slipstream said with a shrug while she eyed the second clone as Optimus held it close and the Matrix flared bright again, pulsing out more cyberstatic charge to fill out what was already there into a proper spark. The names weren't very inspired, but slag, whatever. They were at least better than something even more flatly stereotypical like Wing or Tailfin.

The second clone's colours darkened and then went past purple into blue, while the grays lightened into white instead. When Optimus stepped back, after a moment of dark-optic swaying the newly sparked clone suddenly snapped to focus. His gaze went from around the room in a slow sweep to fall on his own hands, turning them over and flexing them. Then he looked up again and immediately walked over to the newly dubbed Hotlink, who reached out and trailed a finger down Bitstream's nasal ridge.

"They're going to need proto-hatchers, or at least mentors," Windblade murmured and Slipstream shook her helm, holding a hand up sharply.

"Don't look at me, brightspark. I'm no caretaker. Lyzack isn't either, no matter how much she clamours over protoforms being cutely useless. Megatron can go find some for 'em, since he was so adamant they were his," as she spoke, Slipstream's expression turned from guarded annoyance into nearly smugly pleased amusement. Windblade sighed, though there was a smile at the corner of her lips.

"Talking of Lyzack, where is she?" she asked as they both bowed to Solus as she took her leave, meeting up with Alpha Trion at the doorway before she continued past as he came in.

"Someone said something 'bout her reminding them of someone they knew, so she ran away to make a call," Slipstream said with a little grin curling about her mouth, then she walked over to Optimus and gave him a proper salute, "and thank you for your time and assistance, Prime." No matter what people thought of her usual behaviour, Slipstream was fully capable of acting more seriously.

Well, some of the time, anyway.

"I'm honoured to be able to give them the chance... regardless of who teaches them," the Prime said, the quiet pleasure in his voice giving over for arched dryness and an arched upper optic ridge as he said the latter. Slipstream laughed and saluted Alpha Trion as well before she went back to Windblade, smile already coming back at Windblade's attempt to hide her impatience. It had been a bit rude to just cut over to Optimus like that, hadn't it?

Slipstream kept from laughing as she came back to Windblade and tapped the crest on her helm with an easy grin, ignoring Windblade's huff.

"Leozack? Her brother's still alive? That would be amazing..." Windblade shook her helm slowly and cast a glance out towards the sky that could be seen beyond the balcony.

"Pretty much. And what would you like to do?" Pointed little question that made Windblade frown up at her. She could tell something was behind that, even with Slipstream's smile usually holding a quality that made people wonder what she knew - it came naturally to her, but she never let it turn into a know-it-all smugness. No, it was far more satisfying to annoy people with just a 'know something' smile. It usually made them more antsy than full blown smugness anyhow.

Like now.

"I... don't know. This is home, after all, but..." Windblade turned back to Slipstream and dropped her gaze to the floor, worrying her fingers, "but without Caminus... Slipstream, would you stop that and tell me if you know something!" Windblade huffed and reached out, slapping Slipstream's arm as her grin widened into a shameless smirk.

"If you insist, sweetspark. I happen to know these Autobots have a metrotitan as their base on Earth. He's young, too. Newly sparked and everything," she tilted her helm, watching Windblade's annoyance melt away into stunned hope that left her optics bright and wide.

It almost hurt to see that after all this time. After Caminus died in the quintesson invasion, there hadn't been much of any other emotions than steely determination to survive and quiet mourning for all that was lost - and then they had been captured.

"Slipstream..."

"I'm sure he could benefit from a Cityspeaker who's well-versed in the needs of a metrotitan, and has a weak spot the size of Cybertron for protoforms. Pretty sure Lyzack will be clamoring to go to Earth as well, considering that's where Leozack supposedly is. And we wouldn't want to disappoint her, now would we?"

Windblade stared up at her grin, her optics still wide and bright in that way that was nearly painful, and just when Slipstream wondered if she should've used another approach, Windblade literally flew at her. They clattered together and Slipstream staggered but remained standing, stance widening to keep her balance and her arms reflexively coming up around the smaller mech.

"We're going."

--------------------
Iacon, Decepticon Enclave. Four days after the slaves were freed.

Normally it wouldn't take only four days for a protoform to grow to full viability, but then, Starscream wasn't a newly created spark. He was old, and he knew what a protoform was for and he wasn't going to wait around forever. So it'd taken little more than a third of the time it'd normally take for a protoform to form all the relevant bits.

It still felt too long in his opinion, but at least he had a chassis now.

Jetfire had been there, of course. He knew Skywarp and Thundercracker had been there as well; he could tell by the faint residual vibration in the air. Skywarp was acting like a slagging protoform, but considering who he was talking about, that wasn't anything new.

But he would deal with that soon enough. Staring at Jetfire as he onlined, feeling everything as his own for the first time in a while, he'd wanted to stay.

Well, to be honest - if he had to be - he'd wanted to slam the overgrown jet against a wall and snarl at him that it was all his blasted fault that he wanted to keep the giant idiot close enough he couldn't ever lose him again. And that just wouldn't fragging do, so he'd said he needed to take care of business and gotten out of there. Not because he was embarrassed over his own reaction, of course.

Not at all!

He had told Jetfire he better wait and not go anywhere, of course. After all this blasted effort and annoying emotions, he wasn't going to accept anything less than that they do something about it.

Right now, however, he did have some other things to take care of. Things like storming through the temporary Decepticon base to Megatron's not-throne room. It actually just looked like a proper office, for once. Pretty understated and almost tasteful and Starscream was almost surprised... but then, they hadn't been on Cybertron long enough for Megatron to start redecorate. Also something to take into consideration with the lack of overblown decorations was if Megatron was planning on moving elsewhere, which he undoubtedly was.

"I hope you're not too disappointed?" Starscream said with a smirk and his helm cocked as he stopped in the doorway, leaning against it. Megatron sat back in his seat, a quirk to an upper optic ridge.

"Probably less than you were when you found out your attempt to finish me off by blasting me into space had failed." Megatron's amusement rankled, not the least because that should have worked and yet Megatron had somehow survived... Then that amusement suddenly flattened out, and Starscream immediately straightened, ready for... whatever may come.

"So what will it take to kill you?" Megatron stared at him, the glow from his optics muted, impenetrable.

Well. That wasn't too bad, so Starscream flicked his wings into a jaunty flare and smirked.

"Nothing you can do, it seems like, oh mighty Megatron." He stood his ground when Megatron stood up and came close. Megatron stared flatly at him for a moment that could just as well have been an eternity (and he knew eternity, being stuck in the quintesson flagship had been more than one) and then grabbed his arm, hand wrapping around the armour in a firm grip. Automatically, he mirrored the grip on Megatron's arm.

"Pray that hypothesis will never be tested, Starscream. And you're lucky I didn't get the chance to promote Leozack to your positions." Megatron let go of his arm, and Starscream's aborted sneer at the sharp, deadly smile Megatron had aimed at him got lost in a flush of outrage.

"Leozack? That outdated, verdigris-dripping hack?!"

Megatron, who'd walked past him and out his office at Starscream's outburst, didn't stop.

"He is competent, Starscream."

He could hear the taunting amusement in Megatron's voice, but that didn't stop him from whirling around and following, briefly delaying his other visit. It was a bit hard to ignore the sharp static roughing down his wiring, after all.

"Competent? Are you as much of a bullethead as you seem to be? He's a cat that's lost his claws!" How dare Megatron think of replacing him with that useless hunk of rusted-over junk!?

Not that anyone would've been an acceptable replacement, but Leozack rubbed him the wrong way more than usual. There was just something with his attitude. Megatron laughed, a quiet, amused rumble that Starscream was almost surprised to hear, but he wouldn't let the mech know that.

So instead he strutted alongside him and started to poke into Megatron's plans, smirking as Megatron's amusement flattened out into arched, barely accepting annoyance.

As it should be.

--------------------

"Impossible rustheap..." muttering as he wandered the corridors in search of the next two mechs he was looking for, Starscream huffed. They'd gotten things squared away and, well, as settled as they probably would ever be. He couldn't believe he'd still have to deal with Megatron, after everything. On the other hand, it also helped... make things feel normal, even if that was a completely abhorrent thought.

Talking of mechs he had to deal with who weren't rusty bucketheads, Starscream stopped at the door the very helpful signal had led him to and opened it, planting his fists on his hips.

"If I ever have to go looking for the two of you again..."

"Says the mech who was the one who left," Skywarp said with a sniff, turning away from the doorway to sprawl on the berth. Thundercracker, sitting on a chair and shuffling through several different datapads, dragged a hand down his faceplate and raised his upper optic ridges at Starscream.

"Skywarp..." He had to put a stop to this now, before Skywarp got any more worked up. The idiot was way too dependent on having people pointing him in the right direction (which was also a superb quality when it worked for Starscream), and Starscream had been doing that for... well, a long time now. Which was why Skywarp was acting like a complete glitch at the moment.

Skywarp flicked his wings, scraping designs into the sides of the berth with a vibro-knife without even looking - at least he wasn't destroying the charge conductive mesh the berth was padded with.

"Skywarp, I want you in the air in a br---"

"Y'know, for someone who claims they don't like pain, y'keep exposing yourself to it."

That was a smirk.

He could hear that smirk and it left Starscream caught between a sputter and a growl. Thundercracker was staring at Skywarp like he'd grown a second head and then groaned, deep enough the walls seemed to vibrate with it and tossed one of the datapads at Skywarp and threw the rest at Starscream in a seldom seen flurry of exasperation.

Or frustration. It was hard to tell with Thundercracker sometimes.

"You glitch. Here you had me worrying I'd have to fragging drag the two of you apart or lock you in a room together to get you on speaking terms with him again, and you're---"

"Are we done?!" Starscream shouted, finally having managed to rescue all the datapads - they were all moderately important, unfortunately - from falling to the floor after Thundercracker's snit. Thundercracker stood up and snatched the datapad Skywarp was waggling in the air with a grin that could shear putty in half like it was a hot knife going through butter. Then he stomped past Starscream and slammed the datapad against his cockpit to join the others.

"I guess so. At least you can be useful again and do your job---"

"A breem. You two. Out on the street. We're getting this over and done with and if you don't move right this moment I'll make this slagging unpleasant for you," Starscream hissed as he crossed the room and dropped the datapads on the desk Thundercracker had been sitting by, already filled with a very familiar, itching burn.

That, though, much like having to deal with Megatron, made things feel... normal.

Made his chassis feel like it wasn't still bonding to his protoform in tickling little bursts of sparks and static. Made the pathways of electric impulses in his processor clusters feel settled and comfortable, not new and having to be forced through to create those paths. The blasted normalcy of having to deal with the two mechs he'd had as trine for more than a million years by now was, annoyingly enough, helping.

"Aye-aye, aerospace commander Starscream," Skywarp clattered off a lazy salute against his cockpit and promptly cheated by warping out of the room, leaving Thundercracker and Starscream to follow behind. But even that was normal, helping, even.

Well, they had to be good for something, Starscream had to admit as he exchanged a glance with Thundercracker and they left the room. Maybe after this time they wouldn't end up having to reestablish trine sync after just another few years.

--------------------
Outskirts of Iacon, Alpha Preserve. Six days after the slaves were freed.

Starscream had been circling the Preserve - something between a park, forest and what the humans would probably call a natural reserve - for almost two breems now. He totally wasn't avoiding the white shape standing by an energon spring, a thin rivulet of oil in a little stream bubbling along nearby.

Of course he wasn't.

He was just... savouring. Yes. Savouring the ability to fly again, to feel the air currents over newly calibrated sensors and his EM field flexing about him.

... And, maybe, just a tiny bit, savouring the nearby echo of the synchronised spark pulse he shared with the mech below. It was mad, the faint urge that still burned beneath his plating. Utterly, completely ridiculous and too sentimental to really be given even half an astrosecond of thought before being discarded.

But the thought of letting all this go to... waste? Basically, yes. Of letting go of all this now that he'd been reminded of how easily it could be lost, even with his apparent resilience, made Starscream consider the lunacy this urge was.

The crystals around the pool were opalescent, probably from the oil rivulet, and only sported a faint pinkish cast to their otherwise white colour. Seldom-seen purity, so no wonder Jetfire had chosen to wait in that spot, running careful fingers down the crystals every time he made a circle around the pool, then stepped away.

The crystals weren't large enough for the radiation to be harmful, but Jetfire had always been careful.

Being careful, however, wouldn't necessarily always help, and Jetfire didn't have his resilience towards extinguishing, as far as anyone could be reasonably sure. And Starscream had wandered through the war on the suppressed but diamond-encased certainty that Jetfire would fall by no one's hand but his own.

But that couldn't be guaranteed, as the fight in the quintesson city had shown. Had he not interfered (and he shouldn't have had, that had been a momentary lapse in his processor) Jetfire would've died. And that... flaps trembling, Starscream had to fight to get his proper course back, sneering to himself.

All right, so maybe he couldn't abide by that. So maybe the thing to do was to make sure he knew exactly where he had Jetfire.

With a snort, Starscream abruptly dove down, transforming and flipping around right before his thrusters hit the ground, scorching the metal.

"Jetfire."

Turning around, Jetfire pretended he hadn't been waiting for Starscream to land before he did turn around, and tilted his helm in greeting.

"Starscream."

This felt... somewhat banal.

After all that it'd taken to get them standing here, after the emptiness of Starscream being gone, this was... surprisingly, achingly, familiar.

There was a frame's length of metal and tiny crystals spotting said metal between them, and it seemed as expansive as the whole of Cybertron itself. Which was needlessly melodramatic and clearly Starscream was finally rubbing off on him. But the feeling lingered, contrasting sharply with the implicit closeness of their synchronised spark pulse.

Jetfire wasn't even aware he'd brushed the metal over his spark chamber - and where his Autobrand was - before Starscream's optics strayed to focus there. He dropped his hand and smiled faintly, the dry expression lightening the tension in his own circuits if nothing else. The motion seemed to have charged the air around them further, however.

"Fashionably late?" Simple, banal words, and Jetfire barely kept from twitching. Starscream shrugged, his expression relaxed - but there was tension in every line and angle of his chassis.

"This isn't a time-sensitive experiment, so why not? And I had business to attend to. Some of us are the second in command and aerospace commander of the Decepticon Armada, Jetfire."

He couldn't help it and laughed, shaking his helm as he dragged a hand down his faceplate.

"You never cared about coming in on time for those either. Not even when we had launch windows to keep for missions," Jetfire said, hiding the grin under the hand still covering the lower part of his faceplate. Starscream snorted, flicked his wings and started to slowly walk forward.

Stalk, really, his wings held high and quiveringly tense.

Jetfire pretended not to notice, and he didn't move.

"I didn't have to, so why should I? You usually had things well in hand," Starscream said with a dismissive wave of his hand that Jetfire tracked with half his intent attention - the rest on Starscream himself. On the burning crimson of his optics, the twisted tilt of his lips and the way that warped the darkness of his faceplate, the sweep of his wings...

For several millions of years, that attention had been necessary, but to avoid getting killed.

Now... now it reminded more of other times. Earlier ones. Of staring at Starscream, either directly or out the edge of his vision as the Seeker ranted over some slight – imagined or real – or practically burst out his seams over some discovery. Sometimes both at the same time, and Jetfire letting all that intensity and nearly aggressive attention and brilliance both wash around him and spur him on---

"Pay attention!" Starscream's hand connected against the armour-glass of Jetfire's cockpit with a reverberating, ringing noise. A null-ray powering up followed that and Jetfire reflexively took a step back, refocusing on Starscream.

"Always," Jetfire said with as near shameless a grin as he ever would sport, optics sparkling in the light of the late midday sunlight. Starscream stared up at him, optics narrowed... but the null-ray quieted its' threatening hum, and Jetfire reached out to trace a finger along it. Charged electrons seemed to trail in the wake of his touch, and despite that their EM fields were barely touching, the air was heavy.

"Not nearly enough," Starscream said with a snort and pushed - and Jetfire followed the push instead of simply absorbing it and standing his ground. He went down, pulling Starscream down with him with his hands on those red hips.

Starscream folded to sit on top of him with a grace that was as much inborn as it was taught by Starscream's own sense of drama and ego, all flowing lines and arrogant flare of his wings.

"'Fire. Open up." Starscream hissed intently, staring up at Jetfire and tapping his fingers on the metal covering Jetfire's spark chamber. His other hand seemed to have a life of its own as it traced out the curves and angles of Jetfire's metal, from the left chest vent to the arm and to the base joint where the left wing was connected to the flight array.

Jetfire stared, optics having widened at the nickname and too distracted to suppress the tremble from the touch sliding like lightning across his chassis.

Most of Starscream's nicknames were lobbed at others as insults and takedowns. The few he used that weren't could be counted with less than all fingers on one standard hand, and they weren't used often. Jetfire hadn't heard this one in millions of years, before the war. And it hadn't been used more than a handful of times either.

"And how could I refuse such a charming request?" Jetfire said with a smile, soft enough to have Starscream grit his teeth against the blushing flex of his EM field and his touch going hard for a brief moment.

Jetfire didn't mind, and let one of his hands stray up from Starscream's hip to brush down the side of his helm. Starscream's optics narrowed as he huffed and his grip tightened again after having lightened - in clear contrast with the tiny, amused smirk on his faceplate.

And Jetfire did open up in a smooth flow of metal sliding aside. Starscream stared for a quiet klik, not quite touching the bared and opened spark chamber as the light gilded his metal in whitish-blue. Then he mirrored Jetfire, slowly. Slowly enough the hesitation was easily read, but Jetfire didn't mind. He just tightened his grip where he was cupping the side of Starscream's helm and brushed his thumb over Starscream's lips and chin guard.

The light from their sparks lit up their metal in a blue-white glow, and the synchronised spark pulse could now be seen as well as felt as the subtle ripple of each pulse through the coalesced sparks glittered in unison.

Joined before they'd even reached for each other, but then, arguably...

They'd been joined for a lot longer than the coming together now would create.

Years or miles apart, sparks synchronised yet or not, it seemed they'd been stuck together since that moment Jetfire hadn't let himself be run out of the lab by an irritable, territorial Seeker.

This was just... finally, acknowledging it.

Their sparks came together as their lips met, cascading towards the only possible conclusion.