Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

     If Starscream could blame anyone—and he could, he absolutely could—it was Knockout’s fault. Moronic Knockout, and his foolish predilection for…eugh… Terran Holovids. The drabble produced by those primates fell utterly short of the great dramas of Cybertron. Even now, four million years later, Starscream could recall the great plays that graced the Silver Vosian Theatre, whose gleaming walls once stood as proud monuments to Cybertron’s most distinguished architects. 

     He could also recall the anguish that burned through his form when the theatre burst into glittering ribbons of silver and fire. Endless volleys of missiles ripped through the structure's base, tearing it all down with a quickly fearsome groan. He remembered the fear that told him desperately to fly away from the burning rubble, to flee—but flee where? The sky was gone, and in its place was an ash cloud that strangled the starlight above and the seekers below. Soot smothered his cries, clogging his fans as he struggled to intake properly and he realized now that he was on his knees, and even worse, his left wing had been pinned by the falling rubble. 

     His chassis stuttered helplessly as the blackened ash settled over Vos like burning snow, all while his HUD blared senseless messages at him like warning warning O2 levels critically low emergency stasis protocols set to commence in four kliks seek immediate medical assistance or risk permanent damage to ventilation syste—

     A boisterous laugh rang in Starscream’s left audial, bringing the seeker back to the present, back to the stupid fleshie moo-vee that Skywarp insisted Starscream watch with him and TC on their night off. He jolted, berating his processor for bringing such painful memories to the forefront of his mind before stealing a quick glance at his trinemates. TC and Warp layed tangled up on the settee while he sat across from them in his own chair. Neither seemed to notice his momentary lapse, both fully enraptured by the holovid before them.

     Starscream remembered Skywarp saying it was one of Knockout’s favorites, and while he usually could care less about the interests of the Decepticon’s resident doctor, it would be nice to have something meaningful to say to the red Aston Martin besides the usual offhanded threat.

     Starscream straightened in his seat, his optics fixed on the screen before him as he tried to infer what was going on. Three men stood in a dark room. One of them had his servos tied together and was shaking uncontrollably. Something dark and red dripped from his derma plating. His optics tracked the two other men, one of which lazily twirled a hammer in his right servo. 

    “You’d do better to tell us everything…” he explained to the tied-up man, “But to make sure that happens, I brought along a few tools.”

     Starscream rolled his eyes. “I can see how this may appeal to Knockout’s more sadistic tendencies,” he half-grumbled into his glass of energon.

     TC hummed in agreement, stretching out his limbs. “Must be living vicariously through this fragger. Ever since Breakdown and Old Doc’ Knock started bunkin’ together, I’ve noticed he’s been less eager to cut my chassis in half with those saws of his.”

     Skywarp snorted. “I bet he was only trying to carve into us innocent patients because he was a spike-deprived slagger.” 

     The corner of Starscreams mouth twisted upwards with mirth before he quickly composed himself. The last thing he needed was his trinemates thinking their jokes were funny—which they were not— despite how much he agreed with their sentiments. He quietly sipped on his cup of high grade and watched the scene unfold.

      “At first I won’t be able to trust you, but after I use this,” he motioned to the hammer, allowing the tool to glint against the dark room. “You’ll own up to a few things.”

     TC let out a loud yawn, clearly no more impressed with the fleshie moo-vee than Starscream was.

     “When we get to these,” the man said, picking up a pair of pliers before giving them a playful squeeze, “we’ll have developed a…how do I put this? A close bond, much like brothers.” 

     The fleshie’s words hit Starscream like a physical blow. He invented sharply, his optic bands contracting. Brothers. Something about the scene before him was very familiar, and the word echoed across his processor like a cruel joke. The seeker felt his servo tighten around his glass, his fuel tank suddenly uneasy. He could feel his chassis constricting his spark and his helm grew muddled with useless, uncontrollable thoughts—memories—he had long since buried behind an overly arrogant visage.

     He had played this part before, hadn’t he? Many times, in fact, alongside his fearless leader. Now, Starscream could admit that sometimes his punishments were—perhaps—slightly warranted. His ambition to be the new leader of the Decepticons has misguided him many times. Ever since they all crashed on Earth, Starscream has been reckless in his arrogance. Causing mission failures. Calling early retreats. Failing at assassination attempts. Time and time again, Starscream has continued to overestimate his strength and underestimate Megatron’s cruelty. 

     However, recently, his punishments did not fit his crimes. Things have been getting worse. It was as if their fearless leader sought out his second-in-command for any minor inconvenience, even if Starscream didn’t cause it. Like he was looking for reasons to hurt him. It wasn’t just the failures anymore, wasn’t just the botched plans or the snide remarks during council meetings. No, now Starscream should just expect a beating was waiting for him at the end of the day-cycle.

     In the past, Megatron’s punishments had been swift and impersonal. A well-placed insult coupled with a hard blow, followed by a bark of orders to get back to work. Starscream had been battered, yes, but the punishments always hurt his pride more than anything. 

     Now, he would be lucky to crawl away from one of their sessions. There was nothing safe from Megatron’s ire. Shattered knee joints, crushed vocal processing units, even his wings have ended up mangled beyond recognition at least once or twice. 

     This last time, Megatron had forced Starscream onto his front and allowed his fusion cannon to burn through the plating on his spinal strut, searing away important circuitry. The warlord didn’t fire, but the threat was there as the cannon continued to radiate a raw, nuclear heat that melted his back plating to reveal the black protoform beneath. Starscream still did not know what he had done to gain Megatron’s attention that day. 

     “P-please, my Lord! Mercy, g-grant me mercy!”

     But the air commander's pleas fell on muted audials as Megatron dug the cannon’s muzzle deeper into his spinal strut. Starscream felt the air around him grow thick with the smell of burnt rubber as his protoform sizzled under the super-heated metal. If the warlord were to press his cannon down anymore, he would breach Starscream’s spark chamber, snuffing the light out just like the ash cloud that choked the skies over Vos.

     Starscream could feel his systems locking up and he thought to himself, Primus, this is it, this is how I die, when suddenly Megatron’s voice cut through the pain, low and taunting. “Begging, Starscream? You’ve always been good at that, haven’t you? But you see, my mercy is a gift, and I’m afraid you’ve long since forfeited the right to it.”

     The seeker couldn't scream anymore, his vocal processor had failed as the nano-kliks ticked by. Blue servos clawed at the ground, desperate for leverage, desperate for anything to help him escape the fire burning away at his frame. His spark churned with a fevered intensity, trying to hold on, trying to survive—but he couldn’t take much more. The damage was too great. His spark was dimming, flickering on the edge of deactivation and he couldn’t hold on forever. 

     And then, suddenly, the heat lifted. 

     Starscream could sob. One moment, his body was wracked with painful light, and the next thing he knew it was gone, leaving in its wake the tell-tale sting of scorched plating. His systems whined in protest, but there was relief—blessed, impossible relief. He got his servos beneath his form and tried to lift himself, but Megatron’s pede pressed firmly against the back of his neck, forcing him back down onto the cold metal floor of the Nemesis.

     “Still so stubborn,” Megatron crooned, voice clipped with something close to amusement. “You think you can escape this? You think you can escape me?”

     Megatron was taunting, him, that much Starscream knew. The warlord wanted his second-in-command to fight back, to give him a reason to prolong this punishment. Starscream’s wings twitched at that. He could feel the pressure building in his systems, the temptation to lash out, to strike back, just to prove he still had a shred of autonomy left. But he knew what would happen if he took the bait. Three weeks minimum in the med bay, forced to listen to Knockout complain about this and that, all while Breakdown made goo-goo eyes at his sparkmate and failed to properly patch up his wounds. 

     In this case, survival meant restraint, which yes—Starscream could demonstrate every now and then. “N-no, my Lord. Thank you…for reminding me of my place.”

     It was a lie, and Megatron knew it. But that didn’t matter. What mattered to him was that he got Starscream to say it out loud, to bend to his will, despite himself.

     The pede on Starscreams neck loosened, just a little, just enough to let the seeker take a ragged intake. The warlord straightened, though his optics still drilled into Starscream with that familiar hunger, the kind that always came before another round of torment. 

     “Do not forget that it was I who made you into the mech you are today, Starscream,” Megatron growled. “Everything you are, everything you’ve become— I shaped you. You are nothing without me.”

     Starscream’s optics flashed. “I was something before you came along.”

     “Yes, I remember. Do you?”

     Starscream clenched his jaw. That night that Vos burned, it was him who pulled Starscream from the Theatre ruins. The infamous gladiator of Kaon stood tall above the wreckage before pulling the seeker to his pedes. He still remembers Megatron’s first words to him.

      “On your pedes, Seeker," His voice was low with authority, not offering Starscream a hint of sympathy. "I did not pull you from the rubble just to watch you die."     

      So sure of his own superiority, as if Starscream’s life was little more than a tool for his conquest.

     “I did not pull you from the rubble just to watch you die.”  

     What did you call what he was doing now? 

     “You would have died alongside all of Vos had I not pulled you from the flames,” Megatron continued, his voice now tinged with something darker—contempt, or perhaps, the faintest touch of regret. “I gave you a chance to rise from the ashes, Starscream. Everything that you are, it is because of me.”

     Starscream remained silent, biting back the retort that burned on his glossa, though it took all his willpower to do so. He would not give Megatron the satisfaction of seeing him crack.

     The silence between the Decepticon leader and his second-in-command grew heavy. When it became clear that Starscream was not going to fight back, Megatron sighed.

     “Soundwave?”

     “Yes, Lord Megatron?”

     Starscream had forgotten the mech was there. But then again, why wouldn’t he be? Soundwave's loyalty to the Decepticons was only second to his loyalty to Megatron.

     “Have Laserbeak run reconnaissance on the energon signals we found near Lake Izabal.”

     “As you command.”

     Starscream thinks that's as good as a dismissal he’s going to get. His servos shook as he once again tried pushing himself back onto his pedes. Nothing came slamming down on his neck, so he assumed he was finally allowed to stand. His spinal strut protested angrily and he absently realized that the wound on his backside had cauterized itself. He ran a quick diagnostic check and saw that the fusion cannon had completely burned away the receptor nodules to his flight systems.

     He growled. Limping away, Starscream sent a quick message to Knockout despite the physical and mental exhaustion gnawing at him.

     < SS: Repairs. Now. Flight systems damaged. Immediate attention required. >

     But he should have known to wait for Megatron to dismiss him properly, because now servos were grabbing onto his shoulders and yanking him back, and distantly he thought he could hear the fusion cannon revving up, promising to burn his systems until Starscream was a smoldering pile of ash just like Vos just like the seekers whose cries went unanswered as he and Megatron ran through the burning city and didn’t he follow behind so stupidly here right from the start he was always the follower always running after Megatron always pushing himself to be more to prove himself more never once stopping even when the blows grew harder grew crueler grew more frequent—

     “Star!”

     Starscream’s processor stuttered, then froze entirely. His optics flared with confusion and a flicker of panic raced through his chassis as he realized that, once again, he had zoned out. The was no servos on his shoulder no Megatron—no Vos.

     It was simply Skywarp.

     Skywarp and Thundercracker, both of whom have stopped watching the moo-vee to instead study Starscream's frame. 

     His trinemates continued to watch him, expressions laced with concern. The silence dragged on, bordering on thick and uncomfortable before Starscream realized they must have asked him a question.

     “Sorry?” His voice came out tight, raw like he had been screaming for hours, the words scraping his vocal processors as they struggled to form. 

     Thundercracker’s frown deepened. “Warp asked if your back was hurting you.” The tone was far gentler than Starscream was comfortable with. Thundercracker’s optics flickered to Skywarp, and for a moment, the pair shared a brief, unreadable look before he continued, “Looked like you were miles away there, Star.”

     Starscream huffed. “I am fine. Knockout already cleared me for tomorrow's mission.”

     “Only because you pulled rank and threatened to take away his polish set,” Skywarp muttered.

     Starscream’s jaw clenched in anger. irritation making his wings flare up. "That’s not the point," he snapped. 

     “Then what is?” Thundercracker challenged, his tone a bit more insistent. He placed his energon down on the side table with a soft thud, his posture shifting as he untangled himself from Skywarp's side. TC’s eyes narrowed as he studied Starscream carefully. “You’re not fooling anyone, Starscream. We’re your trinemates. We know when something’s off.” 

     Starscream stiffened at the challenge, but couldn’t bring himself to meet Thundercracker’s optics. He clenched his fists at his sides, unwilling to admit—even to them—how much the last few cycles had chipped away at him. How much Megatron's torment had worn him down. “I said I’m fine,” Starscream repeated, though his voice lost its conviction. He hated how weak the words sounded, how easy it was for them to see through his façade. 

     "Just... a little distracted, that’s all."

     Skywarp, ever the optimist—or perhaps just trying to diffuse the tension—forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his optics. "What if we go for a flight after tomorrow’s mission, eh? High-altitude winds always help me clear my processor." 

     “Can’t clear what's already empty, Warp,” Thundercracker teased. 

     “H-hey!” 

     A flight. It has been so long since he and his trinemates simply went on a flight together. He used to relish those moments, the wind tearing at his wings, the freedom of soaring above the world, leaving everything behind as the three of them chased an endless horizon. As a seeker, the sky was Starscream’s to command, and no one could take that from him.

     “I’ll…see if I can get us some air time tomorrow evening.”

     “Yes!” Skywarp’s enthusiasm was immediate, his wings twitching with excitement. 

     “No promises,” Starscream added quickly, holding up a servo to forestall any further interruptions. “I still have to finish up a report for Shockwave regarding his query on energon laced with uranium compounds—” 

     “Yes, yes, we know, you were a scientist once. Get to the point,” Skywarp cut in, his voice filled with mock impatience.

     Starscream shot him a look, though his expression softened just slightly. “I’ll try to make time for it. But no guarantees.”

     With that, Skywarp seemed satisfied, his wide grin returning as he pulled Thundercracker back down beside him. TC let out a quiet grumble as Skywarp wrapped his limbs around him like a python squeezing around its prey, refusing to let go. Starscream couldn’t help but let out a quiet exhale of his own, a faint, amused twitch curling at the corner of his mouth. 

     Once the moment passed, Starscream left the pair to go recharge. He braced himself for the inevitable pain that would shock his spine the moment he tried to stand, the lingering aches from Megatron's last session still fresh. He steeled himself, pushing through the exhaustion as he started toward his berthroom. 

     As he slowly walked away, he didn’t notice the twin pair of red optics that followed his every step. They honed in the the circular scar that sat dead center in his back. It had taken Knockout three membrane grafts to fill the void of burnt protoform, and Breakdown’s weld job was far from perfect, leaving a gnarled blotch of dull aluminum running between each of Starscream’s wings. 

     The two didn’t say anything, not even when the door closed behind their trinemate. The silence stretched, and for once, there was no teasing, no banter—just the unsettling weight of anxiety pressing down on both their sparks. Skywarp shifted uncomfortably when the silence grew too heavy. “How much longer do you think he can keep this up?”

    Thundercracker stared at the door a moment longer. “I don’t know,” he muttered, voice soft. “But I don’t like it.”

     Neither of them did.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

     For reasons Starscream never quite understood, Megatron always avoided overseeing the mining operations himself, preferring to delegate the task to either him or Soundwave. He found this to be very out of character for the Decepticon leader, as the warlord hardly enjoyed sharing leadership positions with others. Yet as the war dredged on from vorns into millennia, this task eventually became something the seeker would readily accept. 

     Between the two Decepticon commanders, Soundwave was undeniably efficient when leading operations. Starscream could admit this much about the surveillance mech—albeit only through gritted denta—though he noticed that the loyal third-in-command often struggled when things deviated from his meticulous plans. This was one of the reasons why Starscream preferred keeping things flexible. The seeker’s talent for improvisation was unparalleled, and he had a keen ability to assess any situation, adapting swiftly when things inevitably veered off course.

    Such was the issue at the moment.

    Back at the dig site, Starscream stood at the edge of an elevator shaft, flanked by the two most incorrigible mechs he ever had the displeasure of knowing, Rumble and Frenzy.

     The trio remained motionless, peering down at their newest predicament, which was, naturally, the complete submersion of the mine’s lowest level. What was once a dry, functional elevator shaft now looked more like the remnants of a failed dam. Thick, oily lake water swirled lazily at their pedes, distorting their reflections within the shadowy surface.

    The seeker’s attention flickered back and forth between the two cassette mechs and the water. Rumble and Frenzy were completely drenched, their frames soaked from what appeared to be an impromptu swim. 

    “I will give you one minute to tell me how you managed to sink an entire level or I’ll turn you two into matching piles of scrap metal!” Starscream spat, his voice sharp as a blade.

     Rumble and Frenzy exchanged a brief, guilty glance, neither sure how to begin explaining themselves.

     "...It wasn’t our fault," Rumble started, "We were just breaking apart the ore as usual, but then out of nowhere, the surrounding walls—"

    "Surrounding walls gave way, yes, I can see that," Starscream interrupted, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "What did you think was going to happen? Using your piledrivers down here like you’re in the middle of some demolition zone? The two of you turned an otherwise simple energon excavation into a disaster! It is a miracle your incompetency didn’t kill you!"

     "Hey, it was an honest mistake, Screamer! Anyone could’ve—" 

     “—Don’t call me that! I am your superior officer! And your honest mistake not only cost us valuable resources, but now we have this mess to clean up!” He said, clawed fingers pointing back at the flooded cavern.

     Rumble shook some water out of his piledrivers. "What’s your fraggin’ problem? We extracted most of the energon here before the cave-in. No big deal."

     Starscream glared at the twins’ flippant attitudes. "Problem? My problem is that I’m stuck managing a team of imbeciles who can’t handle a simple task without turning it into an utter catastrophe!"

     His wings buzzed with growing agitation, flaring out from their lowered position in what another seeker would understand to be an intimidating display. It was an action that he instantly regretted, as not only was this knowledge lost on the two cassettes, but the movement caused his scar to pull at his back plating angrily.  

     The pain grounded him and the seeker took a deep, shuddering intake. "Just. Get out of my sight. Go help the Constructicons transport the energon we still have."

     The two mechs balked. Usually, one of Starscream’s verbal lashings lasted long enough to make even the most hardened mech reconsider their existence. Yet it appeared that they were getting away with this incident with nothing more than a passing reprimand.

     Frenzy shook himself out of his stupor, realizing this was possibly their only opportunity to escape. He grabbed Rumble by the arm, quickly pulling his brother away from the abnormally quiet seeker. Starscream watched them go, his mouth curled with residual irritation as the cassettes disappeared into the distance. 

     Once they were fully gone, he let out an intake he hadn’t realized he was holding in.

    Starscream’s day had only gotten worse since his earlier encounter with his brother. He felt his chassis twist painfully as their conversation replayed in his helm. Who did his trinemate think he was, confronting him like that? That fool dared to not only question Starscream but to voice his treasonous thoughts out loud. 

     Idiot.

     What if somebody overheard? 

     What if Soundwave overheard? 

     Starscream froze. A cold dread ran through his circuits at the mere thought of the surveillance mech. 

     He glanced around at the dark, empty corners of the corridor. He was alone, wasn’t he? A familiar paranoia began to take root beneath his plating, making the dim light of the mine feel suffocating. Seekers didn’t do well underground, and now he understood that more than ever. The walls seemed to press in tighter around his frame, the air staler in his vents. His optics darted from shadow to shadow, expecting to see that ever-vigilant red visor watching him from the darkness. 

     The small, rational part of his processor argued that was impossible, as Soundwave never left his post surveilling the Decepticon communications network unless ordered to by Megatron.

     Still, the very possibility of Soundwave being aware of his earlier exchange with Thundercracker made his vision spin. What if their conversation was recorded? What if Soundwave had been observing them the entire time?

     No, he thought to himself, cringing at how close the word echoed in his mind like a prayer. No, Soundwave couldn’t possibly know. 

     Because if Soundwave knows, then that means Megatron knows.

     And if Megatron found out what Thundercracker said then the blue seeker was a dead mech walking. That is, of course, assuming that the warlord hadn’t already sunk his servos into his trinemate. The very thought made Starscream’s vents hitch and suddenly the flooded cavern did not seem nearly as important.

  He was running now, a fact that he only became aware of when he accidentally knocked over a cart of energon Scavenger was sorting. Ignoring the Constructicon’s shouts, he opened his commlink, switching from the Decepticon frequency to the private one shared by him, Thundercracker, and Skywarp.

<Thundercracker from Starscream. Come in. Over.>

    He waited for a reply with bated breath before realizing no commlink was strong enough to breach the dense rock of an underground mine. He should be back at the dig site by now, shouldn’t he? Why don’t I see him here? The walk from the temporary camp isn’t that far. Starscream cursed under his breath, frustration simmering beneath the cool exterior he fought so hard to maintain.

    Up until this point, he had done well in misdirecting his leader’s ire from his brothers. Like the time Skywarp exploded the mess hall in one of his pranks; Starscream had been quick to shift the blame onto an imaginary gas leak in the ventilation systems. Or when Thundercracker overslept and failed to lead an aerial assault, causing a delay in their offensive. The Decepticon Commander had spun it into a tactical decision, convincing Megatron that it was all part of a larger strategy.

    Each time one of those idiots messed up, Starscream was there, using his intelligence and cunning wit to protect them.

    Starscream pushed himself harder, his steps echoing through the caverns until he finally burst from mine’s entrance, a relieved sigh escaping him at the sight of daylight. In one smooth motion, he transformed, ignoring the jagged waves of pain that radiated out from his spinal injury. He could deal with that later. 

     The wind screamed around him as he shot up into the sky, engines roaring to life with an audial-splitting hum. He tore through the air, his mind set on getting to the temporary base as soon as possible.

    He knew no amount of assuaging would convince Megatron that his brother’s earlier admissions were anything less than mutiny. Starscream knew what the punishment was for that degree of insubordination. He had felt it just days ago.

     The seeker forced his engine into overdrive. He wouldn’t allow Thundercracker to fall victim to Megatron’s wrath. Not while his spark still burned bright in his chassis. He would find a way to cover this up, he had to. 

<Thundercracker from Starscream. Come in. Over.>

     The silence that followed gnawed at his at his core, each second stretching longer than the last. Was he too quick in dismissing Thundercracker’s idea to flee? Starscream couldn't help but briefly entertain the thought, but just as quickly as it came to him, he shook it away. No, he thought, that had been a foolish plan. The three of them would never survive on their own. Going rogue meant running away from the Decepticons' power, their unity, and their resources; it was equivalent to signing their own death warrants.

     Besides, it was better to stay, to play the game, as it was. Not only did they have better chances with an army at their sides, but running meant forsaking his right to lead. 

     Because it was his right, after everything he had endured, everything he had sacrificed. Only he could lead this army to victory, not Megatron, not Soundwave— 

<Starscream from Soundwave, Come in. Over.>

     He felt his tanks lurch. Soundwave’s metallic voice cut through his thoughts like a shard of ice. He paused, thinking this is it, he going to tell me to report to the Nemesis and I’m gonna have to see Thundercracker’s grey, mutilated corpse bleeding out because the idiot didn’t know how to keep his stupid mouth shut and now he’s gone and it's my fault I should’ve seen it coming, should’ve acted sooner, but now it’s too late and— 

     Then the voice came again, clear and cold, snapping him from his spiraling thoughts.

<Starscream from Soundwave, Come in. Over.>

     He drew in a deep vent and keyed in.

<Starscream standing by.>

<Lord Megatron: designated Lake Izabal and the surrounding area an air exclusion zone. Starscream: defied this order. Explain. Over.> 

    Starscream paused.

<...Is that all?>

    Now Soundwave paused.

<Query: Expecting a different line of questioning? Over.>

     Starscream could laugh. He landed quickly, transforming back to his root mode to let relief wash over him.

<No, not at all!>

    Soundwave didn’t know. Despite what the surveillance mech thought of himself, he was very predictable. His whole “omniscient watchdog” shtick was all part of a routine that Starscream had learned to anticipate over the vorns. If Soundwave knew about Thundercracker’s defiance, he wouldn’t be calling Starscream right now about defying orders. He would be summoning the trine back to the Nemesis so that Megatron could deal with the matter personally. Starscream would know. After all, that was how all of his punishments had been handled in the past—always delegated to him by the ever-so-loyal Soundwave.

     The surveillance mech remained silent on the other side of the connection, still waiting for his reply. Starscream cleared his vocal processor.

<In case you have forgotten, I am a jet, Soundwave. His no-fly order is unreasonable. That’s like asking a grounder not to roll in the mud.>

<It is as he commands. Starscream’s directive: ensure energon mine remains hidden from Autobots. Over.>   

     Starscream grunted. He wasn’t far from the camp and it wasn’t like he had any real reason to get back now that he knew Soundwave did in fact not know. Still, he was so close already. It wouldn’t hurt to check what was keeping Thundercracker for so long.

     Starscream swatted angrily at a wayward branch as he walked through the thick foliage. His optics flickered with annoyance before answering once more.

<I was airborne for less than a klik! The mine’s secrecy has hardly been compromised by my short flight, I can assure you—>

     His words died in his throat.

     Standing proud in the Decepticon camp was none other than the blasted Autobots. None of them seemed to have noticed the Decepticon second-in-command standing half-hidden in the tree line, as each mech was enraptured by their current task of what appeared to be stealing the Decepticon’s stash of refined energon. And they had the nerve to call us criminals?!?

     The seeker’s disbelief quickly morphed into panic once his optics landed on Prowl, who was busy reading the Cybertronian right to silence to Skywarp, Breakdown, and of course, Thundercracker. 

      Huh. So that’s why my calls have been going unanswered.

      Each of his mechs was cuffed and held down the heavy forms of Ironhide, Ratchet, and the little scout Bumblebee respectively. 

     As he watched the scene before him unfold, Starscream realized he wasn’t even upset. Simply, disappointed. They had just run drills earlier this week on close-combat tactics, yet here these three idiots were, captured while the Autobots ran amok. His optics flickered from each prisoner before landing on Skywarp. His brother saw him immediately and shot him an embarrassed shrug. Starscream frowned at him disapprovingly before charging up his null-rays. 

     “Must I do everything around here!?” He cried.

     The sharp crack of his blaster spurned everyone into action. One of his shots connected with Ironhide’s shoulder in a blast of purple light, sending the mech flying back in a violent tumble. Ratchet and Bee cried out for their fellow soldier and that distraction was all Skywarp needed to launch himself into the fray.

     The purple seeker slammed his cuffs over a jutted rock, instantly cracking the metal bindings from his servos. He rose to his pedes in one swift motion and with a wicked grin, Skywarp charged up his propulsion systems, launching himself pede first at Bumblebee’s chassis. The dropkick connected with a sickening crack, sending the yellow mech skidding across the field in a shower of sparks.

     With Bee incapacitated and off Thundercracker, Skywarp darted to his brother’s side, their forms blurring into a burst of violet light as he engaged his spark ability. Just as quickly as one could blink, the two Seekers disappeared and then reappeared by the Air Commander at the edge of the clearing. The two brothers made quick work of Thundercracker’s cuffs before powering up their own firearms. 

     "Nice timing," Thundercracker muttered as he flexed his now-free servos. “I was starting to get sick of our guests .”

     Starscream barely spared him a glance. "Focus," he hissed, voice commanding. "We’re still under fire!" 

     “Hey, aft-holes! What about me?” Breakdown screeched from beneath Ratchet’s pedes. 

     “Can it! I can’t concentrate with you screaming in my audial!” Ratchet snapped back, struggling to both hold down the armored van and get a good shot on the three seekers. 

     “Good!” 

     Blaster fire echoed across the battlefield, and the seekers were beginning to feel the full weight of the Autobot assault. Shots zipped past them, grazing their armor and leaving smoldering marks on their plating. They were landing a few solid hits in return, but just as always, the Autobots proved relentless.

     “Skywarp, get us to the skies, now!” Starscream yelled, his voice filled with urgency. The pressure was mounting, and they couldn’t afford to stay in the thick of it much longer. 

     "You got it, Screamer!" 

     The air around them shimmered with the same violet light from earlier, and in an instant, the three Seekers vanished from the battlefield.

  They then reappeared high above their camp, thankfully well beyond the range of Autobot fire. This did little to deter the Lamborghini’s, who were still desperately trying to shoot them out of the sky. Starscream’s optics narrowed as he surveyed the situation below, effortlessly dodging their wild shots. 

     “Ha! Look at Sunstreaker, still trying to shoot us down. Hey! Hey Slagstreaker! Work on your aim, you overgrown scraplet!”

     “He can’t hear you, Skywarp.”

     “It’s the principle of the matter.”

     Starscream ignored his brother’s antics, deciding it was time to focus on something more important, such as rallying his troops:

<Calling all Decepticon units, this is your Second-in-Command requesting backup at the Lake Izabal camp. Under heavy Autobot fire. Over.>

     He did not bother waiting for a reply, turning to his brothers when a stray bullet came too close to comfort. “Come on you too. Fall into formation,” his voice left no room for arguments.

     Skywarp and Thundercracker simply nodded. They fell to the left and right side of him, and together the three seekers transformed and dove, veering sharply into the battlefield below. As a trine, they made quick work of the clearing, scything through the enemy defenses with a barrage of high-powered plasma shots. Blaster fire illuminated the camp with brilliant bursts of energy, the explosions contrasting sharply against the dull smoke trails the jets left in their wake.

     "Autobots, fall back to the tree line!" The Prime bellowed. His commanding tone cut through the chaos, pulling his mechs back into the semblances of a formation.

     Starscream pulled his brothers back up to the cloud cover, ready to regroup for another pass. His engines purred with satisfaction as he ascended. Below him, the battlefield was a blur of motion—Autobots retreating, some of them firing back ineffectually as they moved into the trees.

      They’re retreating too easily, he thought. Pathetic. They can’t even hold their ground against the three of us for more than a few kliks.

      Thundercracker’s voice crackled over the rushing winds. "We can't let them regroup. They'll be ready for us next time."

     "You think I don't know that?" Starscream snapped back, but the anger in his tone was more out of frustration than malice. "We’ll make sure they never get that chance. Skywarp, get ready for a full pincer."

     "Sure thing! Let’s make this fun!" sadistic glee colored his words as he disappeared in a flash of violet light.  

     “Okay, the two of us will keep them occupied up front, drawing their fire to provide Skywarp the opening to flank them from the back. We hit them hard and we hit them fast. No hesitation. You got that?”

<Trine from Skywarp. In position. Ready when you are. Over.>

     Just as Starscream was going to reply, Thundercracker let out a quiet noise, one so small that Starscream didn’t know if he truly heard it or not.

     “...Are you upset with me?” 

     Starscream turned to his brother incredulously. “I thought I told you to drop this.”

     The blue seeker fell silent for a moment. Then, with a heavy sigh, he transformed back into his root mode. “I trust you, you know that right?” 

     Starscream transformed as well. “Is now really the time to talk about this?”

     Thundercracker’s optics scanned the battlefield below, his mind divided. 

     “That was a rhetorical question! We aren’t having this conversation right now!”

     “Is that an order?” He gritted out. “Because if it is, I’ll follow it. But you need to understand something—I trust you, Starscream. You are my brother and...not once have I ever felt like I couldn’t trust you to watch my back. So why can’t you let me and Skywarp do the same for you?”

     For a brief moment, the usual irritation in Starscream’s chassis faltered, replaced by something deeper, something that he couldn’t quite name. Starscream knew of his brothers’ loyalty. He had always known they cared. But hearing it now, so earnestly; it struck a chord he couldn’t ignore.

     His mouth felt dry. “I…I don’t—”

     A loud ping from their commlinks startled him.

<Trine from Skywarp. Uh…is everything alright up there? Has there been a change of plans? Over.>

     Starscream tore his optics away from his brother, opening the commlink with just a tad too much force.

<Just stick to the plan. We’ll handle the distractions up front. When I give you the signal, you move. Over.>

     Starscream sighed heavily, trying to force down the growing frustration. "Focus on the mission for now. I’ll…consider reviewing our earlier conversation after we’ve wiped these pests from our camp."

     A surprised smile flickered over his brother’s faceplate.

     Starscream growled, frustration bubbling up again before transforming back into his jet mode. "Oh, don’t look so shocked! I can be reasoned with, you know?"

     Thundercracker said nothing in response, but there was a shift in his posture. A weight seemed to lift off the blue seeker's wings as if some unspoken tension had evaporated with the promise to speak of this later. He did not voice his approval, simply transforming back into his jet mode to fall back by his brother’s right side. 

     The two jets began their descent, the ground below stretched far beneath them as they prepared for the impending strike. It was as Thundercracker predicted: the Autobots had regrouped, ready for the second wave. Projectiles and blaster fire lit a darkening sky as the two seekers, sleek and deadly, continued their forward strike.

     Starscream veered suddenly to the left, a fiery burst lighting up his path. Thundercracker was close behind, his movements fluid and precise as he dodged another barrage of fire with a corkscrew spin. Over the din of the battle, Starscream heard his brother’s weapons charging for a counterattack.

<Don’t fire! Skywarp is somewhere in the trees. Once we get within 100 meters, we pull up and let him have his fun.>

     Thundercracker growled.

<When are those reinforcements arriving?>

<They’ll get here when they get here! 600 meters from the tree line…>

     A deafening roll of gunfire sent sparks flying to his left. He ignored it, keeping his focus on the ever-approaching tree line.

<500…400…300…200.. NOW SKYWARP.>

     In an instant, the two jets pulled up, surrendering themselves to the winds once more. Starscream’s injury complained loudly at the sudden jerk. Vents stuttering, he forced himself to intake through the feeling of molten metal where his back strut should be. Not now! He couldn’t afford to lose himself to the pain. His injury was a weakness that any sane mech would not hesitate to exploit in battle.

    Biting back a groan, he straightened in the air, forcing himself to focus on the forest below. Starscream’s optics flashed with delight as he watched Skywarp’s teleportation ripple through the trees, before reappearing high above the canopy to scatter the Autobots across the sky like falling stars. The shimmer of his brother’s spark ability was like a herald of doom, as the mechs were one by one whisked away from their cover and sent into a free fall. The confusion among the Autobot's ranks was delicious—the shouting, the scrambling for purchase, the weapons firing blindly into the sky as they tumbled to the ground one right after another—it was a brilliant symphony of chaos that only Skywarp could orchestrate.

     The “SPLAT,” as Skywarp liked to call it, was a very effective usage of his teleportation power, but ultimately predictable if you saw the purple seeker coming. 

     Unfortunately, that proved to be the case when he tried the same maneuver on the Prime, who was no stranger to Decepticon fighting tactics. They both disappeared in a flash of light, reappearing high above the forest canopy. Optimus’s optics flared with a sharp, calculating focus as he quickly reoriented himself in the sky. He had anticipated the teleportation and just as the seeker let go, his massive servos shot up, grabbing Skywarp by the leg. 

     “H-Hey! Let go!” Skywarp yelped, desperately trying to shake Optimus off. He engaged his thrusters, hoping the searing heat would slacken the Prime’s grip, but the Autobot’s hold remained unyielding, his fingers like iron clamps around his leg. Skywarp cried out as Optimus began to tear into his leg plating, ripping open his fuel lines. His thrusters sputtered and stalled as he struggled against the dead weight of a semi-truck and now both of them were plummeting toward a rapidly approaching ground.

     “Warp us down or we both crash,” Optimus yelled over the rushing winds.

     Skywarp couldn’t keep the panic out of his voice, as the trees grew closer and closer. “Y-You’re insane!”  

     Optimus’s response was calm but more serious than the seeker had ever heard before: “You hurt Bumblebee.”

     Optics widening, Skywarp relented, allowing his power to ripple outward to envelop the two of them. But just as he was about to warp them out of the sky, the unmistakable whine of twin jet engines roared overhead. Starscream and Thundercracker swooped in, diving toward the falling pair with an audial-splitting shriek before delivering two powerful roundhouse kicks to the Prime’s back strut. Their joint assault sent Optimus careening to the ground, sans a seeker in his servos.

    “I’ve told you countless times before that move is too predictable!” Starscream yelled, taking the purple seeker’s weight over his shoulder. Thundercracker followed suit, grabbing onto Skywarp’s left side.

     “You can’t rely on one pretty parlor trick to do the job or you’ll be a liability on the battlefield.” 

     Skywarp frowned, a sharp retort ready. “It worked well enough on Ratchet!”

     The three seekers looked down at the ambulatory mech below. Ratchet’s battered frame was half-buried, helm first in the ground, a twitching pede signifying that he was still alive, though barely.

     Starscream ushered his brothers back down to the camp. “Yes, speaking of Ratchet...where is his prisoner?” He scanned the area, searching the suspiciously quiet battlefield for any sign of Breakdown.

    “Long gone by now, if he has any sense left,” a new voice remarked from behind them.

    The brothers twisted around and found themselves staring down several gun barrels, each aimed directly at their helms. There they all stood—the Prime, the Autobot commanders, and their loyal soldiers—all battered, forms caked with mud from their tumble from the sky.

    “You are outnumbered. Surrender now if you wish to spend a night in the brig, rather than our med bay,” Ironhide snarled, taking the safety off his gun.

    “The frag you mean surrender?” Thundercracker laughed. “We don’t need anyone but ourselves to end this!”

    “Statistically unlikely,” Prowl remarked.

    At that moment, Starscream’s commlink pinged.

<Soundwave: Reluctantly agrees with Prowl. Reinforcements: inbound.>

    The sound of rapidly approaching engines cut through the clearing. The trees trembled as the unmistakable roar of approaching vehicles filled the air, soon accompanied by the thunderous stomp of pedes closing in fast. In an instant, Soundwave, the Constructicons, Dreadwing, and, of course, their formidable leader Megatron emerged from the shadows, a menacing force that seemed to darken the very ground beneath them. The Autobots tensed, weapons raised, but now unsure to whom they should be aiming at.

     For a moment, Starscream let the smallest smirk play across his faceplates.

     That was until Megatron’s deep, rumbling voice finally broke the silence. “Autobots, you’ve overstayed your welcome,” he growled, stalking ever closer. His massive fusion cannon was aimed directly at the Prime and crackled with radiation. “Decepticons, attack!” 

     And then the fighting started once more. 

     Starscream abandoned his brothers’ sides, launching himself at Prowl with deadly precision. The two collided hard , their chassis’ clashing in a shower of sparks as they tumbled further from the fray. 

     With a growl, Starscream swung his null-ray at the ex-enforcer’s helm, but the Autobot was quick, deflecting the shot with a precise jab to the seeker’s shoulder. The flurry of wild shots sent plumes of dust into the air, obscuring their immediate surroundings and Starscream found himself stumbling blindly through a dirt cloud. 

    In the distance, he could hear the battle raging on. Time seemed to stretch out before him and suddenly, a familiar sensation crept into his helm—a cold invasion that spread like liquid nitrogen into his circuits. It made his vision blur and his systems began to whine with malfunctioning feedback.

     Something in Starscream’s processor screamed wrong, wrong, this is all wrong, but it was drowned out by the overwhelming static in his audials. His field of vision flickered as flashes of the battle came in and out of focus, obscured by the dust surrounding him. As he took a shaky step forward, the cold sensation in his helm tightened its grip. It flooded his internal circuitry, spreading through him like a virus, an invasive, suffocating force that made everything feel distant and unreal.

     The battle was so muffled now but if he strained his audials, he could hear the clanging of metal on metal, the screeching of tortured armor, of explosions overhead, and suddenly he could hear again, so clearly! He heard the functionists marching on Kaon, the rhythmic thumping of their pedes crushing their fragile hope of resistance. They were coming, and they would extinguish their sparks without mercy, just like they did in Vos. And then, cutting through the static, that annoying buzzing in his audial were the screams. The desperate, agonized screams of seekers burning above Vos. Their high-pitched wails were so vivid in his helm, that he thought he could see the seekers spiraling through the sky in flames, their cries reaching him across the vast gulf of time and space.

     His vents struggled to function as the air around him seemed to thicken, each intake becoming more labored and shallow. He felt his knees buckle beneath him, and with a weak, pathetic gasp, he collapsed to all fours.

     No…this isn’t real! How can I be back here? His processor scrambled for clarity. This already happened. All of this, it already happened!

      Desperately, his claws dug into the soil, the rough texture beneath him grounding him just as the memories threatened to pull him back under. With frantic optics, he looked down at his dirtied servos. This…wasn’t Cybertron. Absently, he reminded himself of the fact that there was no dirt on his home planet—no organic-based lifeforms could survive without an ozone layer, something Cybertron poorly lacked when compared to Earth. That’s right. This was Earth... The realization sounded wrong in his mind, but it was a truth he couldn’t deny.

      Slowly, the fog in his processor began to subside. He wasn’t in Kaon or Vos, he was on Earth, in that horrid rainforest fighting Prowl—

     Who took this moment to reintroduce himself with an axe kick to Starscream’s back strut.

     Suddenly, what planet he was on hardly mattered as pain ripped through him with brutal clarity. His vocalizers erupted into a loud, desperate wail—a sound far more animalistic than anything he’d ever intended to make as the welds on his back cracked wide open. 

     His internal systems fired off alarms in rapid succession, warning him of the damage, but his body was no longer his to command. Each intake was agony and the sensation of his back being pulled apart left him trembling, unable to fight through the onslaught of pain pain pain ithurtssomuchmakeitstop—

     Prowl, to his credit, realized something was immediately wrong when the seeker wouldn’t stop screaming. It wasn’t the usual frustrated screeching or defiant yelps of battle. This was something raw, primal—desperate . 

     He lifted his pede, prepared to assess his enemy. He took a step back and faltered when his gaze fell to where his attack had landed. To his surprise—and fleeting, almost horrified realization—he saw the damage: the force of his kick had broken through the red armor across Starscream’s back, revealing jagged, charred layers of protoform beneath. 

     The sight certainly shocked him. Starscream’s armor, usually so pristine and formidable, now looked so fragile. The jagged edges of the exposed protoform were burnt and frayed, the damage much worse than anything he could have anticipated. It wasn’t just an old battle wound, Prowl knew that much. The injury looked too deliberate, too personal; it was the kind of damage that could only be forged by calculated torment. His back was a twisted reflection of past suffering, far beyond the usual carnage of war.

     “Starscream? Starscream can you hear me? You need to calm yourself!” Prowl’s voice broke through the chaos, firm but tinged with an unfamiliar hesitation. His words didn’t carry his usual commanding tone. No, there was something different there…a genuine need to reach Starscream through his panic.

     But the seeker didn’t respond. His vocalizers erupted again with that high-pitched, desperate screeching. It was so far from anything that resembled the confident, self-assured drawl that Prowl knew. 

     The Autobot’s mind raced, trying to make sense of the situation. 

     Prowl had faced combatants of all kinds before, weathered battles that would break a lesser bot than himself, but this was different. There was no strategy or tactics to run in his data processor. This was not something he could simply solve with logic or brute force. This was a crisis, a mech on the edge of breaking, and for once, Prowl had no plan. His usual calm demeanor was slipping, replaced by a gnawing doubt that had crawled into his spark. 

     Then, the worst happened. A gust of wind shook the trees and two large shadows loomed overhead, snapping through the thick canopy and landing with a heavy thud beside him.

     He didn’t have to look up to know who had just dropped in. 

     For a brief moment, Skywarp and Thundercracker stood silently watching, and the Autobot just knew what this looked like to the two Decepticons. Here Prowl was, standing high and mighty above the fallen Air commander. Starscream was still screeching out in pain, rightfully so as his back was torn open in a grotesque display. 

     “Hold your fire, I don’t know what happened he just—”

     Thundercracker didn’t let him finish. The blue seeker launched himself at Prowl with a flurry of precision strikes. His movements were calculated, fast—aiming to kill, Prowl realized as a sharp jab to the police bot’s chassis sent searing pain shooting through his frame. Thundercracker’s claws found purchase between his shoulder joints, but Prowl was quick to react, raising his forearm to deflect the seeker from tearing his arm off completely. 

     “Thundercracker, cease this! I don’t wish to fight you!” 

     “You should have thought about that before you hurt my brother!”

     But Prowl couldn’t formulate a reply as the second the Decepticon moved in. Skywarp’s figure blurred, his form warping through space with his teleportation ability. One moment, he was at the edge of Prowl’s peripherals; the next, the purple seeker was right in front of him, delivering a brutal uppercut that sent pain reverberating through his jaw. Prowl staggered back, his equilibrium now miscalibrated from the attack. A fog began to settle in his processor, which he quickly tried to shake off. 

     The Autobot saw messages popping up on his HUD, flashing warnings of critical damage to his reactionary systems. He dismissed them quickly, trying to focus on the blur of purple and blue fury that surrounded him. Skywarp and Thundercracker were relentless, each punch and kick designed to break him down—force him to make a mistake, to expose any weakness. But Prowl couldn’t afford to make a mistake. Not now.

     “Didn’t see that coming, did you, Autobot?” Skywarp taunted before warping away.

     Prowl whipped around, fists close to his faceplate as his optics darted from tree to tree, wildly searching the area for the two seekers. He didn’t hear the woosh of the two Decepticons reappearing right behind him over the throbbing pain in his helm, meaning he couldn’t anticipate the impact of Skywarp and Thundercracker’s simultaneous attack. The two Decepticons had their pedes aimed squarely at the back of Prowl’s helm and metal clashed with a shattering boom through the Autobot’s body. 

     His optics flickered briefly as the world tilted, a ringing in his audials intensifying as he fell faceplate first into the ground. His self-repair systems couldn’t compensate against the damage and much to his dismay, the world went dark.

     Waking up from a forced stasis was always a disorienting experience. Prowl's optics slowly flickered back to life, the world around him a blur of hazy shapes and distorted sounds. The ringing in his audials had blessedly stopped, but the dull ache that lingered in its place was almost worse. 

     His vision gradually sharpened, revealing the dim surroundings—he was still in the forest, though he noticed he had been moved as this wasn’t the same clearing he had just fought in. The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows across the forest floor. Joors must have passed since the battle. His head swam as he tried to move, but his limbs were stiff and uncooperative, a reminder of the violent beating he had endured.

     Kneeling beside him was Ratchet, his faceplate set in a grim, determined expression as he assessed Prowl’s condition. The medic’s hands were a blur of motion, moving with precision as he adjusted the damaged components in Prowl’s body. His voice was low, almost soothing in contrast to the urgency of the situation.

     "Hold on, Prowl," Ratchet muttered under his breath, not looking up. "I’ve got you."

     Prowl’s optics flickered weakly as he tried to focus, hearing the familiar sounds of Ratchet’s tools working, the soft hiss of repairing systems, and the subtle hum of pain blockers coursing through his circuits.      

     "You were out cold for a while. Don’t try to talk right now. You’ve got enough damage that I’ll need to run a full diagnostic back at the Ark to be sure you’re even—"

     "I’m... fine," Prowl interrupted weakly, shaking his head slightly, though the movement was sluggish and unsteady. "They...didn’t get me."

     "You’re not fine," Ratchet replied bluntly. "Your internal systems are on the brink of total failure, and your helm is nearly caved in. Just what the pit happened to you?"

     Prowl dropped his helm back to the ground. His thoughts were scattered, but he couldn’t help the faint, pained smile that tugged at the edges of his mouth. 

     “I should’ve…held back.”

Chapter Text

     Bee was uncharacteristically quiet as he drove Spike to Mount St. Hilary’s College that morning. It had been four days since Guatemala and the Autobots were still reeling from their defeat. Spike didn’t know what exactly transpired out in the field, only that the mission was a failure and Prowl got the worst of it. The police-bot was fine, according to their resident medic, but the loss had hit them all pretty hard, going off Bumblebee’s sour mood. 

     Spike, for his part, was also a bit preoccupied at the moment. The days of being thrown headlong into Autobot missions seemed behind him, or at least put on a temporary hold ever since he started taking his studies more seriously.

      Recently, Chip Chase and him were each granted a spot as a research intern on campus, studying nuclear transmutations and how this process could be used to create stable energon isotopes. All of this was hypothetical research, but when the two humans shared the news with the Autobots, Wheeljack was practically jumping for joy. The scientist’s excitement was clear as day as he babbled on about his own theories on energon conversions. Though it felt good that his studies could be useful to his friends, this new internship meant that he wasn’t always available to help them out in the field when they needed it. 

      Maybe that’s what’s bothering Bee, Spike thought as the silence verged on the edge of uncomfortable. Their drives together were something special to the human and he thought—well, he hoped—that Bumblebee felt comfortable enough in their friendship to divulge his problems just as Spike did whenever it was just the two of them.

     “A little quiet today, Bee. I was hoping we could catch up, seeing how this whole research thing has been keeping me occupied lately.”

     “Huh? Oh yeah. Not much to tell you, I’m afraid. Besides what happened at Lake Izabal.”

     “Oh yeah, I heard from Sunstreaker that Prowl got his ass kicked by the seekers,” Spike said with a grin.

     “Mhm hmm.”

     More silence.

     “Uh...Are you worried about him? Ratchet told me he’ll be fine. I'm sure he'll make a full recovery by next week or, uh, deca-cycle.” 

     Bumblebee hummed. “No, it’s not that. It’ll take more than a couple of ‘Cons to keep Prowl down. That’s for sure.”

     “Glad to hear it.”

     More silence. 

     Spike coughed. “...So what is it then, big guy? Starting to creep me out with how quiet you are,” Spike said with a small laugh.

     The yellow mech paused. For a moment, Spike thought he was going to have to let the issue rest, but then the buggy’s engine rumbled with a heavy sigh. “It’s just…I’ve been fighting this war for an awful long time, Spike. And at some point in all that fighting, I’ve seemed to forget that my enemy is just as alive as me.”

     Spike frowned. “What do you mean?”

     “I don’t know how much I should share, but there was a scouting mission before everything went to slag at Lake Izabal. Jazz, ‘Raj, and I got the drop on Thundercracker and Starscream, and at first, we all got excited thinking we were gonna score some intel on the operations. But the two seekers weren’t talking war strategy; Big Blue was begging Starscream to abandon the Decepticons.”

      “Holy shit.” 

      “Yeah. It took me so off guard. He was really worried for Screamer.  It made me rethink every interaction I had with him. I mean, up until now, I saw the Decepticons as all the same: war-hungry, violent insurrectionists. It wasn’t hard to accept that as the truth, seeing how every time I came across one of those mechs they were either destroying a planet, hurting my friends, or both. But now I’m left wondering how many Decepticons feel just like him? How many want to leave the war behind but can’t because they feel…stuck? Are there others that I’ve been shooting at who don’t wanna fight? The whole thing just over complicated this war,” Bumblebee admitted. 

     Spike stayed silent for a moment to gather his thoughts. “I don’t know what it’s like to be stuck in a war for so long, and I won’t try to devalue all the terrible things Decepticons have done in the past. I’ve seen what they are capable of; I almost lost my dad that day they attacked the oil rig. But what I do know is that it’s good you have empathy for your enemy, Bumblebee. When this war does end, and it will, it is that empathy that will solidify the peace between your factions. You just gotta hold onto the hope that enough of those idiots see you in the same light.”

     Bee seemed to consider Spike’s words. The two stayed silent as the yellow bug rolled up to the drop-off zone. “I suppose you’re right.”

     “Of course I’m right. It’s like what Optimus always says isn’t it?” Spike put his hands over his mouth and tried his best to mimic the Prime’s deep grumble, “Freedom is the right of all sentient beings.”

     Bumblebee snorted, and the small laugh made Spike feel like he did something good. “Hey, that wasn’t half bad! Nine outta ten. You should show Optimus your impression later.”

     “Oh god no. He would probably hit me with that trademark dad frown of his,” Spike grimaced as he stepped out of the yellow bug. “His glare alone could destroy me. I can’t face that kind of power.”

     Bee laughed again and this time it sounded real. The earlier tension all but faded away as Spike stepped onto the sidewalk. He was just about ready to wish the yellow mech goodbye when Bee spoke up again.

     “Thanks, Spike, for lending me an audial,” he said, his tone much lighter now. “I appreciate it.”

     Spike gave Bee a small pat on his roof. “Ah, don’t mention it. And don’t mention my impression to anyone either!”

     “Be safe, Spike,” Bee replied, not promising anything. 

     Spike gave him the “I’m watching you” gesture and the yellow mech wished for a moment he was in root mode so he could reply with a less nicer gesture of his own. Instead, he wiggled his mirrors before speeding off back to base. 

     Spike watched him go for a moment, the sound of Bee’s engine fading into the morning fog. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he turned back toward the science hall, his thoughts shifting back to the day ahead.

     The building before him was a shining example of modern architecture, all sleek angles and towering glass windows. Mount St. Hilary’s Hall of Science stood tall among the other brick structures on campus, shimmering in the early morning sky as if it were a beacon of light itself. His college had recently expanded its science department thanks to the generous donations made by Ironclad Petroleum. It wasn’t a secret who was behind the funding for the new and improved Hall of Science; Spike knew all too well that Ironclad, with its vast wealth, had been pivotal in making the upgrades possible.

     Yet as he made his way inside, he couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy about all the strings that came attached to the cutting-edge equipment and fully furnished laboratories. Ironclad was an oil company first; hardly the kind of corporation that made generous donations out of the goodness of their hearts. The fact that they had chosen to fund the university’s science department made Spike wonder just what kind of research they were expecting in return. 

     “Scowling at the walls again?” A familiar voice called from behind him. “Might wanna ease off that. People might think you’re crazy.”

     Spike turned towards the voice, cocking his eyebrow. “Yeah, well, it’s hard not to when you’re walking through what is essentially a giant oil advertisement.”

     “Huh. Well, it’s a good thing I can’t walk then,” Chip said, tapping his wheelchair.

     Spike couldn’t suppress the laugh that swelled up in his chest, his earlier misgivings momentarily forgotten in Chip’s company. The two of them were rising stars at Mount St. Hilary’s, having earned their place in their respective departments through sheer grit and determination. Chip had always been a tech genius, but college seemed to bring out a competitive side of him that Spike hadn’t fully anticipated. The quiet, unassuming kid he knew in high school had transformed into someone who constantly pushed himself, always looking for ways to outdo the next big thing. Meanwhile, Spike decided to pursue an education in nuclear physics, inspired by his time working alongside the Autobots and seeing firsthand the potential of energon as a power source.  

     The two of them made a perfect pair—soon they would be pushing boundaries and achieving things others could only dream of. But of course, that was only if they survived this internship.

     Spike sighed, running a hand through his hair as he stepped through the glass doors of the lab. The pristine, sterile environment seemed to close in around him, the soft hum of machines and computers almost too perfect, too calculated. Ironclad’s logo—bold and unyielding—was etched on every surface, from the sleek computers to the meticulously polished beakers. It felt like the company’s presence was everywhere, looming over them.

     “Seriously though,” Spike said, looking sideways at Chip, “This whole expansion—doesn’t it feel kinda... off to you?”

     “Hey, I’m just happy this building has a working elevator,” Chip huffed as he gave Spike a knowing look. “That’s more than what our old high school could say. Progress is progress, right?”

     Spike grunted in reply, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. He stayed quiet, not having the energy left to argue. Putting on his coat and safety goggles, he got to his workbench and went over his notes on their new proposal.

     Chip and he were busy finishing up their third draft when a voice startled the pair.

     “Chase, Witwicky; If it’s not too much trouble, may I pull you two away for a private conversation?”

     The head researcher, Dr. Jessica Morgan, was standing over them with an expectant look. She was a mousey woman, with cropped auburn hair and dark, inviting eyes. Despite her unassuming appearance, she carried an air of authority that made her presence feel much larger than her small frame suggested. Her lab coat was meticulously neat, and she had a habit of appearing when least expected; as if she were always observing from the corners of the room.

     Spike straightened up, adjusting his goggles from where they slid off his face. "Uh, of course, Dr. Morgan! Is something the matter?”

     She smiled kindly. “No, I just need to speak to the two of you regarding your place in my lab.”

     Spike felt his heart stop. Damn it. The moment those words left Dr. Morgan’s mouth, his mind raced with all the worst-case scenarios. He had been waiting for this—for the other hypothetical shoe to drop and squish their dreams into oblivion. This lab was a prestigious spot, and they were lucky to have earned their places, especially as second-year students. Of course it was a matter of time before their luck ran out. Spike just didn’t realize it would be so soon.

     She led them into her office and to his surprise there sat Dr. Mark Morgan, Dr. Morgan’s father who was more widely known as the department chair of Physical Sciences. Oh fuck. That’s it. Goodbye, Mount. St. Hilary’s. It was nice while it lasted. Someone must’ve heard me talking shit about Ironclad having their dirty fingers everywhere and told the Dr. Morgans that I was ungrateful and now Chip is gonna lose his spot in this lab because he’s affiliated with me—

     But before Spike’s thoughts could escape him even further, Dr. Morgan raised a hand, her expression softening just slightly. "Relax, Spike. Please, take a seat," she said, almost as though she could hear the thoughts racing through his mind. "This isn't about your work. It's about your future."

     “So, we aren’t in trouble?” Chip asked, still unconvinced this wasn’t a dismissal.

     “Far from it!” The older man laughed. “My daughter has been keeping a close eye on the two of you and wanted to offer a unique opportunity,” the older Morgan’s voice was deep and gravelly, but there was a warmth to it that made Spike want to trust that what he said was true.

     Chip and Spike shared a look before letting them continue.

     “Look around, boys. Everything in this building, from the brand new telescope on the roof to the very floor we walk on; all of this is only possible due to the generous contributions made by our leading partner, Ironclad Petroleum.”

     Spike winced at the name but let the man continue.     

     “They have given us the means to build this facility, and while we are very grateful for that, their generosity doesn't stop there; they have also allocated additional funds for field expeditions.”

     Now Dr. Jessica spoke up. “I read your papers; both of you. Your theories on energon signal mapping go beyond the works of any student in that lab. I’ve been following your work for a while now, and I think the two of you are just what my expedition team needs to succeed.”

     Spike’s eyes widened in surprise, his throat going dry. “Y-your expedition? You want us in the- in the field? Like for real?” 

     She laughed at Spike’s stammering. “Yes, like for real. I know it is a bit unorthodox for two undergraduates to be invited to something like this,” Dr. Jessica said, her tone light but with an edge of seriousness. “But that’s exactly why I’m choosing you two. You’re not bogged down by all the institutional norms and limitations. You both see the world in a way many of us have forgotten how.”

     “What kind of expedition are we talking about here?” Chip asked, his voice level but laced with uncertainty. “What exactly do you need from us?”

     The two doctors exchanged a brief look before Dr. Mark Morgan leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low murmur, “There’s not much we can say other than Ironclad is lending us some highly advanced technology to find energon deposits on Earth. If the sample size is large enough, they are willing to allow us a portion of the minerals extracted.”

     Something close to anxiety lodged itself in Spike’s throat. As of right now, mankind didn’t have many applications for energon other than makeshift explosives. In its natural state, the livelihood of Cybertronians was a highly volatile element that no one knew how to replicate in a lab. They didn’t even have the means to refine it for safe use like the Autobots. Mankind just didn’t have the technology to wield this power.

     Or so he thought. If Ironclad had the technology to locate energon pockets, something only Cybertronians were capable of, it was likely they had the means of stabilizing it—some kind of tech that could handle the unstable energy. That was terrifying in itself. It also didn’t help that Ironclad’s primary interest in energon seemed more aligned with extracting its raw energy potential, rather than studying it for safe or sustainable applications.

     Chip seemed to be on the same page as him, going off how nervously his fingers fluttered over his knees.  

     However, if this expedition were to be profitable, it meant the lab would be able to get their hands on real energon. With that, all these hypothetical tests they were running could turn into reality. They would be able to reverse-engineer the compound’s properties and harness its energy in a controlled way, and then the Autobots would have a stable supply and wouldn’t have to fight the Decepticons for resources! 

     Spike ran the pros and cons in his head, quickly sifting through his thoughts.

     Once again, the head researcher spoke up, as if she could hear him. “We don’t expect a decision right now. Just let me know by the end of the week. We leave on the first.” She stood up to lead them back to the lab, the meeting now finished.

     Chip remained in his spot, frowning up at her. “Hang on, you never said where we were going?”

     “That is! If we decide to go,” Spike finished quickly. 

     She grinned at the two of them, the promise of adventure hidden deep in her eyes. “The North Pole.”

     “Ye-ACK. I thought a doctor’s touch was supposed to be gentle,” Starscream grumbled. 

     The seeker was currently lying face down on a medical berth aboard the Nemesis. His outburst echoed in the sterile environment and was only met with a tired sigh from the resident doctor. 

     Knockout tried ignoring him, choosing instead to focus on adjusting the red plating between Starscream’s wings, but this caused the wayward appendages to spasm and block his vision.  

     Knockout glared at his unruly patient, though it was not as if the seeker could see it. “And I thought commanders didn’t leave any mechs behind, so I guess we’re both disappointed!” he retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

     After the little fiasco at Lake Izabal, Breakdown did not make it back to the extraction zone. Starscream, naturally, wasn’t aware of this, seeing how sometime after his altercation with Prowl his body went into emergency stasis. The next thing he knew the battle was over and he was waking up four solar-cycles later with the Decepticon medic servos deep in his back.

     “It’s not like I had a say in the matter, Knockout. Spare me some credit.”

     “I would if you ever listened to me. I told you your injuries weren’t fully healed yet, but of course, you had to rush into the next mission like you’ve got a death wish!” Knockout’s touch remained gentle on his plating, but his words didn’t hold back. “And now the welds on your back reopened and I’m down one set of helping servos because Breakdown is still missing!”

     Starscream stayed silent. His wings twitched again, but this time his discomfort wasn’t just from physical pain.

     “His commlink is still down?”

     Knockout grunted in reply. “I've been trying to reach him for solar-cycles now, but no such luck.”

     “Hmm.”

     The medic suddenly stopped in his ministrations to look at Starscream. “He isn’t deactivated, Commander.”

     “How can you be so sure?” The question wasn’t meant to be cruel. It’s just that Knockout needed to be honest with himself. Despite Starscream’s personal delusions of grandeur, he was at his core, a pragmatic mech. 

     “I just am,” Knockout huffed, keeping his voice steady. There was a faint trace of concern lingering in his words that Starscream chose to ignore. 

     Knockout shifted his focus back to the seeker’s back, his servos pausing as he tested his patient’s wing calibrations. “But something is off. I haven’t gotten any response from my stunticon. No signal. It’s like he just…disappeared.”

     Starscream considered his words. Breakdown had his faults, certainly—he was impulsive and a little too sentimental for Starscream’s liking. He was annoyingly clingy when it came to Knockout as well, failing to show up to combat training so that he could play nurse with the medic. Yet despite all that, he was someone you could always depend on in the heat of the battle. He was a solid mech that the Decepticon army had come to rely on, even if only subconsciously. The stunticon was a decent warrior whose presence on the battlefield would be missed if something had happened to him.

     Starscream groaned. It seemed as if there was only one thing to do then. “I’ll see what I can do.”

     It wasn’t a promise nor an apology, but it was the best thing Knockout was going to get out of him. 

     Knockout stayed silent but grinned. Yet again, the seeker could not see it.

     Starscream was discharged from the medical ward just a few joors later. The good doctor gave him the whole rundown—No flying for more than thirty minutes a solar-cycle, lay on your front when recharging, if you feel any sharp sensations contact me immediately—and that was just the short version. Knockout was always thorough, sometimes to the point of overkill when it came to his patients, but this time, Starscream couldn’t really fault him for it. He wasn’t in the best of conditions, and though he hated the idea of taking orders, he could at least appreciate the medic’s concern. 

     It wasn’t a long journey from the med bay to his personal quarters, but the walk exhausted him all the same. He tried his best to remain composed in the long, dark hallways of the Nemesis just in case he ran into one of his soldiers. The last thing he needed was Dragstrip or Ramjet catching him in a moment of weakness. Thankfully, the corridors remained blessedly free of any wily stunticons or obstinate seekers.

     When he finally reached his room, the door slid open with a soft hiss. The lights were off in the common room and his brothers were nowhere to be seen—odd. He was sure his trine would be here, waiting for him.

     Before allowing himself to feel too hurt by their absence, the logical part of his processor argued it had been four solar-cycles since the attack. Soundwave probably had them pick up some of his duties while he was out of commission.

     Starscream was so busy rationalizing their absence that he almost missed the large looming figure sitting in the corner of the room. His optics snapped toward the silhouette, his wings bristling in surprise.

     In less than a nano-klik the lights were on and his null-rays were aimed dead center on the mech’s chassis. 

     It was none other than Megatron, holding a familiar case of engex in his servos. Starscream froze for a moment, both his optics and weapons locked on the Decepticon leader as a familiar anxiety hung heavy in the air.

     The warlord didn’t look up, more focused on pouring himself another glass. The case was almost empty. Starscream could only stare in disbelief. The sight of Megatron in his private quarters, lounging on his settee, sipping on his engex, was more than an affront to his pride—it was an outright insult. That rare Vosian vintage was set aside for one momentous occasion and one occasion only: the solar-cycle he was named the new ruler of the Decepticons.

     But no. Instead, here his engex was, wasted on Megatron’s inferior palate. The brute couldn’t even tell the difference between high-grade and gasoline if it hit him in the faceplate. Starscream had half the mind to shoot him right then and there, consequences be damned to the pits. 

     “I didn’t know this stuff still existed. Never had it back on Cybertron.”

     “That’s because you don’t know how to appreciate the finer things in life.” 

     Megatron ignored the comment, watching the pink liquid swirl in his glass. “Back in the gladiatorial pits of Kaon, if you won a death-match, the overseer would offer you the choice of engex or the usual low-grade slag they called energon,” He said, closing his optics. The tank leaned back and took a long sip from his glass. Starscream didn’t know if it was the drink or the memory he was trying to savor. “I always took the energon."

      He then opened his optics once more and the seeker saw pure disgust looking back at him. “You see, Starscream, when you have to fight to survive, you need your wits about you at all times," an arrogant smile graced Megatron's faceplate. "However, I can see why an inferior mech such as yourself would be drawn to something as...decadent as this. Don’t you agree, Soundwave?”

     “Affirmative.”     

     Starscream nearly broke his neck at how quickly his helm swiveled towards that second voice. In the opposite corner stood the blue surveillance mech. Starscream had been so focused on the warlord that he hadn’t detected another presence in the room. He quickly dismissed his null-rays at the sight of Soundwave's blaster, deciding instead to stalk ever closer to where his fearless leader sat.

     “I suppose I would be wrong to assume this is just a social visit?” He sneered, taking a seat.

     The warlord’s smile failed to reach his optics. “No. What I want to know is why you failed to report that we had lost an entire sub-level of our mine before the Autobots attacked?” 

     “Ah.” Slag. Starscream nearly forgot about that with everything that happened afterward. “The cave-in was unfortunate, and though it would be my greatest pleasure to regale you with the details of the event, I must admit, I was occupied with more immediate concerns. The collapse happened unexpectedly, and thanks to me, none of our mechs were seriously harmed. My first priority was ensuring those trapped were freed safely—”

     “False,” Soundwave interrupted.

     Starscream’s processor stuttered to a halt. Oh, so it was one of those meetings. He smiled, barring his denta at the snitch before turning back to the tank “Forgive me, Lord Megatron. The details before the fight are hazy, due to my reprieve in the medical ward.”

     Megatron’s red optics glowed hot but he seemed more bored than anything, perhaps due to the engex in his system. “Try again,” he said calmly, watching the bubbles rise in his glass.

     Starscream cleared his voice processing unit, picking up where he left off. “The cave-in was unfortunate but entirely natural. This planet is so unstable, the ground itself is prone to shaking as tectonic plates crash against each other. The resulting quake caused one of the walls of sub-level five to collapse entirely, but after assessing the situation, I realized no mechs were stranded on the lower levels and the water seemed to be contained, meaning the issue did not require immediate attention.”

     Megatron turned to Soundwave for confirmation. Starscream was lying, and the telepath knew it. But since he was reading the seeker’s mind, he knew that the cave-in was caused by Rumble and Frenzy. If he wanted to call the seeker out on this lie, he would have to admit that his cassettes had sabotaged the operation, something Megatron would not tolerate. Soundwave’s visor flickered briefly, though his expression remained unreadable.

     Starscream felt his grin widen as he watched the surveillance mech struggle to find his words.

     “...Inconclusive.”

     Megatron raised an optic bridge at that but stayed silent.

     “See?” Starscream said with delight. “No harm no foul.”

     “No harm? We lost thirteen percent of our expected yield from that sub-level alone!” Megatron barked, setting his glass down with a loud clank. “Not to mention what was stolen by the Autobots in their cowardly attack.”

     “A small price to pay when the resulting fallout could have been much worse, my lord.”

     Megatron’s dermal plating curled into a snarl. “I expect more from my second in command than asinine platitudes.” 

     Starscream’s smile faltered, but he quickly recovered, masking the anxiety beneath his arrogant façade. Megatron's anger was palpable, but the seeker had faced the warlord’s wrath before. He could weather this storm.

     He lifted a hand in a gesture of mock placation. “My lord, I understand your frustrations. And I assure you, I did everything in my power to mitigate the damage,” he said, leaning forward to pour Megatron another glass. “If the Autobots hadn’t taken advantage of the chaos, I’m certain we could have salvaged more. But let us not dwell on the past—there are larger matters to attend to, yes?”

     The warlord didn’t reply but took the drink from Starscream’s servos. The seeker took that as a sign to continue. “I hear from the good doctor that his trusty assistant did not make it back to base. Are there any updates on Breakdown’s whereabouts?”

     “If the fool was stupid enough to be captured, then it is up to him to make it back of his own volition. I have no use for a mech who can’t carry his own weight," Megatron growled into his new glass of engex.

     “I agree, my lord,” Starscream replied, his voice smooth and unruffled. “But should we not at least investigate the stunticon’s disappearance? The Autobots could use this to their advantage. If there’s even a small chance that they’ve set a trap—”

     “If there’s a chance,” Megatron cut in, his tone laced with venom, “then it’s not worth wasting resources on a single failure. Breakdown is expendable. End of discussion.”

     It appeared the warlord was not in a mood to be reasoned with. When is he ever? His mind supplied bitterly.

     "Understood, Lord Megatron." Starscream relented. "Let us focus our efforts on the more pressing matters then.”

     The unexpected meeting between the three commanders was concluded shortly after the engex had run dry. Megatron’s mood only continued to sour the more Starscream and Soundwave probed at new attack plans, each offering two widely different approaches, yet both mechs equally frustrating in their own ways.

     After Megatron’s fist broke Starscream’s side table in half, the seeker came to the conclusion that they weren’t going to come to an agreement anytime soon. He pinched the space between his optic ridges. “Shall we reconvene at a later date? I am still healing from the battle and the doctor was very clear about prioritizing a routine recharge cycle.”

     Megatron looked like he wanted to disagree, but Soundwave interjected before the warlord could get a word in. “A delay may be necessary, Lord Megatron. Starscream’s condition: impairs his effectiveness,” His visor glimmered in the low light. “More so than usual.”

     Megatron’s optics flashed with frustration but after a tense moment, he relented. “Very well,” he said, standing up. The settee beneath him groaned from the rapid shift in weight. He stood tall, casting a shadow over the seeker. “We will delay—for now. But do not take this respite as an excuse to skirt your other duties.”

     Starscream’s smile tightened. “Thank you, my lord. I will recover quickly.”

     Megatron glanced towards his third-in-command, his expression unreadable. “Soundwave, I want a report on your cassette’s surveillance routes. Make sure to note any changes in Autobot movements or patterns. If there’s even the smallest deviation, I want to know about it.”

     Soundwave gave a brief, emotionless nod, his visor glowing brighter as a subtle acknowledgment. "Affirmative, Lord Megatron. All data acquired shall be cross-checked for inconsistencies."

     “Good.” Megatron walked towards the door but halted once he realized his third-in-command wasn’t following right behind him. He turned back with a deathly glower. 

     Soundwave remained firmly planted where he stood. His visor flickered slightly as he spoke once more. “Soundwave: must go over Starscream’s missed duties. Will return to command deck for scheduled monitor duty at 1800 joors.”

     Megatron’s optics narrowed slightly, an annoyance beginning to take root in his chassis. He had a retort ready but the engex in his system made his processor feel muddled. Deciding it was more trouble than what it was worth, the warlord waved a servo at the two mechs before exiting the room. “Fine. No one bother me for the rest of the solar-cycle.”

      Soundwave bowed. “Understood, Lord Megatron.”

     The door slid closed with a quiet hiss. Their leader’s lumbering steps faded away into the distance until the room was completely devoid of all noise.

     “You know your visor flickers whenever you lie, right?”

     Soundwave turned to the seeker. “Soundwave: unaware of blatant tell. Will remedy behavior for future reference.”

     Starscream folded his arms, his wings twitching slightly as he studied the communications officer. “Good. I’m not trying to get deactivated just because you’ve never lied before,” Starscream scoffed. “Aft-kisser.” 

     Soundwave ignored the insult. “Starscream: lied about cave-in. Explain.”

     “Soundwave: didn’t call me out,” Starscream mimicked, raising an optic bridge. 

     “Rumble and Frenzy would have been punished. Severely. Starscream: chose to protect them. Soundwave: confused. under the impression Starscream despises cassette bots.”

     The seeker turned up his olfactory sensor, an exaggerated gesture of mock disdain. “It is too much to believe that I lied out of the goodness of my spark?”  

     Soundwave stared.  

     “Alright, fair point,” Starscream sighed with a dramatic roll of his optics. He got to his pedes, stumbling slightly as sudden movement messed with his equillibrium. He recovered quickly, standing tall once more as he straightened his wings, “Perhaps I do have my reasons, alright?”

     Soundwave tilted his helm. “Soundwave: will not aid Starscream in any way that may harm Megatron.”

     Starscream huffed, “Like I would ask Megatron's loyal lapdog for help in my schemes,” he snapped, tone sharp. 

     “Soundwave: will also not aid Starscream in any way that may harm the Decepticon cause.”

     The seeker barred his dentas in a wide smile. “I wouldn’t dream of sabotaging our army, Soundwave. I’m just a simple seeker one simple request…” 

     That was a lie. Starscream wanted many things in life. He wanted world domination, the Autobots deactivated beneath his pedes, absolute control over the Decepticons, perhaps even the title of supreme leader, or grand emperor—something regal like that. But sadly, Soundwave could grant him none of those wishes. The wily second-in-command decided to settle for the next big thing: getting Knockout off his aft.

     “Do you have any information regarding Breakdown’s disappearance?”

Chapter Text

     Optimus was in a pleasant mood this solar-cycle. From the moment he awoke from recharge this morning, his frame felt incredibly light, which said a lot for a mech that weighed nearly ten tons.

     It was a change the Prime found most welcome, especially after he went over his agenda and saw that he had fourteen scheduled meetings. A tad excessive, he thought to himself, but with Prowl still recovering from his injuries, it was up to him to ensure that the second-in-command responsibilities were taken care of. Besides, he was a semi-truck; if anyone could handle taking on a heavier workload, it was him. 

     Which is why Optimus now found himself confined to the Ark’s command room for the foreseeable future. Mecha filtered in and out every joor, each presenting an issue that demanded the sole attention of a Prime. One moment he was caught between Red Alert and Jazz, the two arguing what would be the best way to increase Ark security; the next klik he was on a video call with Elita-1 regarding the fight on the homefront. 

     All in all, everything was running smoothly and for a moment Optimus allowed himself to bask in the quiet peace of such mundane work. Subject matter aside, the constant flow of meetings reminded him much of his life prior to the war, back when a mech named Orion lived beneath a different set of stars and the only thing that sat heavily on his processor was whether or not he remembered to lock up Iacon’s Hall of Records for the night.

     The sudden wave of nostalgia made the spark in his chassis ache as if it yearned for a time of peace unknown by this frame. What he wouldn’t give to see Iacon stand tall once more. To look up at the night sky and see two metals moons instead of one shining rock. 

     Optimus could only hope to see Cybertron’s sky once more. He took a heavy intake to stifle his growing melancholy and tried to focus on the current meeting. 

     Red Alert was yet again before him—only this time he was airing his complaints with an apologetic-looking Wheeljack. Another one of the scientist’s experiments had spectacularly blown up in his faceplate, causing an electrical fire on the south side of the Ark. According to the scientist, the fire was contained quickly and no one was harmed, but still, Red Alert saw Wheeljack's scientific endeavors as a threat towards the Autobot base itself and wanted cautionary measures put in place.

     “Red Alert, I promise you it won’t happen again—” 

     “You said that after the incident with Sunstreaker! And the Mess Hall explosion!” 

     “Hey, the Mess Hall thing wasn’t my fault; Bluestreak’s the one who bumped into me when I was recalibrating the Energon refiner—”

      Primus Below, where was Prowl to mediate these things when you needed him? 

     The Praxian was often the voice of reason in these discussions, providing logical solutions whenever the Autobots seemed to hit a roadblock. Such was the Prime’s current predicament. Optimus tuned out Red Alert’s rambling, checking over his agenda once more. A quiet realization washed over the Prime; if he could wrap this up in the next couple of kliks, he would have an entire joor before his next meeting, which would give him more than enough time to escape the command room and visit his berth-bound second-in-command.

     With this new goal in his processor, Optimus turned his attention back to the head security officer and cut him off mid-sentence. “Red Alert, you are spectacular at maintaining the Autobot Security System here aboard the Ark, and I want to thank you for your continuous endeavors to strengthen our security defenses.” 

     The Lamborghini preened beneath Optimus’ praises. “Thank you, Optimus. I do my best! These Decepticons will exploit any weakness in our defenses and if we keep having these incidents, I’m afraid something might just slip past me.”

     The Prime nodded with minute understanding. “Yes, but nothing has so far, right?”

     “Of course not! Who would I be if I let something like that happen?”

     “You’d be less a pain in the aft, that's for certain,” Wheeljack muttered from behind his mask.

     Optimus ignored the comment. “Well. If there were no breaches within the Ark’s firewall due to this incident, I think it is safe to say Wheeljack's experiments can continue, just as long as he remembers to clean up after himself, right?”

     Red Alert faltered. “We-well, I mean- I suppose so, but—” 

     “Great!” Optimus turned to the explosive scientist next. “Wheeljack, will you promise to clean up after yourself the next time you blow up the base?” 

     “Of course Prime. I’ll agree to anything if it means I can keep conducting my experiments.” 

     Optimus clapped his servos together and rose to his pedes in one quick move. “Wonderful. I’m glad we settled this. Now, don’t let me keep you; I’m sure you both are very busy and have much to do today—” He said as took Red Alert and Wheeljack by the shoulders and started walking them to the door. 

     “It’s…my day off actually,” Red Alert said weakly.

     “—And it would be a shame to waste it inside!” Optimus said, his voice coming out slightly strained. 

     “The Prime’s right, Red Alert. How about you and me go for a drive, eh?” Wheeljack said, winking up at the semi-truck. Wheeljack ushered the security director through the door and away from Optimus. “We can run tests on some surveillance drones I’ve been working on. How does that sound?”

     Optimus didn't wait to hear Red Alert’s answer. Practically sprinting down the halls, the semi-truck wasted no time making his way to the medical wing. Thankfully no one stopped him, but that probably was due to the fact that he was feigning ignorance everytime someone called his name.

     As he turned a final corner to the medical ward’s entrance, Optimus stopped in his tracks, as a screaming match between a certain CMO and a disgruntled patient reached his audials. 

     “No! As your only practitioner, you are not leaving until I say you’re fit for duty!”

     “Ratchet my processor is melting! At least let me have a data pad to review today’s agenda. I missed so many meetings by now—”

     Ratchet let out a dry bark. “Your processor is hardly melting, you drama-queen. The last thing your helm needs is more data to configure as the nanites stitch back your tensor processing unit,” Optimus heard the medic exvent heavily. “No. No data pads and no work for the next two solar-cycles. I mean it! I’d rather not cuff you to the berth but if you try to sneak out again, you’ll force my servo.”

     Optimus let out a small laugh. It was hard to believe that Prowl, of all mechs, had tried to defy another’s orders. He must be desperate for entertainment if he was taking extreme measures such as sneaking out. 

     Carefully, so as to not startle the two, Optimus raised a servo and knocked on the med bay’s entrance. “I hope I am not interrupting anything?”

     Both mechs turned at the noise. Ratchet huffed at the sight of him before turning his attention back to Prowl’s medical charts, muttering to himself about idiotic patients. Prowl straightened in his berth, the faintest hint of embarrassment crossing his expression as he met Optimus’s gaze. 

     “Optimus! Thank Primus you’re here. Can you please talk some sense into Ratchet so that I may be cleared to return to my duties?”

     Optimus gave his second-in-command a noncommittal look before turning to the resident doctor. Though Ratchet’s attention was solely on his patient’s charts, the Prime could see the doctor’s right servo slowly reaching for his trusty wrench. 

     Any arguments Optimus had for Prowl’s early release died on his glossa. He swallowed nervously, hoping his battle mask concealed most of his growing unease. “If Ratchet says you’re not ready, then I must trust his judgment.” 

     Prowl scowled at the lack of support, but Optimus could see the reluctant acceptance in his second-in-command's optics. Ratchet, however, looked all too pleased with himself. 

     Seeing now there was no way he would be getting out of his mandated rest, Prowl slumped back into the soft confines of the berth, his posture stiff with frustration. His optics flickered irritably but he said nothing, resigned to suffer through Ratchet’s torment for the next two solar-cycles.

     Optimus gave him a small, sympathetic smile. “Ratchet, if it is not too much trouble, may I keep Prowl company?”

     “Hmm, that depends. Will your conversation revolve around work or anything else that could potentially stress his processor? Because if so, I think you already know what my answer’s gonna be,” Ratchet said sternly, tapping his wrench.

    “No, nothing work-related,” Optimus replied, quick to reassure. “I simply thought to drop by between meetings to see how my second-in-command was faring.”

     Ratchet’s optics narrowed, clearly skeptical, but after a moment he let out a resigned exvent. “Fine, but don’t go getting him riled up. I don’t need you stressing his processor. He needs rest,” The doctor said as he fixed the pillows propping up Prowl. “I’ll be at my station. Just yell if anything changes!”

     Optimus thanked the medic kindly before pulling up a chair. As he sat, he heard the tail end of Prowl’s angry muttering.

     “Don’t get him riled up-I’m not a turbofox! I swear our medic is on a power trip or something. You have to do something about it Optimus. He is driving me insane!”

     Optimus simply laughed, unbothered by his friend’s plight. “I suppose that’s what job security does to a mech.”

     “Oh, that is rich coming from the last Prime.”

     “By all means, take the Matrix of Leadership from me. What I wouldn’t do for a vacation right about now.” 

     Prowl hummed in agreement. “Me too. I’d rather be anywhere else if it meant I was free of Ratchet’s awful berth-side manner.”

     “Watch it; I’m the one giving you those nice little pain blockers, and I can take ‘em away if I see fit,” It was an empty threat, but the doctor wasn’t one to take an insult lying down.

     Before the two could start up again, Optimus chimed in. “Anywhere else? Lake Izabal was pretty nice, how about we head back for a deca-cycle or two?” 

     Now, the Prime could admit that he wasn’t the most subtle when it came to steering a conversation. Getting others to reveal what you wanted to know was more Jazz’s thing, but even he cringed at how obvious he was being.

     Thankfully, Prowl took the bait. Human sayings aside, Prowl offered a deathly glower at the Prime for reminding him of his latest defeat. “I still cannot believe I let Skywarp get the drop on me.”

     “Give yourself some credit, Prowl; it was Skywarp and Thundercracker. Hardly a fair fight.”

     “Yeah; for them. Compared to their brother, those two are slower than engine oil in Alaska. The only thing they got going for them is their spark abilities,” Prowl ran a servo over his optics as he played back the fight in his helm. 

     After a long moment, Optimus cleared his vocalizer. “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t curious as to what happened between you and the seekers. One nano-klik you and Starscream were careening across the battlefield, and the next thing I know Ratchet was blowing up my commlink about your helm being caved in,” Optimus said, taking a moment to peer at the back of Prowl’s helm. 

     Thanks to their resident doctor, there was no visible damage to the white armor. Optimus let out a sigh of relief at that. He knew scars were nothing to be ashamed of—younger mechs like Sunstreaker and Mirage seemed to be under the impression that every scratch and scorched plate was a symbol of their strength, a trophy to boast about in their spare time. Optimus hoped that one day they would realize true strength could not be found in the scars littered across their frame, but rather, through the courage within their sparks. 

     Just as Prowl had proven time and time again, strength was found in the mech that rose to their pedes after each trial they faced, even when the weight of responsibility seemed unbearable.

     This last thought sobered Optimus, reminding him just how close Prowl had come to not being able to rise ever again. The silence between the Autobot leader and his second leered into a worrisome territory as Prowl continued to massage his optics.

     Optimus frowned. For a moment, he was afraid he pushed his second a little too far. “Prowl? Are you alright? Does your helm hurt? Should I get Ratchet?”

     The doctor perked up from his console at the sound of his name, leaning back in his chair to look at his patient. “What’s going on over there?”

     Prowl’s optics nearly bulged out his head at the sound of the tyrannical doctor’s voice. “No! No, I’m fine, Ratchet, I promise. I was just thinking about the fight is all.”

     “Hmm,” was all the white ambulatory mech said before turning his attention back to his workstation. 

     “I see,” Optimus replied, not entirely convinced Prowl wasn’t in pain. “Did you want to talk about it? The details on what exactly transpired are still lost on most of us.”

     The Praxian looked as if he wanted to say no, but then something gave way in his expression. “I suppose it would be…beneficial to have someone else’s opinion on the matter.”

     The semi-truck leaned back in his seat. He was no stranger to battle-weary soldiers. In the early days of the war, Optimus had made it abundantly clear to his bots that his door was always open if they ever needed to talk. No one should ever feel like they have to carry their burdens all by themselves, especially not amid a war that seemed to take more than it ever gave.

     However, Prowl rarely took him on that offer. The second-in-command wasn’t one to bother others with his issues. As the war continued, Optimus grew to understand that the Praxian’s stoicism was a shield that he relied on to keep everything in order, both on the battlefield and within himself. Optimus respected that, making sure to never push at his second’s boundaries unless Prowl initiated the conversation. 

     But whenever the ex-enforcer did feel comfortable enough to open up about his feelings, it was often curt, lacking any true emotional depth—very similar to how he conducted himself in command meetings. Perhaps Prowl was afraid to linger in that nebulous space where his emotions resided. Perhaps he thought if wandered too long, the shield he held so dear to him would shatter and no one would be there to help him pick up the pieces. 

     What kind of leader would Optimus be if he didn’t try his best to help a mech in need? And right now, Prowl seemed to fit that description. There was something in the way he sat across from Optimus, the way his usual sharp optics seemed hazy with something a bit stronger than pain blockers. In fact, his entire faceplate seemed tainted by an unfamiliar expression that Optimus did not like. 

     Uncertainty, Optimus realized suddenly. In the four million years the Prime had known his second, he had never seen uncertainty cross his faceplate. Optimus took this moment to study that look for future reference. 

     “Whatever it is that is troubling you, I hope you know that I will not judge you for it,” Optimus implored. 

     A wry smile escaped the police bot at the Prime’s earnestness. “It is nothing serious, Optimus, I can assure you. It is just that—during my fight with Starscream, he caught me off guard. That is all that really happened. Truly.”

     The Autobot leader frowned. “Nothing wrong with that, Prowl. We’ve all underestimated our enemy before, and Starscream has proven to be more cunning than most.”

     Prowl hummed. “I know. But looking back at the fight, I do not think he meant to catch me off guard in the way he did.”

     “What do you mean?”

     The injured mech turned his head, reaching up to activate his hologram programs. “Perhaps it would be better to show you—”

     A white servo swiftly intercepted Prowl’s wrist, stopping the injured mech mid-motion. “Like the pit you’ll show us anything!” Ratchet said with a disapproving glare. Optimus blinked, caught completely off guard at how quickly the doctor crossed the room to Prowl’s side. “I said no stressing your processor. That includes engaging your memory banks for show and tell.”

     Prowl met his glare with equal irritation. “Primus beyond, it is a miracle you get anything done when you have a patient, seeing how you helicopter around me. I’m surprised you haven’t hooked me to a ventilator yet so that you can control how and when I vent.”

     “Don’t tempt me, slaghelm; you aren’t the only one suffering because of your helm injury, I can assure you—”

     Optimus coughed loudly into his servo, grabbing both of their attention. “Perhaps Prowl can present his memories as you run a diagnostic on his processor? That way if anything happens, you can intervene immediately.”

     Ratchet’s optics narrowed with skepticism but did not reject the idea. "Fine. But I’ll be watching you,” the doctor said, pointing an accusatory finger at his patient. “One glitch and I’ll shut this down faster than the Prime can say ‘Roll Out!’”

     Prowl rolled his optics at the doctor’s antics. “Understood.”

     “Hmm. I'm sure you do. Optimus? Mind getting the light?”

     The semi-truck nodded, offering his chair to the CMO. Ratchet took it and turned to his patient expectantly, holding up a diagnostics scanner to his arm. 

     Prowl sighed, allowing himself to relax into his berth as he presented the medical port in his right arm. Once plugged in, Ratchet remained silent, his attention fixed on the live feed streaming across the screen. Lines of binary code flashed rapidly, and Prowl figured that everything must be within the acceptable parameters if Ratchet hadn’t simply dismissed the whole procedure by now. 

     The overhead light dimmed and the Autobot leader was standing back at Prowl’s side, prompting him to activate his holographic systems. A soft cyan glow flickered from his optics, illuminating the three mechs in a blue film. Prowl’s memories slowly came into focus as a series of rapid, fragmented images coalesced into the battlefield surrounding Lake Izabal. 

     It was always a little jarring, watching someone else’s memories play out. It took time to re-orientate oneself in the space, especially when those memories depicted the chaos of a battlefield. A distant explosion shook the hologram and obscured the viewfinder. Optimus and Ratchet could see Prowl using his blaster to wave away a dust cloud engulfing him. Slowly, the dirt gave away, only to reveal the hunched figure of Starscream a few meters ahead of him. 

     The viewfinder suddenly froze at the sight of the enemy. The seeker was on all fours, facing away from the Autobot, so he couldn’t anticipate the full force of a police car speeding straight towards him, nor could he brace himself for the axe-kick that came crashing down on his spinal strut. The impact of Prowl’s attack sent a violent tremor through the seeker’s frame, the force of the blow rattling the air around them. 

     Optimus heard metal give way with a sickening crack and for a moment, there was no noise, simply silence as Starscream laid at Prowl’s pedes. Satisfied by his enemy’s quick defeat, Prowl began searching his subspace for a pair of stasis cuffs when a haggard venting grabbed his attention. 

     Through the hologram, Optimus could see Starscream’s optics were blown wide and unseeing, his frame still reeling from the kick. The once-imposing seeker lay shaking, his wings splayed out at odd angles, and that faint wheezing sound continued to echo through the med-bay until it crescendoed into a loud and guttural screech that stopped the Autobots in their tracks. 

     Both Optimus and Ratchet frowned at the odd chain of events before them. Starscream seemed lost to the world around him, unable to control his vocalizer as his shrieks bordered on painful desperation. 

     In the memory, Prowl seemed confused as to what to do. The Autobot hesitated before getting down to one knee, and Ratchet found himself transfixed on the Decepticon’s spinal strut as the viewfinder got closer. Starscream’s back armor was split open, revealing a grotesque mass of boiled protoform below. Burn scars seemed to coil around each other like a den of snakes, each gnarled lesion wrapped around one another like a violent recording of the war itself.

     “By the Allspark, Prowl! I thought you had something against excessive use of force!” 

     The second-in-command scowled at the medic’s accusatory tone. “I didn’t do that! And I wouldn’t have aimed at his back if I knew he was already injured!” 

     The memory continued to play on and Prowl’s attempts to calm Starscream kept going unheard over the seeker’s screams. Yet the ex-enforcer persisted in his efforts to ground his enemy, up until two dark shadows swooped overhead to land at the edge of the clearing.

     It was Thundercracker and Skywarp, and if looks could kill, Prowl would have been deactivated twice over. The two seekers lunged at the viewfinder with cold optics, but before their attack could land, the hologram transmission cut out. 

     Ratchet and Optimus turned back to the present Prowl, confused. With the overhead light still dimmed, they could not see the slight blush on the second-in-command’s faceplate. “Well. We all know what happened next.” 

     Optimus sighed as he went to turn the light back on. “Yes, I suppose so. That was…certainly not a tactic Starscream has ever executed before—if I am not mistaken.”

     “So you think it was a ploy then?” Prowl said, looking a bit unconvinced. He winced as Ratchet unplugged his scanner from his medical port.

     The doctor paused in his ministrations at the question. “If I may interject; I don’t think so. I mean sure—Starscream is a coward, and he’ll take any opportunity to prey on someone’s empathy, but Prowl is hardly excelling in that department. This little scheme would have worked better on a burning spark like Bumblebee if this was premeditated.” 

     Prowl frowned, unsure whether or not Ratchet had just complimented him or not.

     The medic ignored the look sent his way. “Going off what I could discern from the hologram, I think the kick to Starscream’s spinal strut provoked his emergency systems, but something must have malfunctioned, which would explain why he reacted in such a panicked way. Those systems are designed to protect vital functions when there's severe damage to a mech’s frame, but if the launch sequence was compromised, he would have been overwhelmed by his system short-circuiting."

     Prowl crossed his arms, his brow furrowing as he processed Ratchet’s analysis. "So you believe Starscream wasn’t acting then? That this was a reaction to a sudden escalation of his injury?"

     "Precisely," Ratchet affirmed. "When you damage a critical area like that, it’s not just a physical blow. It can affect processor functioning as well.”

     “And what of your professional opinion regarding his physical condition in the first place?” Optimus asked suddenly. 

     Ratchet sighed. “That sort of damage done to his protoform—it’s not the kind of injury any sane mech would intentionally sustain as part of a ruse. No, those kinds of burn scars..." Ratchet trailed off, his optics dimming with a muted understanding. "They don't correspond to any injuries I’ve come across in a normal combat scenario. Whoever did this was aiming to torment him."

     Optimus gave a solemn nod. “I have no choice but to agree with your assessment, Ratchet. With this new evidence coupled with Jazz’s findings, I believe it is safe to say there is something amiss in the Decepticon high command.” 

     Prowl frowned, confused. “Hold up now—what is this about Jazz? What does he have to do with any of this?” 

     Optimus looked at Ratchet as if he were asking him for permission to divulge his patient.

     The doctor simply waved his servo before heading back to his workstation. “Oh go on then. If this is going to be something you want to investigate, Prowl should probably be in the loop.”

      “Thank you Ratchet,” Optimus said as he turned back to his second. “After the mission, while our doctor here was attending to your injury, Jazz called a meeting between us officers. It wasn’t very official—mind you—but he wanted to inform us of certain developments he came across while on his scouting mission,” Optimus’s voice grew serious. 

     Prowl perked up in his berth at his leader’s tone, trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism. “Oh? And what did he find?”

     “According to him, Thundercracker is having second thoughts on being a Decepticon.”

     “His source?”

     “Straight from the blue seeker himself.”     

     Prowl’s optics flickered with intrigue. “And what of his brothers? Do Skywarp and Starscream share in his doubts?” 

     Optimus sighed. “That remains unclear. Jazz overheard a conversation between Thundercracker and Starscream regarding the Decepticon Air Commander’s health and things seemed to spiral from there. Starscream seemed to want to shut the conversation down immediately once Thundercracker voiced his concerns.”

     The injured mech paused. “Why now? Why so far into the war? I doubt Thundercracker suddenly gained a conscience.”

     “I can only suspect it has to do with Starscream’s injury and who caused it.” 

     “I suppose so. Do you wish to capitalize on this, then? If so, let’s place Thundercracker on high surveillance as a flight risk. If he goes AWOL, Skywarp will most likely follow right behind, and without Starscream there to tell them what to do, the two would make easy targets for capture.” 

     Optimus gave Prowl a disapproving glare. “If there is a bot in danger, we must help them, Prowl. No manipulations; no captures. As an Autobot, we shall extend them the opportunity to leave their past villainy behind and start afresh if they so choose.”

     Prowl looked at his leader like his circuitry was crashing. “You cannot be serious, Prime.” 

     “Why not?”

     “Why—?! They are war criminals, Optimus! All three of those seekers have done nothing but incite violence between our factions. We cannot simply expunge their crimes just because Thundercracker dislikes how Megatron disciplines his brother.”   

     Optimus frowned. “I am not saying they are innocent, and I’m not saying we must forget their past crimes.”

     “Good,” Ratchet muttered from across the room.

     Optimus ignored the interruption. “However, what I am saying is if Thundercracker and his brothers want to leave the Decepticons, we must guide them towards a better path. We cannot be blinded by our anger and hold them to their past actions indefinitely. If they truly wish to change, then we must show the same compassion we ask for ourselves."

     Prowl looked ready to argue when a faint shout reached his audials.

     “Optimus? Optimussssss!”

     The two Autobots halted at the new voice. Light pede-steps echoed across the halls, drawing closer to the med-bay. 

     “We shall talk of this later,” Optimus said firmly and Prowl did not doubt it.

     Suddenly the med-bay doors burst open as Bumblebee came crashing through with Spike on his shoulder. He grinned widely at the sight of his leader. “Optimus! There you are—I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” 

     Spike shared the yellow mech’s expression as he slid down from where he was perched to his own two feet. “Prowl!” He greeted warmly, “It is good to see you. How are you feeling?”

     “He would feel a whole lot better if he had some peace and quiet!” Ratchet yelled from his console. “This is a med-bay, for Primus’ sake. All of you, let my patient rest!” 

     For some reason, Optimus felt responsible for this latest disruption. His expression quieted and he looked at the doctor with regretful eyes. “You’re right, Ratchet, I must apologize for intruding on your work. Bumblebee, Spike; let’s give Prowl the space he needs to recuperate,” the Prime said as he ushered the yellow bot and his companion to the door.

     “Oh for—” Ratchet let out a series of strange, frustrated noises as he swiped a servo over his face. “I’m not kicking you three out. All I’m asking is that you don’t yell while my patient recovers from a severe helm injury.”

     Spike had the decency to look embarrassed at that. “Sorry, Ratchet. We didn’t mean to barge in here. We just really needed to see the bossmech and when Mirage told us Optimus was here, we thought it best to drop by.” 

    “Very well. But if I have to come over here a second time I’m kicking you all out!”

     “Oh now look who’s the one yelling,” Bumblebee whispered to Spike.

     Though not quiet enough, going off at how the doctor’s plating bristled with anger.

     But before Ratchet could tear a gasket, Optimus placed a steading servo on his friend’s shoulder in an effort to redirect some of that animosity away from the yellow scout. “A fair deal, Ratchet. We promise to keep the noise down.” the Prime hastily replied.

     Optimus could see Ratchet’s anger slowly recede in his bright blue optics. Ratchet stomped away and the Prime could hardly make sense of the doctor’s heated grumbling besides a “lousy scout” and “bothersome Prime.”

     The Autobot leader then cleared his vocalizer before turning back to Bumblebee and Spike. The former of the two was now sprawled on the berth by Prowl’s pedes, much to the Praxian’s dismay. 

     “Is there a valid reason as to why you two dropped in or are you just here to pester us?” Prowl said, nudging the yellow scout with his ankle tire. 

     “Hmm? Oh! Right,” suddenly, Bumblebee reached into his subspace to pull out a data-pad for the Prime. Curiously, Optimus took it.  

     “Spike was telling me on our way back to base about some sketchy happenings in his school. Some fuel corporation, er ah, Ironslag—”

     “Ironclad,” Spike corrected helpfully.

     “Yeah, that’s what I said. Ironslag is apparently funding Spike’s school to go on a research expedition to find energon in the Arctic.”

     “What makes the humans think there is energon in the Arctic?” Optimus asked idly, his attention drawn to the data-pad in his servos. He swiped at the screen, which opened to reveal a hastily made presentation filled with numerous grammatical errors and distorted jpegs. Optimus scrolled through the slides with an absent processor before handing the data pad to Prowl when a wall of red text over a bright blue background made his optics burn.

     “More importantly, what does a human corporation want with energon?” Prowl’s distrust was plain to see.

     “I don’t really know,” Spike said with a grim expression. “What I do know, is that these people seem to have a means of finding energon in the wild.”

     Ratchet snorted from across the room. “Impossible! Humans don’t have such technology. Only Cybertronians.”  

     Optimus hummed. “Besides, if they did, they would have picked up on closer signals, correct? As far as I am aware, the Arctic circle’s climate is ill suited for the human body. They would be putting themselves in unnecessary danger for no reason.”

     “Perhaps that is the point, Optimus,” Prowl said with a frown. “That section of the Earth is extremely isolated and unaffiliated with any country. This company, Ironclad, could do whatever they want up there, away from government optics.”

     The injured mech then turned to Spike with a fierce expression. “What else do you know about this company?”

     “Besides the fact they seem to have cash to burn? Not much, I’m afraid. Earlier today, Chip and I were invited to join the expedition by our Professor, but I had my doubts about the, er, legalities of said trip.”

     Prowl leaned back in berth, lost in thought. When is was clear that he wasn’t going to add anything else to the conversation, Optimus turned back to Spike.

     “If this company has access to Cybertronian technology then perhaps your concerns regarding Ironclad are well founded. Don’t agree to anything just yet, Spike,” Optimus said with resolution. “We will look into this. Thank you for bringing this to our attention,” the Prime then turned to the yellow scout. “Bumblebee, I’m putting you and Arcee on reconnaissance. Find out anything you can about Ironclad, and see if you can find this technology that Spike speaks of.”

     Bumblebee beamed up at him. “You got it Optimus! I won’t let ya down!” 

     Optimus smiled kindly back. “I am glad to hear it.” Just then, his chronometer beeped at the turn of the joor. Slag, he was late for a meeting with Hound! The Semi-truck jumped to his pedes and started for the door. “I’ll write a memo for Arcee regarding the mission! And please don’t forget to write up a preliminary report for approval!” 

     The Volkswagen Bug nodded eagerly. “Sure thing, don’t worry Optimus, I got it handled!” Once the Autobot leader was out of audial range, Bumblebee stopped laughing. “Prowl please help me write my report I always seem to frag it up and get Ironhide mad.”

     But before Prowl could jump on the opportunity, Ratchet answered for his patient. “No, he’s still not cleared for work. Go ask someone else.” 

     Prowl exvented angrily. Ratchet was treating him like he was made of aluminum for Primus sake! 

     “Well then, can you help me?” Bumblebee asked hopefully.

     “Ask a bot who isn’t busy.” 

     The yellow scout groaned, slinking down off the side of Prowl’s berth with indignation. “Fine. Let’s go, Spike. I’m sure Jazz or Bluestreak would know what to do.”

    Bumblebee and Spike made their way for the exit, forgetting the data-pad they brought to present their little slideshow. 

     “Wait!” he called suddenly. 

     Bee turned back, confused. Prowl looked down at the tablet and just as he was going to remind the scout of its existence, the ex-enforcer hesitated. 

      “...Make sure to CC the report to all the officers. That is why Ironhide gets mad; You are not commincating to High Command where you are going to be.” 

     Bumblebee nodded slowly with realization. “Ohhhhh! Yeah that make’s sense. Thanks Prowl!” And with that, the yellow scout and his friend were gone.

     Prowl hid the data-pad beneath the insulating covers and leaned back in his berth. “Not a problem,” he said to no one in particular.