Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He just woke up with a sharp invent, assesing the unfamiliar surroundings.

He could feel the cold floor beneath his digits, ceiling placed really high above him. I mean it wasn't anything new for him. He was used to this. He was one of the shortest bots after all.

The atmosphere was weird. He could different feel EM fields nearby, some relieved anger and dominance, other fear and loyalty. The thing that worried him was dark, purplish color of the walls. It was nothing similar to what he was used to. He got up and on high alert started looking around.

He didn't even remember what he was doing before. Why was he laying on the floor?

He knew one thing for sure.

Something's not right.

He remembered. He was on a spying on lower council's member mission, so close on taking him down, before he passed out and him being unconscious could mean two things.

One - that someone may have knocked him out. The only problem with that, was him being one of the most wanted cybertronian, so his pursuer would most likely turn him to prison and he wouldn't just left him laying around alone on the ground.

Therefore, there was no way it could be this one. There was a second option, more believable, especially recently. He passed out of energon... but he would feel the outcome kicking in.

He didn't feel any of the withdrawal symptoms. His systems didn't notice him it was low. It wasn't high either, but it was enough to make him believe it couldn't be that option either... so what was he doing here..

All of his sensors were on high alert. His pursuer could be somewhere in the hiding, just mocking him, playing with his victim.

He began doing something he was qualified in the most.

Scouting.

However, he didn't know if it was still his the greatest asset looking now, that he's the greatest assassin's of all time. Well, at least that's what they called him now.

I mean probably scouting still wins this battle, because reconnaissance of the area is still the most important aspect in planning a murder.

He sidled around, careful as to not make a sound as came to the conclusion he is familiar with this place.

He still wasn't sure if that was it, so he continued his search for clues.

Suddenly he saw someone and shove up behind a wall just in time, before he could got spotted.

His eyes were open wide in shock as he was still looking at the bot that was passing by. He couldn't believe it...

It was Knockout. But how? The last time he checked he was missing. He thought he was dead.

The theories and thoughts had started running through his mind. Maybe Knockout was being held here as a hostage? Maybe he should go to him and help him out?

But he should be stealthy. Nobody could see him if he wanted to help out his best friend.

But he waited so long for them to be reunited. Two long years.

After the war on earth and fighting Megatron they all came back to Cybertron. He finally started living his own life and stopped worrying about constant fighting for life... but the truth was he didn't know how to live a normal life.

With almost all of it spent at war he had no clue what he could do anymore, what was his purpose.

He felt isolated from the other Autobots. He lost the track of who he was.

Then he went racing with Knockout and he turned out to be the only mech that understood him. They had so much in common, both loved earth culture, racing and was often visiting him at work. They understood each other better than anobody else.

He got lost in thoughts again.

FOCUS. He had to stay concentrated on his task.

He wanted to go leave his hideout, but imiddiately stopped himself, when he heard another bot and sharply pressed himself against the wall in terror.

It was... Breakdown?!

No... it couldn't be.

He's... dead.

Or is he?

Maybe it's an illusion. Some kind of hologram.

He perked up and took a peek for his processor, which still was covered in denial.

No, he seemed too real. Some memories started flipping through and he shuddered at the notion all of a sudden. He looked around once again, though this time his optics moving frantically from one place to another, analyzing in panic. He recognized this place.

It was Nemesis. The Decepticon ship.

The same one Megatron scheemed every attack on them back on the Earth nack in a war between Autobots and Decepticons. The same one with which he had so many unpleasant memories.

But he hadn't seen Megatron for a really long time. Besides he wouldn't believe he would have kidnapped Knockout and resurrected Breakdown with dark energon after his change of ways.

After Megatron himself had seen through his own actions and understood he and Optimus have the same vision of a free Cyberton? No, it wasn't present time, more like memory. His memory. Or hallucination?

He followed him and had seen him having a conversation with Knockout. Not that he could hear anything from that far, but he decided to give it a try anyway, having to stay unnoticeable coded in his programming.

But from the facial expressions he could figure out what they were saying. The one of the pros of being mute was becoming proficient at sign language, reading facial expressions and words from just someone talking, without actually hearing them.

But it was also one of the aspects of being a scout.

He could say the both of these things gave him this advantage and made him an outstanding spy. The one Optimus always wanted to have in his ranks.

He was muttering to himself when they were talking as imitating them. Maybe because he hated silence and hadn't anybody to talk with lately.

Well, maybe not that long. He actually chose that way and there was no going back now. He could live with that anyway.

Since his argument with Optimus. He still called this an argument even if after this ,,squabble" they both went separate ways.

And he wasn't sure he was an Autobot anymore. Of course he wasn't, it would be weird. They wouldn't let him. Not that the fractions mattered anymore.

Or if he could call Optimus his mentor, or even his friend.

Since that event everything just started falling apart.

Now that he thought of that, it was more of a fight for his life than a dispute. Like, really, he could've been dead.

FOCUS

,,Did you submit a report to the Megatron?" Breakdown sure was worried.

,,Oh puh-lease, enough with that face. I haven't... yet. Everything will be fine, you'll see. He can't do anything to me anyway.. yes maybe we've lost it, but they probably don't use it anyway. That one is way too dangerous and you know Autobots"

Knockout smirked, but as soon as he pivoted away and marched forward his face turned stone cold.

They were sure talking about one of the relics. Of course his mind would play that kind of trick on him.
He had been in something similar before and it was sort of a dream... nightmare. Something like that was on his daily basis occurrence. Totally normal.

He deep down wanted to make himself uselful, so his subconciousness gave him tasks to do so. This time he had to stop Decepticons from taking the relic.

But he didn't have to care at all.

...Right?

....

Why does he even care about hiding?

It doesn't matter. It's all a dream.

Haha yes, it was a dream. It doesn't matter if he got spotted and even if he will, he would wake up.

And what's the best strategy to wake yourself up from the stasis?

He made his decision .

He went out of hiding and started roaming around smirking. Breakdown and Knockout had already left by now.

He had a plan to get out of this place.

He had a feeling of being watched, but he didn't care. It was probably Soundwave.

Good. He wanted to be noticed.

He was probably already on his way to inform Megatron about his presence.

He was hoping to encounter Megatron and ,,talk" to him.

Soundwave went to the Megatron in a rush and told him about the detected intruder.

Megatron demanded to search the ship for possible backup, that unfamiliar bot could brought with himself.

,,We're gonna give him a warm greeting" Megatron rumbled and also gave order to check if there was any sign of ground bridge opening on Nemesis.

Soundwave gave report. There was only one, though from unknown place that couldn't be localized. That was odd circumstance. It was impossible to mask such a great energon signal.

Besides, he knew one bot could never invade a ship unnoticed, because of their defensive systems. It was probably an autobot spy, that wanted to get their servos on his plans.

He had to show this intruder who's in charge here. Show him no mercy for breaking into his ship and show him how foolish he is for doing such a stunt.

Maybe if he would tortured him enough, he would find something useful to use against Autobots.

When he was just about to leave the room, he saw the doors burst open violently and in the entrance, he saw a small, mostly black bot with hints of yellow looking cocky.

Was he smirking at him?

This bot definitely had a death wish.

"Hey Megatron, just let's do this quickly"

The mech said, neglecting the fact of standing in front of the vicious leader of Decepticons and sauntered forward into the room.

He isn't running away nor showing any remorse of fear. His processor must have been damaged.

This meant he wanted a duel.

Perfect.

It will end up quickly with him thriving over. He would end up being his trophy and a warning to any bot that would dare disrespect him like that ever again.

He would firstly rip his one servo off, then a pede, smash him onto the floor and when he would be begging for mercy, he would gloat in his lament.

He would get every information coded in his imprudent, mindless processor and then rip his voice box and tear his spark-

"What are you doing..." Megatron inquired slightly shocked. He knew the bot was vacuous, just didn't know he was that much crazy.

He was laying in front of him on the floor and grabbed Megatron's pede pressing it with his servos onto his head.

The size difference was amusing, because he was so small in comparison to his own pede, that it was not only on his head but almost on the whole length of his chasis.

"Go on, don't mind me. Just make sure to use all of your weight, when you're pressing. You can even make it a little play if you want"

When he had a dream like this, the best way to get out and wake up was simple.

Getting offlined.

This is the fastest way. Effortless. He had a few tricks that were always working out in his dreams and he couldn't wait to use them right away. The most used one by him was just trying to be as annoying and provoking as possible.

....

Megatron was disturbed by the display. This bot suggested it like it was the most common thing to say. If he heard it right, it sounded like as he was just encouraging to exterminate him.

Soundwave finally broke the silence, standing in the back of the room behind Megatron and played "Illogical" Shockwave's voice.

Therefore, he needed to teach him a lesson about entering an enemy ship.

"What kind of trick is that" Megatron accused with voice stern as a thunder, indeed pressing pede against his helm as he insisted.

The bot grinned.

In the meantime Starscream marched into the room and leaned over the wall enjoying the spectacle, grateful that Megatron isn't relieving his anger on him, at least this time. He was under Megatron's feet countless times. It was nice to see for the first time someone else underneath it.

"You know if you are too deaf you can just say so. I bet this problem keeps on repeating, just looking at how old you are"

He wasn't that old and Bee knew that, but that was the one of the things that came up to his mind to annoy him quickly.

And apparently it worked out pretty well.

Megatron, provoked by the insults, started throwing him through the whole corridor in rage, beating him up, punching so hardly it left huge scars and dents leaking of energon in his frame and ripping wires from his abdomen, while Starscream just watched the whole show chuckling with servo covering his faceplate.

When Megatron looked back glaring at Starscream, he shrieked and stood still with his hands down in nanosecond. Megatron rolled his optics returned to the ongoing matter.

He started wondering why the bot isn't even putting up a fight. He was just in pure numbness, smirking, letting himself being tossed across the hallway and almost ripped apart.

"Is that all that you've got? For a so merciless leader I heard you are, I expected something more... remorseless"

Why he was saying this as if he was invincible? His spark was barely felt by now, said it so weakly and quietly it was scarcely managed to hear. However, Megatron couldn't allow letting himself disrespected like that. This bot had to pay the highest price.

Megatron sent internal com to Soundwave to check if he wasn't just a lure, for Autobots to sneak onto the ship, but came to nothing. He was alone.

Megatron walked forward with heavy, enraged steps to bot, which he had just thrown.

Bot was still conscious, though barely alive, laying against the wall in the puddle of energon.

Megatron expected him to plead for his mercy, beg for forgiveness, and honestly was startled by his anomalous behavior.

The bot was still weakly grinning at him in pain.

He had to admit, that he admired the bots endurance and persistence, though it's cockiness reminded him of annoying yellow scout, before he ripped out his voice box apart. He was like Knockout and Starscream worst features merged together.

He also noticed the lack of insignia on his almost destroyed by now chestplate.

Even if he didn't respect him, he could use a bot like him in his ranks. He kept Starscream after all his betrayals, why he wouldn't keep another. This version at least wouldn't be trying to kill him. He would be just... infuriating.

His thoughts were interrupted by the bot, who grabbed his servo with canon and pointed it towards his own head, waiting for him to shoot with a smirk and tilted his helm.

His optics widened, couldn't believe at what he was seeing.

He started feeling uneasy in his presence, though he rose his curiosity. This black bot was most certainly insane.

"What is your designation?" Megatron inquired, still a little harsh and the intruder's smile slowly vanished away.

"No, idiot, just shoot"

He couldn't believe what the mech was saying, but his glare was as pierceful as his own.

He couldn't just shoot him. He wasn't that cruel, was he? Is that what other bots are portraying him as?

The cruel tyrant? Was that bot thinking he really was no better than that frag Sentinel himself? He hasn't got insignia, and yes, he killed every bot that disobeyed joining him.

Then why did he feel this one was different from the rest? Why would he want to get himself killed in the first place? He was an interesting asset and he wanted his questions answered, especially that he noticed his EM field was... slightly different from the others.

He felt something different about him. Something peculiar, extraordinary.

Did he really just make all of the hope for a better Cybertron disappear to the point this bot decided to just give up?

"No" Megatron exclaimed and Starscream was left speechless with his intake open.

,,Wuh-wha- ....Wait" The bot seemed frustrated and almost dissapointed by his decision.

,,Master, with all respect, after all the insults he proclaimed? He could also be a spy sent by-"

,,SILENCE! Or maybe you want to be next Starscream?"

Starscream flinched at the notion. He shut himself up and just stepped away quickly muttering something unhearable. Meanwhile bot's shocked faceplate yet again shifted into a smirk.

,,What a terrible leader you are. Even your second in command is turning up on you. The autobots were right, I should've run as soon as they grabbed disk with your plans on it and now I must perish by hearing your unbearably annoying voice" He gesticulated as he was immitating Starscream behaviour and exaggerating his sneered, sassy expression.

Megatron had seen trough him little scheeme though.

"You have no reinforcements with you. Your claims seems to be convincingly refuted" Megatron noted that the bot's optics flickered a little, almost unnoticeable. If he would stood farther, he wouldn't notice this minor, yet important detail.

"And you're no Autobot"

Scrap, he didn't forget that Soundwave could scan the area for possible signals of mechs, but he thought Megatron would woke him up by now.

"...I may be" Bee muttered, optics fixed away on the ground as sudden idea appeared in his head.

There was still one option left. Trying to annoy anyone in his sight. Soundwave would listen to Megatron, so it would be futile, but Starscream on the other hand seemed like perfect fit, easily frustrated.

He turned his head to the seeker and proceed.

,,Yet I'm left to wonder why you keep someone as unsignificant and infuriating as your second in command. Your senses are clearly tasteless"

He learned from the best.

,,Why you little-" Starscream seemingly was losing it accordinding to his plan, but was grabbed by Soundwave, so he wouldn't do anything stupid.

"And this... purplish bot... what his name was? I don't remember, but as far as I see he does nothing, besides staring and judging your every movement"

He knew him mocking Soundwave wouldn't make him step into an act, but also savvy that Megatron wouldn't let this go unpunished.

Megatron seemingly couldn't restrain his wrath, stepped forward and punched him with brute force that let his vision go black.

Chapter Text

He roused slowly, feeling exhausted, laying on the berth and to his surprise everything still hurt. 

His vision was all blurry and the room's single overhead light made it even harder to make out anything else.

The walls were a dark purplish color. Was he still on Nemesis? 

But if Knockot was still here that would mean...

Oh no.

He still hadn't woken up. 

He weakly lifted his servo to his chassis, then to optic level, scrutinizing the light, blue energon coating it.

"Look who finally decided to wake up" 

A familiar voice approached from the nearby table, where someone was picking up a tool. 

He didn't feel as much pain as he should have, considering how severely he'd been wounded. Knockout must have given him painkillers in intention to ease the discomfort. 

His memory was all foggy. The last thing he remembered was Megatron knocking him down – almost tearing him to shreds.

Why would they want to repair him. Hadn't he made it clear? He didn't want help. At least unless not unless it was to wake him up.

 Maybe Megatron ordered to put him back together just because he wanted to torment him – restart the cycle all over again. That would be undeniably the worst–case scenario. 

"Hello, sleeping princess. Do you have any idea how much work you've dumped on me?!" The red silhouette shifted from sassy calm to frustrated rage in a nanosecond. 

He missed him. 

He wouldn't even mind being yelled at just to be near him again. 

What a shame it wasn't real.

Just let me out of this nightmare before it gets any worse.

And he knew it could. Just knowing he wouldn't see Knockout, when he woke up, was enough torture. 

He should've noticed something was wrong. Maybe then he could've saved him. Now he didn't know where Knockout was or if he was even alive.

He tried to sit up, but Knockout harshly shoved him back down, making him wince and hiss from the pain.

"Ah–ah–ah, I'm not done with you" Knockout said, wagging his finger in a disapproval.

"I missed the assault, but from the looks of your mindless agenda, you'll be convalescing here for a while"

Perfect. Just perfect.

He needed another plan asap.

 Annoying Knockout wouldn't work. He would proceed with repairs regardless. After all, he had survived Starscream – the most irritating patient of all time.

Insults would bounce right off, thus it wouldn't help his case at all. Besides, Bee didn't want to mock him.

That would just be more torture in this nightmare he had to endure. 

"I didn't think any bot would be foolish enough to stand up to Megatron. You must be either courageous or a sheer imbecile"

"Make it both, then" Bee responded through gritted denta as the doctor proceeded welded his torn cables.

Knockout must have noticed pain in his face, because he readied a sedative, but was met confounded, when bot weakly shoved his servo away and shook his head.

"I think it's the imbecile option then" Knockout muttered with a frown and administered the injection anyway.

Bee's head felt heavier by the second, his optics slowly  closing unwillingly as he watched the now–blurry silhouette continue with repairs.

____________

"I'm not going to hurt you," a low–toned voice assured. 

They were standing in a dark city alley lit only by a dim red warning light from a nearby building – alerting of a dangerous fugitive.

Optimus stood before him. His EM field was unreadable, but tinged with grief. 

Bee's servos were covered in energon – not his own. His optics flickered with panic, glued to the ground. He couldn't look up. 

His chassis was shook in distress and he recoiled as Optimus stepped forward.

"Everything will be fine, Bumblebee. Just let me help you" Optimus reassured gently, reaching a servo toward him.

But there was almost imperceptible note of uncertainty in his voice. One Bee regognized only because he had known him for so long.

Bee anxiously looked up from the ground, met his gaze with a slight, disbeliefing frown.

 ,,You don't believe me" His voice was hushed, lined with static.

Optimus responded only with a pitful, compassionate expression.

Bee looked away, biting his lip. "You saw the recording, didn't you?"

After a long silence, Optimus stammered. "I—I'm sorry I wasn't there for you... but I am now"

It wasn't comforting. Each word seemed to dig deeper into Bee's doubt.

"I know it wasn't your fault. It wasn't you." 

Bee heard the hesitation—faint, but there. Again.

But he noticed this. 

Why was he lying right into his optics?

Optimus doubted his own words. He didn't believe him. He wouldn't believe himself too, but he knew it wasn't his fault.

He didn't do it. 

He didn't commit murder. 

It wasn't him – or at least not the first one. The second... maybe? 

No – he only hurt him. He was still alive. It was an accident.

"Please, come back with me and I promise everything will be the way it was before" Optimus pleaded, whispering with visible grief and guilt on his face, reached out again.

"Let's go home."

Optimus waited for him to take his hand – to hold on and pretend nothing had happened.

As much as Bee wanted to believe it could all return to how it once was, deep down he knew it was impossible.

They were just blank, empty words of promises.

There was no such place he could truly call home anymore. No hope left for someone like him. 

He wanted to say yes, to grab that warm servo – but he couldn't.

He had spent his whole life trying to meet expectations, prove his worth, never complain, even when the war ended and the burdens didn't. With every new given overwhelming task always trying to be perfect.

And yet, they left him behind. His worst nightmare appeared.

He felt isolated from everyone again. Lost. Never truly knowing who he was – what his purpose was.

He hesitated, his servo twitching in the air, hovering from his own chassis and Optimus's offered servo.

Just as he was about to reach for it, the faint sound of police sirens echoed in the distance.

His frame tensed. He recoiled in realisation, optics wide in panic.

Slowly, he brought his servo back to his chassis instead, disbelief and hurt growing in his spark.

His optics flicked from Optimus to the direction of the sirens, louder with every nanoklick.

"You... set me up..."

"Bumblebee, please, listen to me—" 

"No!" Bee shouted, his voice cracking.

How could he? He trusted him, he thought Optimus was his only friend left – his mentor – and he betrayed him.

He failed him.

Failed Optimus again, but he couldn't just go back.

If they caught him, he would spent most of his life in prison and it barely even started. He was still young, yet already without hope for the future. 

"I'm starting to comprehend with Decepticons reasoning..." Bee divulged his thoughts aloud.

Optimus's faceplate twisted in shock and judgement.

"Bumblebee, please. That's not you."

Bee's optics stayed glued to the ground until he mustered enough strenght to meet Optimus's gaze – his own optics now burning with determination to fight for himself.

"Maybe it is who I am now." 

Optimus's expression became one of utter disappointment and Bee hated every second of his glaze on him. It was piercing him into shreds.

He couldn't besech any kind of understanding from him. He didn't even realize when his servos started shaking, thus to prevent this he forced them into clenched fists.

"Whatever I'll do... I'll never be enough" Bee murmured unintentionally gurgling the words like someone on the verge of tears and bringing servos to his chassis again.

"It's not true" Optimus insisted.

But Bee didn't believe him. Not anymore.

Maybe Optimus believed he was doing the right thing – trying to protect him, lock him in a 'safe' place without worry – but Bee couldn't trust him.

He had no right to ask anything from him.

He was just another judgmental shadow, waiting for him to fall.

Prison might be safe for him and for the others. After all, he wasn't just a danger to them.

He was a danger to himself. At least that's what Optimus thought.

But what life would that be?

"One shall fall." 

The words hit Optimus like a blow. He stepped forward, reaching again – but Bee didn't let him. 

He didn't feel safe. If Optimus caught him, they would lock him up.

Maybe worse. Maybe even throw him into Sub‐50.

He began hyperventilating, stepping back as Optimus tried to calm him down, but he couldn't hear his words anymore.

Optimus wanted the old Bee. Not someone he became throughout those years. But that version of himself was long gone.

The sirens were close now.

Bee looked into Optimus's optics – still filled with grief – one last time. Then turned on his pede and ran.

As he fled, he heard Optimus shout his name in agony. Lubricant streamed down from Bee's optics. 

He rapidly wiped it away with trembling servo, desperate to outrun everything. He couldn't stop now. 

This was his choice. The first real choice he had made for himself in his entire life. He couldn't change the past, it was already done.

Even if it was the wrong one, it made him feel free.

Not completely – but in some way. And yet, the thought of dissapointing Optimus... still tore him apart.

He had become the very kind of bot he was designed to fight his entire life. A fugitive running from the law. How ironic his life made him be.

As he stormed through the night alleyways, neon lights flickering in and out of focus, a massive WANTED alert blinked across the side of a nearby building – his faceplate glaring back at him in red.

A couple of bystanders froze.

"It's him!" One shouted. 

Another mech, optics wide with, imidiatelly bolted in the opposite direction, shoving others aside to get away.

Then a furious enforcer bot lunged out from a side street, aiming to tackle him.

"End of the road, traitor!"

But Bee reaction was faster.

He twisted at the last second, ducked under the enforcer's grasp, and with a sharp kick off the wall beside him, flipped back in mid-air.

His transformation sequence clicked into place before he even touched the ground – metal folding, shifting – and in an instant, he was speeding down the street in his alt mode.

He could hear shouts behind him, of scrambling boots, the hiss of energized weapons activating.

His comm pinged.

> : Bumblebee, please respond. You don't have to do this :

Optimus's message. Always calm. Always too late.

He ignored – wheezing hard as he accelerated. 

He didn't have the courage to confront him again. Each incoming call made his spark tighten with fear.

He could stop.

Not now.

Not after they all saw him like that.

Not after they branded him like that.

Bumblebee couldn't catch a break, because now, a squadron of enforcerers was right on his tail.

"ACCORDING TO CYBERTRONIAN LAW, YOU ARE UNDER ARREST. TURN YOURSELF IN OR WE WILL USE FORCE"

It was weird, when he wasn't the one telling this.

He sverwed violently off the road. Just as he was about to land –  everything went black. 

He changed back into his root mode mid-fall, landing hard onto an unseen surface with an ungraceful thud. 

But there was nothing around him.

Only darkness.

An all-consuming black void.

Uncertainly, he stood up, optics flickering, scanning his surroundings. There was nothing to focus on.

No walls. No sky. No ground. Just emptiness stretching in every direction.

Silence.

The silence was so profound it became opressive – so sharp he could hear energon pulsing through his own lines.

Each beat in his spark chamber felt amplified in this maddening stillness.

He wandered aimlessly, unsure of where he was or how he got here, until—

Horrifying, high-pitched screech tore through the void.

Startled, he stumbled forward toward the sound, nearly tripping over his own pedes in haste.

"Are you sure he's that great bot who killed Megatron?"

"I must have mistaken him for someone else."

Voices echoed from beyond – unseen, shifting locations every time they spoke. Faint black silhouettes loomed in the distance, half-formed whispering judgements into the dark, making him more disturbed and anxious with each nanosecond.

"MURDERER!"

 Bee flinched violently, staggering backwards.

"You'll never be one of us."

"I heard rumors he was found by Optimus on the scrapyard."

"HA– Bet Optimus took him out of pity!"

He had to run.

"Monster!"

He was gasping, optics wide, breath catching in his vents.

The voices – all from his memories – were gaining volume, speed, clarity. He started running.

"I knew he wouldn't make it."

His pede caught on something invisible, almost sending him crashing down, but he caught himself, stumbling forward into an even more frantic pace.

"Probably haven't even killed Megatron and just Optimus let him take the credit."

He clenched his servos on his audials, but the voices pushed though, louder than ever.

"Can't handle a little pain?"

Then—light. 

A faint glow in the distance. He bolted toward it.

"WEAK."

"Shut up." He muttered.

"What's wrong, chosen one?!"

"Bumblebee, please. That's not you."

"I said shut up! SHUT UP!" 

He was overheating, radiators hissing under the pressure. Every vent was strained, every intake heavier that the last. His while frame shook with fatigue and panic.

The voices didn't stop. If anything they were overlapping now, chaos on top of chaos. And when he opened his optics again—

"WE NEED BACKUP,  SENT BACKUP!" 

The void was gone.

He now stood in the ruined remains of an building – just recently exploded.

The air reeked of melted metal and scorched energon. Smoldering fires glowed nearby and unconscious mechs were strewn about, thrown by the blast's force.

Then he heard a scream.

"NO, PLEASE, I'M JUST FULLFILLING ORDERS—"

Bee marched closer to the one armed bot with a light blue blade from his hand.

Wounded, one-armed mech crawled on the ground before him, trying to escape – desperate, afraid. A light‐blue blade extended from Bee's own servo. 

His feet moved forward, but not by his own will.

The mech pushed against the ground, leaving a trail of energon, but it was futile.

Bumblebee felt like a puppet – controlled by some unseen force, against his will. It wasn't his doing. 

Make it stop. Please, someone make it stop.

"HELP—!"

His shriek was cut short.

A sickening slash.

Energon sprayed across Bee's faceplate.

He stared.

Paralyzed. 

It wasn't him.

It wasn't him.

He would never kill anyone without a reason, especially harmless.

But then his denial was met with brute truth, when he shakily brought his servos to his chest – they were drenched in energon. And not just from that mech.

Another one.

Fresh.

His ventilations came in shallow, panicked bursts.

"I—I'm sorry... I didn't mean to—" He stammered quietly.

Then he saw it.

A familiar silhouette in the distance. Tall. Broaded-shouldered. Calm.

Pointing a blaster directly at him.

"I'm too sorry it had to end this way, old friend," came the voice.

There was no hesitation.

The blast struck.

Everything went black again.

_______

He woke up with a sharp, strangled grasp.

One servo clutched tightly to his chest, the other gripping at his throat, as if trying to hold himself together.

His vents stuttered. Panic laced every intake.

It was just another nightmare. 

"Woah, easy. I just finished" Knockout said softly, his usual sass replaced by a mild concern.

The red mech looked at him, tools in hand, watching the visibly shaken bot try to ground himself.

Bee didn't answer. His optics were unfocused, frame trembling as he exvented violently.

Another one.

Another nightmare that bled to close to the truth.

"I know Megatron can be... a bit much sometimes," Knockout tried, almost awkwardly "but I can reassure you—it won't be that bad all the time"

Bee blinked. The voice barely registered.

"Wha—What, no—" he panted, trying to speak through tight vents. 

He hadn't even realized how much he was shaking until he tried to form words. His own vocalizer crackled under the strain.

He was still on Nemesis. 

Knockout was still here.

Still... another layer of a dream?

No. No, not again.

Let me wake up.

Before the thought could root deeper, Bee pushed himself off the berth stumbling with uneven footing.

"Whoa—OH NO, you don't!" Knockout snapped, instantly blocking the exit with arms stretched across the doorframe. "You're not going anywhere with half of your cables still barely stitched together!"

But Bee didn't stop. In a flash, he launched himself forward, pushing one pede on a nearby shelf and vaulting right over the medic. 

He landed clumsily, rolling and scrambling upright, nearly collapsing – then forced himself back onto his pedes and run.

Knockout gawked in disbelief "What—?! —Just happened?" 

He hadn't expected that. The agility. The desperation. The madness in his optics.

If this was him just after a near-death recovery, he couldn't imagine how fast or lethal he is in his prime.

Shaking his head, Knockout groaned, already regretting everything about this day.

Then tapped his comm as he stepped gingerly into the pursuit, remembering the consequences he will have to suffer if he wouldn't.

> : "Soundwave, we have a fugitive" :

Chapter Text

__________

He stormed through corridors of the Nemesis, still sore but mobile. At least he still could run.

He hugged the wall as he heard footsteps – Vehicons.

They passed without noticing him.

Good.

But then they halted.

He pressed himself flatter against the wall again as they raised their servos to their audials – definitely receiving a comm.

If he had to bet, it was Soundwave. 

Two bots turned his way, scanning the corridor.

Who is he kidding, of course it was Soundwave.

He tensed. He spun on his heel and sprinted in the opposite direction, only to skid to a halt.

Three more Vehicons blocked the other end of the hallway.

Cornered. 

Or so they thought. 

They were a little taller than him. He could work with that.

His servo ignited, the Decepticon Hunter forming into a spear as he launched at the first one, stabbing him clean through the spark. Using the collapsing body as a leverage, he flipped toward the second, evading it's blow and rending it's chassis open with a slash.

The rest opened fire – but their aim was terrible.

They're not real, he repeated to himself. It's just a nightmare. 

He would've let them hit him, if not for the fact they probably had been given a clear directive: capture, not kill.

He moved with instinctual precision. One ran; he vaulted up a wall, stepped along it, flipped, and landed behind another, blade to throat.

Gone. 

The last two Vehicons froze, looked at each other in panic. 

Bee looked at them flatly, raised a servo, and casually wiped energon from his faceplate.

He didn't even used to notice that they were sentient, living beings. Not really. Not until recently.

Even if they are not real, there's no point adding more to the pile inside my head.

"Shush. Go now, or I won't be nice next time," he said with a low wave.

They hesitated, but decided to ran.

Wow. Vehicons actually listen. His old team on Earth sure didn't. 

A little threat can work miracles. Maybe I should have tried threatening back then.

He was sure this would last. At least until the other reinforcements would approach.

He took off again – then realized something troubling.

He was lost.

Scrap.

He cursed himself for never memorizing the Nemesis layout plans after the war, when he had a chance. He'd assumed he would never need to. Why would he?

He dashed thought another corridor and—

"HEY!"

Breakdown.

NOPE.

Bee barely dodged a massive punch, scurrying past and covering his embarrasment with a servo.

Breakdown looked as confounded as he was.

No time for a fight.

Especially not that fight.

He wasn't built to withstand Breakdown in his current condition. Besides, he had something far more important in mind:

Escape.

He rounded another corner and saw it.

Sunlight.

Warm. Real. Yellow.

The landing pad.

This was it!

He didn't think. He ran harder, vents rasping.

Alt-mode was an option, but risky. Breakdown and Megatron could stop him cold in his vehicle form by sheer force.

He burst into daylight.

Vehicons fired behind him, but no Starsream, Soundwave, Megatron in sight. No sight of any dangerous Decepticons and he just met with Breakdown like a klick ago. 

He was in the clear.

He leapt off the edge. 

The wind howled past him, freedom pressing against his armor. It almost felt like flying. He had always wondered what it would be like to have a jet alt-mode.

On the second thought, racing was still better.

His mind spiraled.

What if this isn't a dream?

No. Knockout was here. This was the Nemesis. And his chronometer was set to the wrong year. The date of being on an ongoing war with Megatron on Earth.

The war was still ongoing.

He flipped midair, head tilting to the sky. He closed his optics.

But what if I got thrown back in time?

The last thing he remembered—

The Shadow Zone. They were going to send me there.

Something must have gone wrong.

He chuckled darkly.

They fragged up. Or I fragged up. 

Everything was real.

The ground was rising.

Too late. But maybe he could manage to hold onto something.

There was a plain terrain of messa. 

Well screw me. 

He closed his optics again and braced for the impact—

—but instead, he hit metal.

Hard.

 The pain shot through him. His optics blinked open.

Beneath him was familiar shape – sleek, silver, massive.

No fragging way.

He had landed on Megatron.

The Decepticon leader caught him.

He was the last bot he would've expected to see. 

Why?

Approximately a meter from the ground, Megatron transformed, and Bee dropped like a rock.

"A-" Bee made a quick, squeaky voice.

The pain stung worse than before, proba lying because the first fall was already too much for him. He just stayed there, sprawled and stunned.

Then Megatron furiously kicked him.

Fair. 

He deserved it.

He didn't try to get up as Megatron dragged him towards himself by the arm, and Bee didn't resist.

He only winced slightly, numb to the rest. Preparing to get himself hit. Still wasn't scared at the slightest, but wasn't smirking anymore.

Megatron scrutinized him.

There was something off in his EM field – grief, restrained but there.

His tone remained harsh. "Why did you do that"

Bee without thinking. "Why did you save me" 

They both froze.

Same time. Same question.

Bee jerked free and stepped back, arms crossed.

Megatron's optics narrowed. "Enlighten me, why should I keep you?" 

Oh no. 

His worst nightmare. 

The job interview. 

Focus. Not a dream. 

He opened his mouth—then hesitated.

He didn't know.

He had nothing.

He was a fugitive, a ghost. Not even supposed to exist in this time.

Honestly, didn't expect that kind of question. He theoretically invaded his ship. 

He could have some information on him.

He could work for Autobots, so why Megatron would even consider keeping him around.

Megatron gave him his answer right away. "I'm sincerely concerned someone with your potential could end up in Autobots servos."

Ah.

There it was.

Classic Megatron. 

He didn't save him out of mercy. He saw value. He wanted control.

Megatron stepped close, grabbed his chin with his servo, examined him like a tool he was considering repairing – or repurposing.

Bee flinched, optics wide. Frowning vexed, while he scrutinized him closely in a firm grasp.

He hadn't even noticed him move. Zoning out again.

"It would be a shame if such talent went to waste."

Bee's expression shifted – anger to weariness. Shrugging as if he didn't care. It made Megatron alter from his smirking snarl to confused frown, but stepped back.

Another motive added to the list. Another leash.

He deserved to be a scrap by now anyway, so why don't just go with it.

Still...

Pretending nothing happened between them – that ripped out voicebox, the blade, the war – it made his energon churn.

He was just as the same cruel, apathetic, horrifying monster as he remembered. He would never let that slip and put their past aside. 

The thought of pretending like it just never happened disgusted him.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" His thoughts were barged by angry scolding, coming from quite far.

...

How.

Megatron stood right in front of him like a nanosecond ago. He couldn't wandered so deeply, that he lost contact with reality completely and not notice him move at all.

But lately, it was happening more often, so maybe he could.

Besides, Megatron waiting and trusting enough to wander for him this far was just... weirdly unreal.

Maybe it is a dream, after all?

He could run away from him now. Try again.

It was a perfect distance to transform into an alt mode and speed through the dessert, yet he hesitated.

He felt Megatron's piercing glare on him.

Ah yes, if he wasn't furious back then, he definitely was now. 

He raised his head from the ground to look at Megatron, who was now standing only a few meters from him. His purple optics glinted and he tilted his head, while assesing the mech before him.

...

"...What?" Bee demanded frowning in resentment, breaking deaf silence between them.

"Designation?"

Oh fu- scrap.

He had to think of something fast. Nothing on a letter B, of obvious reasons.

Paradox. No, too obvious.

Blunder. Heh. He was one indeed.

NOT ON B. 

Maybe Silere? Nah, Megatron isn't that stupid. He would take a notice on that and soon enough figure out he's real designation and then he would have a problem...

"Shadestrike" he'd said. Voice steady. Optics lying.

Not quite a lie. 

The one he had used post-war. The one criminal records knew him by, but Megatron didn't need to know that.

Megatron didn't buy it – he didn't care.

"You're truly an interesting case, Shadestrike..."

Megatron unsurely intimated as he was still scrutinizing him, and then he just walked away.

What...

What was his problem? Did he let him wait too long for an answer? Maybe he zoned out again? 

Wait, focus. 

Megatron deadpanned, rolling his eyes, pointed his head to the side, demanding him to follow. Bee quickly took the allusion and did so. 

He's bigger than I remmeber, Bee thought, eyes trailing on his chasis upwards. But I was smaller then.

That temper, his EM field, still the same. Dark and intimidating, just as he recalled it. 

Will I really serve him? After everything?

Will he really be serving the same bot, who mercilessly tore out his voice box apart, without even a hint of remorse? Who almost killed him? Well, he was resurrected, and then he killed him later, so maybe they are even—

 No... They are definitely not...

No, wait, he still didn't let him fall. If he just didn't want the Autobots to have him on their team, then why wouldn't he? It would be one less problem to worry about. 

He glanced up, trying to read his expression, maybe deduce something – and Megatron was already staring at him, frowning.

Bee quickly looked away, flushed in embarassment and covered it with his servo.

Was he looking at him all this time?

He really had to stop thinking so much, but he had no idea it would be such a problem. The last time he spent this much time with someone was with Knockout, and it was... well definitely a long time ago.

He was paying attention to his surroundings pretty well, when it was life or death situation and somehow he knew, when the one was going to emerge. 

Like right now, he sensed Megatron's servo arcing towards the back of his helm—wait what.

Bee ducked.

"What the—?!"

"I asked you a question."

"You didn't ask anything!" 

Megatron clenched his fists, ready to strike. He was looking like he was about to lose it and punch him with enough power to send him flying but stopped himself.

"How did you break in? The groundbridge you used... didn't register."

He asked as they both stepped through the ground bridge, arriving back aboard the Nemesis.

Soundwave, Knockout and Breakdown standing in the same room. They probably were waiting for further directives from their leader. He also noticed Starscream EM field nearby. He probably was hiding from Megatron and honestly, he couldn't blame him.

Megatron irrirated, raised his fist, but Bee, quickly raised his hands.

"OKAY! okay! I used coordinates from the tracking database in Kaon." 

Megatron doubted his words.

Didn't matter. He had to live with it. He couldn't just tell the truth.

Oh hey, I'm from the future and I probably know everything that is about to happen. 

As if he wasn't suspicious enough anyway.

Megatron finally spoke. "You will be tested. If you prove yourself usefull... you will stay. Until then— Knockout will handed you."

What will happen if I don't? Kill me? You literally saved me few kliks ago.

Bee scoffed to himself internally. If this was supposed to be a threat, then it failed to be.

Knockout wasn't jovial about this, but gave no complain.

Megatron turned and left.

Bee begrudgingly followed Knockout silently.

"We'lI get you tuned up" Knockout sighed. "Paint buffed, badge printed – you'll look fabulous" He shot him a sideways glance. "Weapons?"

Bee hesitated. His systems were still locked down from post-war control protocols. Wasn't sure if he should even tell about that.

One left.

He summoned his Decepticon Hunter. He was having it always locked in the spear form anyway and he was an only rightful user, so nobody could change it beside him. 

Knockout raised a brow. "That's it?"

"I have blasters. But... they are locked you. And if I can make requests—knife hands?", he asked unsurely.

Knockout chuckled "That's specific." 

Bee shrugged.

"Why are they locked?"

"Well, there were some kind of accidents. Let's just say I was... too dangerous for some bots." 

That part, at least, was true.

"More like to yourself" Knockout cackled.

Not funny.

Knockout waved it off "Well you won't be having to worry about that with the Decepticons."

Bumblebee didn't know if it was comforting or terryfiyng. Having no boundaries. 

But pretending to be useful, knowing everything that was going to happen?

He wouldn't have to worry about anything. He can just pretend to be busy with something, but in reality, have no obligations at all.

Maybe... being a Decepticon wouldn't be so hard.

___________

The medbay lights were lower than usual. Knockout had dimmed them, perhaps out of habit, or maybe because he noticed the subtle twitch in Shadowstrike's optics every time the fluorescents flared.

He sat on the medical berth, legs dangling. His servos clenched and unclenched in a slow rythm, optics dimmed, gaze focused on to many things. Still quite nervous about everything, but trying not to show a glimpse.

It was uncomfortably quiet.

Shadestrike hasn't spoken since they got back.

Across the room, Knockout adjusted the data display with one hand, typing a brief note into his pad with the other. 

"You're surprisingly composed," Knockout said casually. "Considering you nearly got spaced not even a megaklick ago."

Bee didn't answer.

"You're not like the most bots Megatron drags in," Knockout continued. "Mysterious entrance, no insignia, suspiciously high pain tolerance... And yet you look like two steps away from collapse."

Still nothing.

Knockout turned to face him, smirking. "Cat got your voice, Shadestrike?"

Not surprised to Knockout's use of Earth phrases. 

Bee's gaze finally lifted, slow and mechanical, like dragging weight. "I talk when I have something worth saying."

"Hm." Knockout tilted his helm "Cryptic. A fan of drama are we?" 

"I'm just tired."

"Of what?"

Bee's response came quickly. "Everything."

Knockout blinked once, expression unreadable. He leaned back against the console, folding his arms. "Well, for what it's worth... Megatron seems to think there's something in you worth salvaging."

Bee scoffed under his breath. "Yeah, a weapon."

"Lucky you." Knockout added, turning back to his equipment. "But if you ask me? You've got that look."

"What look"

"The one that says you're already planning your own funeral."

Bee's optics flickered. "I just fought it was—nevermind. You won't understand anyway..."

Knockout didn't press it. 

He left the silence sit for a while, then said over his shoulder, "If you're hiding something – and you definitely are – just remember Megatron doesn't like riddles."

Bee muttered, "Then he's going to love me."

Knockout snorted. "You're lucky I'm not more curious. I would already have you on a table for a full dissect."

Bee didn't flinch. "Maybe you should."

That gave Knockout a pause.

He glanced back at him. There was something odd – not just in what he said, but how he said it.

Detached. Like he wasn't even afraid.

Like he had already seen worse.

Knockout narrowed his optics, but let it drop. For now.

"Rest. You'll need it. I don't expect Megatron to take his time giving you something lethal to do.

Bee leaned back on the berth, staring at the ceiling.

He knew.

He wasn't here to make it long term.

Just long enough to figure out what the frag had gone wrong.

__________________

The Nemesis command deck was dim, bathed in flickering violet light as data scrolled across multiple displays.

Soundwave stood before the central holotable, motionless.

Megatron loomed besides him, helm tilted slightly as surveillance footage replayed: the black and yellow mech – designation unknown – grinning like a lunatic as he willingly threw himself at his own execution.

Megatron optics narrowed.

"Soundwave," he growled, "display the analysis of your intel."

Soundwave raised a servo.

The image dissolved into a rotating wireframe model of an intruder, overlaid with diagnostics and fragmented registery data.

>> DECEPTICON COMMAND INTEL  —  UNREGISTERED MECH

Known Alias:  "Shadestrike" (self‐reported)

Faction Insignia:  none

Energy Signature:  Scrambled — potential masking tech

Spark Frequency:  Unstable — possibly damaged, but modifed

Known Weaponry: 

- Decepticon Hunter spear (variant unknown)

- Arm Blasters (currently locked)

- Transformation confirmed, alt mode unscanned

- Close-combat profficiency: EXTREME

- Kill count (confirmed in-corridor footage):  3 Vehicons terminated

Behavioral Profile:

- Exhibits signs of delusional dissociation

- Repeated suicidal gestures — likely believes situation is simulated

- Higly strategic under pressure

- Demonstrates familiarity with Decepticon personnel

- Sarcastic, evasive, emotionally volatille

"No previous records in Decepticon or Autobot registry." Megatron studied the dosser in silence, then slowly turned his helm toward Soundwave.

"You believe his designation is real?"

Soundwave: > "Database:  incomplete. Status: no visuals on file." 

"He fights like someone trained to this war, yet still badgeless" Megatron muttered. "Altough, if it's an assasin, he already had a perfect opportunity to distinguish my spark."

A silence stretched between them before Megatron turned toward observation bay, staring out at the expanse of Earth below.

"I want him watched," he ordered "Not just for betrayal. For... insight."

Soundwave tilted his helm slightly. A pause. Then:

> "What are you hoping to find?" <

Megatron didn't answer.

Chapter Text

______

Knockout already finished engraving Decepticon insignia on his chest. He also re-enabled his blasters and added knife-hands conversion as he requested.

Though he already got used to fighting with his Decepticon hunter – wielded it with the kind of grace that only came from experience.

Knife-hands? They were from another time. Another version of him. 

He remember the last time he used them — right before Megatron tore his voicebox and mangled his frame beyond proper repair. The mods were deemed 'nonnessential' and never replaced.

But now?

Now they're back.

You're a decepticon now.

He'd worn insignia before. 

Traded them for silence, then for exile. Now?

He just wore one to stay alive.

He would have to retrain himself to fight with these weapons again. But they were light in his servos – comfortable even. 

Too comfortable.

It scared him. How much lives he could take with them? 

Back then, just after leaving Sub-50 he didn't care about such things and they let him not to, because it was necessary for the war. But now?

Who would he use them on?

He may be a Decepticon now – but his mind was still wired like an Autobot's. 

He didn't think he could ever truly fit in here. Not with the monsters he once spent cycles fighting. Not with Megatron.

Not with what he remembered.

He shut the thought down.

He was free now. No obligations.

No mentors. No ranks. No weight of history. It wasn't even his timeline – he could do whatever he wanted, without consequence.

 Right?

The knife hands. They weren't a weapon. 

They were proof. 

Proof that no one controlled him anymore.

"Don't get sentimental on me," Knockout's voice cut through his thoughs. "Your first task's from Starscream."

He barely held back a groan.

"Good luck with that," the medic added, clearly enjoying himself.

He blinked – he'd zoned out again. He really needed stop doing that. Someone was going to notice sooner or later, and 'disassociation' wasn't something Decepticons tended to treat kindly.

"Thanks," he said absently as he stood.

Knockout almost chocked.

"What was that?" The red mech stared at him, visibly thrown off.

Bee tilted his head, feigning in innocence. "Something's wrong?"

Knockout's optics narrowed. He scanned his briefly, luke he was trying to detect sarcasm through his plating.

"...Nothing. Just—go," he muttered, shoving him lightly out of his medbay and sealing the door behind him. 

Bee smirked faintly.

Maybe he hadn't earned Knockout's trust – but seeing him flustered like that?

That was satisfying to his own right. 

Let's get this over with.

________

Starscream's pedes clicked sharply against the floor as he paced the lenght of the observation window, wings twitching. 

"He doesn't belong here," He muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "No registry. No clearance. He shows up mid-lockdown and Megatron spares him?"

He sneered. 

"Oh no, welcomes him? He didn't even make me to go through that formality... After all these insults."

His optics narrowed, glint with jealousy and something colder. 

"If this 'Shadestrike' is what he claims, he should have been vaporized at the door. But no. He gets a tour and a tune-up."

He pauses mid-rant and glanced over his shoulder. 

Soundwave stood in silence near the door, arms folded begind his back.

Starscream scoffed. "Of course. You are recording this, aren't you?" 

Soundwave didn't move, but the subtle whine of data scrolling behind his visor intensified.

Then, with a flick of a digit, he projected a file with frame structure comparisons, vocal cadence logs and fighting style diagnostics.

Starscream blinked.

"You're not just watching him," He said. "You're profiling him."

A pause.

Then Soundwave tapped the file and played back a brief, distorted audio clip.

> : "I used coordinates from a tracking database in  Kaon—" < :

> : Subfile note: Kaon Decepticon Data Core — Top-Level Clearance Required : <

Starscream wings twitched.

"...He shouldn't know that."

Soundwave didn't respond.

A mystery with no past.

No record. No insignia.

Until now.

Starscream crossed his arms.

"Well," He hissed "if Megatron wants to play house with a liar, so be it. But the second he steps out of the line..."

_________

A ping lit up on Shadestrike's internal comm.

> : "Report only to me directly. Your first task awaits" :

Starscream. 

So the badge they engraved wasn't just for show – it came tethered to limited comm network. For now it looked like he only had acces to Starscream's line.

Fair enough. He hadn't expected to get one at all. 

He followed the ping's coordinates, arriving at a narrow ops chamber. Soundwave stood inside, silent and towering.

Shadestrike offered a casual hand-wave. 

Soundwave tilted his head slightly, no response as expected – but that tiny flicker-like motion? It gave more that a thousands words. Confusion.

Bee blinked.

They didn't know how to responde to... genuine interaction. Every normal gesture seemed foreign to them.

Fine, I'll be the odd one, then.

Soundwave opened a groundbridge with a sweep of his servo. 

Before the portal even fully stabilized Shadestrike stepped throught it – no hesitation.

Soundwave's visor flickered in surprise. 

---

He emerged into chaos.

An energon mine.

Dust. Blaster fire. Vehicons shouting over comms. 

In the center of it all, a familiar form moved with violent precision – Cliffjumper, holding his own against a squad of Decepticons.

The comm clicked to life in Shadestrike's helm.

> : "Your task is simple," : Starscream purred. :"Bring the Autobot in alive and harmless. Do so, and I'll consider your worthy to our case" :

Bee couldn't see Starscream, but he could hear the grin. The overconfident glee of someone who thought he'd set a trap that couldn't be beaten. 

So that was the game.

Starscream wanted him to fail. To be cast out. Discredited. Probably scrapped.

As if Megatron didn't just personally spared his life.

He wants to use me, Bee thought. As a tool. Like the Autobots. Like the council. They're all the same.

> : "...Well, what are you waiting for?!" : Starscream snapped.

Bee stepped forward.

 It wasn't his timeline. The future was already broken.

So what did it matter?

Cliffjumper took down another Vehicon with a fierce uppercut, energon spraying as he turned to face the next.

"Surprise." Shadestrike muttered behind him, blade flashing.

Cliffjumper spun, blocking the strike with a clang of metal. "And who the scrap are you?!" 

Shadestrike tilted his helm. Optics darted upwards. "Note to self – attack first, retort later. Should be obvious, but here we are." He chuckled, low and restrained, before lashing out with a volley of strikes – neck, side, chestplate.

Cliffjumper blocked them all.

Sturdy. Sharper than the one he remembered.

Stronger in this timeline...

"Okay, that was fun," Cliffjumper grinned. "But I think it's time to end this charade." 

He landed a hit – sharp, under the plating underneath his chest on the side.

Shadowstrike winced as energon dripped down the side, but he didn't flinch.

"Funny, I was about to say the same thing." He tilted his head with wide opened optics which made Cliffjumper feel uneasy.

He used the opportunity – grabbed the opponent's other servo, twisted hard as metal crunched. Cliffjumper shouted in pain, and in an instant, Bee smashed his fist across his faceplate, sending him to the ground.

Unconscious. 

> : "Perfect job," : Starscream crooned. : "Now drag him to me." :

Bee blinked. "Drag him?"

Starscream hadn't shown up. Did he really expect him to drag a bleeding Autobot through the bridge by himself?

...

"Do I have to drag him," Bee said dryly, "or may I just take him?" 

The silence on the other hand was delicious.

Starscream comm remained opened, but nothing came through. Bee could imagine him frozen, optics wide, intakes stalled with a frown.

Confounded and stunned by the question.

This wasn't he question he expected. 

No — why this target?

No — what's the purpose?

Not even — why are you giving me orders and not Megatron?

No stupid question for back-up?

Just practicality. But it still was weird he even asked about such a little detail. He was just supposed to bring him in. Starscream didn't care how, unless it was done.

Shadestrike didn't wait. He shrugged and hoisted Cliffjumper over his shoulder and walked through the groundbridge, stepping through as if he were hauling groceries.

The other side of the portal opened into a hangar.

Starscream stood there waiting, optics darting, trying to look composed.

Bee dropped Cliffjumper in front of him.

Still breathing. Still bleeding.

"Thank you for your assistance, Shadestrike," Starscream managed, strained. "I'll... inform Lord Megatron of your performance."

Bee simply nodded.

Then turned and left without another word.

He didn't want to be there any longer than necessary. 

Taking his former friend was one thing, watching him die was another one. 

Cliffjumper had been a friend.

Once.

Bee had grown used to pain. Used to making decisions that came with consequences. That was assassin's burden. Act first, regret later – if ever.

But this?

This felt different.

He hadn't kill him, but...

What if I hadn't show up? Would he have made it?

Cliffjumper had been winning. Fighting well.

Maybe this timeline is already different. 

The moment was interrupted by the echo of metallic clunk and a pained scream from behind – the aftermath of Starscream dealing with a prisoner.

Bee froze mid-step.

His spark ached like a splinter being driven deeper.

That was Arcee's best friend...

No.

He was a Decepticon now. It's was not his Cliffjumper.

The war had already happened.

 At least... for him.

His chassis ached, but the pain barely registered. His systems were numb.

This ship, this war, this moment in time — 

He lived through it once already. Fought. Bled. Buried his friends because of it.

Somewhere out there, the younger him was still chasing ideas of 'victory' and 'honor'.

That idiot didn't know what was coming yet. What they would become.

But this version?

He already had.

He wasn't there to change the future.

He just wanted to make through another day.

Ping.

A new message flashed across his comm line.

Knockout.

Oh, great. They are unlocking the comms as I 'rank up'. But wait... Starscream gave the first order. Knockout's lower in rank. That doesn't add upp. 

Or maybe this wasn't about hierarchy.

Another message.

He begrudgingly opened his internal HUD.

> : Stop roaming around and come to med hub. We need to talk : 

> : NOW :

Even without audio, the scream was loud in his processor.

Bee sighed and headed for the medbay.

Knockout wasn't inside.

Which meant – yes. Lurking behind the corner.

Bee pretended not to notice. Knockout probably planned to make an ambush. 

Moments later, he was slammed into the wall with surprising force. Knockout's "medical" saw spun to life, it's teeth inches from Bee's neck. 

Yep, definitely an ambush.

"HOW did you do that?!" Knockout's growled.

Bee blinked. "Do what?" He wasn't faking it. This time his question was genuine and he had no idea—oh, wait was it about...

"No one but Starscream and I knew about your task. He tried to claim the credit—but I'm not that stupid!" Knockout shoved harder. "Suddenly you succeded on your first day where half this crew has failed for months?! Cliffjumper isn't just some scout, he's a brawler!"

Oh.

Cliffjumper. Right.

"Do you have any idea what it looks like? You show up, no record, no background, and then this? If Megatron finds out you'll jump in ranks faster than Starscream can finish a bootlicking sequence!"

Honestly he didn't think it would be such a problem, but now that he analyzed... it looks kinda suspicious. 

 At least they won't think he's an Autobot anymore, but it still is weird he took him all alone without any help.

No wait, it wasn't only his doing.

"Vehicons helped." Bumblebee offered, trying to sound as clueless as possible.

Knockout laughed bitterly and started mocking "Oh geez, why I haven't thought of that?! They are so helpful on the battlefield! You mean the guys who get offlined from simple static discharges?!" 

Bee shrugged again. "I mean... technically they were there."

"You have no possible idea on how long Breakdown and I spent trying to bring thak cocky, red mech down—!"

So that's what this was really about. 

Pride.

Breakdown. Trust. Position. 

Knockout wasn't mad, because Bee succeded.

He was mad, because it made him and Breakdown look like failures.

Bumblebee haven't thought about this way. That he could influence their hierarchy and make someone excluded, feeling useless.

"Well?! Say something!" Knockout's voice sent him back to reality again.

Bee softened slightly. "If I offended you, I want you to know I'm not trying to take praise or rank. I don't plan on advancing in Decepticons system... or however it works. Just... fullfiling orders." 

Knockout blinked.

Twice.

"...I'll never get used to that," he muttered.

"What?"

"This. You. Being...not a complete bastard."

 Bee stifled a smirk behind his servo. 

"What is wrong with you..." Knockout asked half genuine half disgusted, retracting the saw his saw and stepping back. 

Shadestrike on the retort returned to his normal, but done face.

Really? Was it so hard for them to accept? Why they-

"No, you misunderstood me, I mean—why aren't you taking credit for taking an Autobot solo?" 

Bee shrugged. He couldn't really tell him his real reasoning, but I guess he could tell half of the truth. 

"I don't want expectations raised too high. I'd prefer to stay under the radar, so no one hands me... complicated tasks." 

On his impart Knockout chortled and Bumblebee couldn't hide the irritation.

"What's so funny" He smirked nastily at him while crossing his arms.

Knockout scoffed. "Oh, that ship's sailed sweetheart."

Bee frowned. "I don't think so...?"

"Starscream likely reported your succes to Megatron. If he did, it's obvious you took the Autobot, not him."

"...But that would mean he didn't report it..." Bee smirked at him.

They both paused.

Knockout optics narrowed "That's absurd. Everyone knows he sent you."

"Sure. But no one knew what the task was."

A beat.

Knockout blinked. "Wait... what?" 

Bee grinned looking upwards. "Think about it. If he told Megatron exactly what the task was, he'd have to admit I succeded. And Megatron might–oh I don't know–start favouring me instead."

"Wow, ego" Knockout muttered preenly.

"Let me finish." Bee said, raising a digit. 

Knockout rolled his optics and crossed his arms trying to restrain his grin by looking in a different direction, but listened.

"Starscream knew only Soundwave had acces to the logs. So he opened a second groundbridge after the capture to make it look like he was handling a separate mission. One bridge for me. One bridge for him. Two different targets, but only one succes. That way Soundwave would assume too seperate missions."

Knockout finished slowly turning his helm to his direction in astonishment. "So if he never disclosed the real objective, he could claim the succes for himself..." 

"...And Megatron would never know he didn't lift a claw."

Knockout stared. 

"...We have to tell Megatron."

He turned and started sprinting toward the command deck—only to stop after a few steps when Shadestrike didn't follow.

Knockout stood frustrated on the middle of the hall and tilting his head in disbelief.

"Why aren't you coming?!" 

"First of all?" I don't care! Secondly—" Bumblebee lifted his servo, now soaked in energon from the earlier fight. "I think I'm leaking."

Knockout growled and doubled back, dragging him back toward the medbay by the wrist.

"Seriously, I could've walked—"

"You clearly wouldn't have."

____

"Starscream." 

Megatron's voice echoed like a blade through the metal.

The Seeker flinched.

"I told you already, my liege! I sent him on one task, I took care of another – anihilating Cliffjumper!"

Megatron stepped closer, silent for a beat.

Starscream was playing his charade again, hiding something from his sight. 

Starscream proclaimed defeating an Autobot alone and sending Shadestrike to another mission, therefore sent two groundbridges, yet he couldn't help, but feel odd by the circumstances. 

He was supposed to believe, he defeated an Autobot in the same time he sent his subordinate on a mission. 

He turned to Soundwave. 

"Soundwave, did Shadestrike pass through the groundbridge before or after Starscream sent another one?" 

A pause. Glare on the logs.

"After." Megatron finished.

Starscream's face froze.

"My lord—perhaps Soundwave logs are incomplete—"

"Shadestrike came through the bridge first and I appeared shortly after with the Autobot through another one."

Starscream version was almost believable.

"You are dismissed."

Starscream systems sputtered.

"If I find a proof this was another of your lies," Megatron said calmly, "I will rip your spark from your chest and wear your wings as a cape."

Starscream hesitated, but fled.

Megatron didn't even turn to watch him run.

Soundwave kept his arms behind his back, visor glinting.

"...Soundwave."

He didn't need to raise his voice.

"Bring him to me."

Chapter Text

The sky was gray over the outskirts of the relay station of an old Autobot base – nothing but wind and silence.

Bumblebee stood alone, between two inactive spacebridges generators. They hummed faintly – cold, unalligned.

He shouldn't be here.

No one should.

That kind of punishment was just cruelty, even Decepticons weren't receiving one.

The Council had made it clear. He was too dangerous, unpredictable to be left running free. Too dangerous to imprison. He got out a few times already, but looking back maybe he shouldn't have even tried.

On the other hand he was to symbolic to kill.

Their solution?

They choose the middle ground. 

Erasure.

On Earth. Because if it failed, better vanish a human town, than a Cybertronian city. They never really liked humans anyway, especially after filing up MECH in database.

He looked up at two swirling portals forming across from each other – still unstable, building charge. 

He'd seen this happen before. Three times a charm as they say it on Earth.

The twin groundbridges would intersect mid-stream, tearing a whole into dimensional fabric and he couldn't ran away. He was trapped with cuffs carved into the ground.

A doorway into nothing.

The Shadowzone.

And then it happened. 

A flash of violet lightning as the portal destabilized, screaming into the open air like the universe tearing itself inside out.

The world went gray.

Now he stood in a deadened reflection of reality. 

Same location.

But drained of all color. Soundless. Muted.

He was left alone.

The panic sunk into him.

He saw the base flicker with ghostly echoes. He saw the past.

Arcee. Bulkhead. All alive, laughing at something. And then Optimus. It made his spark rage.

He sprinted towards them.

Screaming.

Reaching.

Nothing.

Didn't hear. Didn't look. 

He passed them like a vapor. They couldn't hear. Couldn't. 

Had a voicebox, yet after the war he was still unhearable. How ironic.

He struck Optimus full-force. Or tried. Laughing in agony.

Nothing.

He wasn't there. 

Just a shadow.

He felt to his knees, chest heaving in silence.

Trapped.

Unseen. 

Unreachable.

Alone.

And then the white‐light split the world—

—he jerked awake.

Vents flaring as he clutched his chassis, bracing for impact that never came.

The medbay was dim, quiet – purple light overhead.

His chest felt tight. Frame trembling. Still caught between timeliness.

The location haven't changed. At last this isn't a dream now.

He was on Nemesis. 

He really is on Nemesis.

Knockout's voice broke the silence. "You scream in your sleep."

Bee blinked. The medic stood across the room, arms folded, one brow visibly arched. He was trying for detachment amusement, but there was a subtle tension in his frame – a glance too long, a twitch too high.

"I don't scream," Bee muttered, lowering his servo from his chest.

"Oh please," Knockout said stepping closer, "you flailed like a turbox on fire and nearly fried one of my monitors with a servo twitch. I'm calling it a scream darling."

Bee groaned and slumped back down on the berth. "You know, you don't have to buff me. I'll probably end up here so often, you'll get sick of me."

Knockout didn't respond imidiatelly. He activated a tool set with a flick of a wrist and resumed sealing gash in Bee's side, optics narrowed in concentration."

"No charge for repeat customers," Knockout said flatly. "But if you ruin a console, I will invoice your spark chamber."

Bee managed a half-smile—and flinched.

Ping.

Knockout caught it. "What now?"

A new alert flashed across Bee's HUD. He stared at it.

Knockout's optics narrowed. "What happened?"

Bee's faceplate fell back into neutrality. "I hope you're done. I just got summoned."

Knockout glanced up. "Soundwave?" 

"Megatron."

The tools paused. Knockout's mouth twitched – amused, but not quite surprised. "To your luck, I just finished." He sealed the final weld and shut his kit with a klick.

Bee slid off the berth, testing balance.

"Wish me luck," he muttered.

"Oh, I don't need to," Knockout replied with a grin. "This is going to be juicy." 

_____

The doors hissed open with the sound of a warning.

Shadestrike stepped through.

The room was dark — darker than the rest of the Nemesis, lit only by the deep pulse of command lines along the walls and a central light over the throne.

Megatron stood with his back turned, optics cast out toward the endless starfield through the viewing panel. Massive. Still.

Bee didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

He knew better.

“Shadestrike,” Megatron said without turning. His voice was calm — too calm. The kind that curled like a blade just before it strikes. “You were deployed on a mission."

Still facing the void, he added, “Starscream told me you engaged Bulkhead.”

Bulkhead? That wasn’t even close to the truth.

Bee didn’t react. “Yes.”

“He also tells me you fought valiantly. That you failed to kill, but performed with… promise.”

A beat.

“Is that true?”

Bee's optics lowered slightly. “Yes.”

Silence stretched thin.

Megatron turned slowly.

“And yet, the Autobot we found bleeding at our feet was Cliffjumper. Not Bulkhead. So tell me. Why the squadron of Vehicons, which were fighting with Bulkhead a few kliks ago, haven't registered any sign of damage on him?”

Bee didn’t blink.

“Would you like to correct the report?”

He paused.

"No."

Megatron stepped forward, slow and deliberate. “You’re certain?”

“Yes.”

“I find that difficult to believe.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

Megatron's optics flared brighter. “Then why lie for Starscream?”

Bee finally met his gaze.

“You are protecting him,” Megatron observed, not asked. His voice darkened, curling with suspicion. “Why?”

I’m protecting me. Bee thought to himself.

Another step from Megatron, another few tons of pressure added to the room.

“Then answer me this, Shadestrike: Why not take credit for a victory over a high-value Autobot?”

Bee's voice was quiet — deliberate. “Because I don’t need recognition. I need stability. I just got here — I’d rather stay here than make enemies on day two.”

Megatron studied him.

Bee added, flatly, “Rising too fast just paints a target on your back.”

“You are pragmatic.”

Bee tilted his head. “I’m still standing, aren’t I?”

Megatron circled him once. “You are dangerous. But you are hiding something.”

A pause.

“But not incompetence.”

He stopped in front of Bee again. “Starscream did not fought that Autobot.”

Bee didn’t flinch.

“No,” he said. “He didn’t.”

“You did.”

“You got me,” Bee admitted, voice flat. “I fought him. But I didn’t kill him. Starscream did.”

He let that linger, then added with careful intent:

“It’s his credit. Let it stay that way.”

Megatron’s optics narrowed — cold, calculating, suspicious.

“You expect me to believe you fought Cliffjumper, bested him, and left him alive... for another to finish?”

“Yes.”

Megatron leaned in, barely a breath away.

“Why?”

Bee's tone didn’t waver. “Because I wasn’t ordered to kill him. Just neutralize him. I followed the directive. And Starscream arrived later.”

That part, at least, could be true.

Megatron stepped back.

“You are clever,” he muttered. “But I do not trust cleverness alone.”

Bee shrugged. “Then don’t trust me. Just use me.”

A silence fell again.

“Starscream used your success as a weapon. You turned it into silence.”

Bee said nothing.

Megatron’s optics narrowed once more, then relaxed — just slightly.

“Dismissed.”

Shadestrike gave the briefest nod and turned to leave.

-----

Bumblebee walked with slow, measured steps. His systems still hummed with tension, but his field was blank — unreadable. That was the key. Stay unreadable.

The hallway curved into one of the Nemesis’s forward arteries, light pulsing dimly across the walls like a warning not yet sounded.

Then—

“You!”

Starscream’s voice was a hiss of accusation and panic. He stepped from a side corridor like he'd been waiting there — or pacing in circles.

His optics were wide, wings twitching like overcharged relays.

Shadestrike stopped.

“...Something's wrong?” he asked, voice flat.

Starscream stalked closer, talons clenched. “What did you tell him?!”

Bee tilted his helm. “Tell who what?”

“Don’t play innocent!” Starscream snapped. “You spoke with Lord Megatron, didn’t you?!”

“I did,” Bee answered evenly, slightly nodding, with optics on the ceiling. Then locked them on Starscream again.

“Then what did you SAY?” Starscream leaned in, optics gleaming with raw suspicion. “Because he looked at me like I’d offlined his creator!”

Bee stared for a moment. Then, with deliberate slowness, he replied:

“I told him I failed my mission. That I wasn’t strong enough to take Bulkhead.”

A pause.

Starscream blinked. “...Bulkhead?”

Shadestrike shouldn't even know he gave this designation on his own report.

“Yeah.” Bee’s voice remained casual, almost bored. “Isn’t that what you told him?”

Starscream’s mouth opened, then closed. Something about this wasn’t right.

“You said you captured and offlined an Autobot. I backed that up.”

Starscream’s optics narrowed. “Why?”

Bee’s servo lifted in a small shrug. “You gave the orders. Credit’s yours.”

He turned to leave.

Starscream stood frozen, processor trying to connect dots that refused to align. Something about that calm didn’t sit right.

______

The screen flickered in front of him, data strings running like rivers.

Starscream narrowed his optics, scrolling faster, pulling up his mission logs. He needed reassurance. Proof.

There it was.

> : Mission ID: EN-PHX-6 :

: Cross-reference: Casualty Log – Autobot operative “Cliffjumper” :

: Status: OFFLINE :

: Assailant: Starscream :

He stared.

And stared.

His own claws hovered over the keys. His intake caught.

It had updated. The system logged him as the one who brought Cliffjumper down.

Not Shadestrike.

Not with assistance.

Just.

Him.

Starscream’s wings lowered slightly, tension bleeding out with the rush of disbelief.

“...Huh.”

He leaned back in his chair.

And for the first time since the mission…

He smiled.

But it was the kind of smile that never reached his optics.

________

Shadestrike just turned on the corner, when his internal comm pinged with a new alert.

: [COMM ACCESS UNLOCKED – DIRECT LINE: MEGATRON] :

He stared at it for a moment.

Most Decepticons would kill for a direct line to their warlord.

He opened it immediately.

> : Requesting temporary leave from ship. Destination: Mountain Ridge Highway, East U.S. :

There was a long pause.

Long enough for Bee to wonder if he’d just overstepped in the worst possible way.

Then—

> : Granted. Purpose? :

Bee hesitated, then typed simply:

> : Personal recalibration. Processing. :

Another pause. Then, a second ping.

> : Permission stands. Do not waste it. :

A third message came nanoklicks later — sharper.

> : Next time, do not use my comms for something Soundwave could've handled. :

Bee winced slightly.

> : Understood. Apologies. Could Soundwave send a groundbridge to a location? :

...I should've written that last sentence to Soundwave.

Coordinates attached.

Another silence.

Then, a pulse of energy shook the floor as a glowing vortex spiraled open in front of him. Soundwave always moved faster than expected.

Bee stepped through without hesitation.

________

The sun was just beginning to drop behind the trees, casting long golden beams through the dust.

Shadestrike emerged alone. He shifted into alt-mode — matte black Cybertronian muscle car with hints of yellow — and rolled down the gravel shoulder onto the paved stretch of highway.

It was familiar.

This road had been one of his favorites once — back when roads still meant freedom and not escape. Back when he didn’t count his missions by the bodies he left behind.

Back when he was just Bumblebee.

He didn’t know how long he drove. A few miles. Maybe more. Just... thinking.

Then he heard it — the distant whine of another engine.

And then—

There he was.

Yellow armor. Glossy. Untarnished. Sleek lines and bright lights.

No knives. Just blasters, speed and hope.

Him.

Bumblebee.

Shadestrike nearly transformed out of pure shock.

Instead, he slowed instinctively, pulling to the edge of the lane as the younger him zipped past. A blur of yellow.

Of all the places on Earth—here, right now. What are the chances?

And then something stupid happened.

He turned to follow.

---

Bumblebee checked his mirrors.

The shape behind him wasn’t human.

No engine rattle, no inconsistency in power draw. That was Cybertronian tech. But whose?

Decepticon? Or maybe—

He accelerated, testing it.

So did the stranger.

Not threateningly. Almost... playfully?

It felt like a challenge. A race.

And for just a moment, Bumblebee didn’t think. He smiled.

He accelerated harder, and the black car behind him surged forward.

Two Cybertronians tearing down a human highway, weaving between bends and rises in the road, chasing old thrill.

He didn’t know why, but it felt good.

For a moment, it was just motion. Just momentum.

Then Bumblebee pulled ahead, tires screeching as he skidded to a stop just off the main road and transformed.

He turned, expectant. Curious.

Then he saw it.

The stranger transformed as well.

Tall. Lean. He'd never seen him before, but somehow felt... familiar.

Yellow traces on black armor. A build like his.

But most damning of all—

The Decepticon insignia engraved on his chestplate.

Bumblebee’s field flared with confusion, tension. He took a half-step back.

> : Who - you - why - follow - race - autobot - you? :

He beeped rapidly — his tones sharp with uncertainty. His processor couldn’t catch up to the feeling clawing at his spark.

Something about this mech felt... wrong. Not dangerous, exactly.

But close.

Too close.

He didn’t know what he was looking at.

But he felt it.

Something in the stranger’s presence pulled at his spark. Not danger. Just... resonance. Like a voice he couldn’t hear but still remembered.

Shadestrike didn’t speak — couldn’t. Not now.

Bumblebee beeped again — clipped, uncertain.

> : Why - feel - know? :

The words were broken. Hesitant. A language most bots didn’t bother learning. Not even most allies.

But he had.

Shadestrike didn’t answer. Not with sound, not with signs. Too risky. Too revealing. Slipping up here would cost more than comfort. 

So instead, Shadestrike let his field adjust.

Calm. Steady. Controlled, but not cold.

Just enough warmth to say: Not a threat.

The yellow mech tilted his helm, confused.

Shadestrike watched him carefully. So much smaller than he remembered — not in size, but in spirit. Still carrying the weight of what Megatron did. Still trying to outrun the silence.

But not yet broken by it.

Lucky.

This version still had a team that saw him. Fought for him. Built bridges around his quiet instead of demanding he'd fill it.

Shadestrike knew the look in Bumblebee’s optics, even through the mask of time.

Bee thought. Do you understand me?

He didn’t answer. But his gaze softened, and for a moment, Bumblebee relaxed. 

They understood each other without using words.

Still cautious, but no longer braced to flee.

Bumblebee beeped again, slower now.

> : You - not - Autobot? :

A pause. Then, quieter.

> : You - hurt - anyone? :

Shadestrike didn't respond to that. 

Instead remembered something. That maybe he should give him a hint on what's to come. Just in case.

"Sometimes we must rise above ourselves for the greater good." 

He decided on giving him a clue. Curious what he would choose.

The younger mech’s gaze dipped briefly to the insignia on his chest — that cursed emblem etched deep, permanently bonded to plating.

A visible truth, even if it wasn’t the real one.

He wouldn’t believe me anyway, Shadestrike thought. And he shouldn’t.

Bumblebee still wasn't reassured about his answer. As if he was insisting for more clarified answer.

So he gave a slow nod — a motion Bumblebee could take any number of ways. Maybe that was for the best.

"Follow the trails." He finally spoke another clue.

Then, with a low roll of his shoulders, he turned. Took a step backward toward the trees.

Not fleeing.

Just... leaving.

Let him think I’m a curiosity. A ghost. A stranger he’ll never see again.

He raised one servo — palm outward, not waving, not threatening.

Just a silent farewell.

Then he transformed, engine growling low and smooth, and rolled off the shoulder and down the hill into the fading dusk.

Behind him, Bumblebee stood silent.

Still staring.

Still feeling that pull in his spark with no name to give it. Still wondering what he meant.

Then, transformed and drove in the opposite direction – towards the setting sunset.

_______

The groundbridge spat him back into the warship with a shuddering pulse and the fading scent of ozone.

Back to metal floors. Purple light. Low-grade tension in the air like static before a storm.

Home, for now.

He still couldn't believe he came back willingly.

Shadestrike barely had time to shift fully into root mode before he heard it—

Heavy footfalls. Rhythmic. Confident.

He turned, just in time to catch a towering shape stepping through the next corridor.

Breakdown.

The mech was massive. All armored plates and brute force, optics like floodlamps and arms like battering rams. He came to a stop the moment he saw Bee.

A silence stretched between them.

Then Breakdown scoffed.

“So you’re the quiet one.”

Bee said nothing. He didn't have to.

“Didn’t think they made ‘em that quiet anymore,” Breakdown added, crossing his arms. "Not that I'm surprised. Knockout said you were weird."

Shadestrike tilted his helm slightly.

Breakdown took a few heavy steps closer. "Also said you were dangerous. But honestly? You don't look it.”

Bee’s optics flicked up, unimpressed.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Breakdown said. “Silent type. Probably think it makes you mysterious. But I’ve met plenty like you.”

“He leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “You might’ve fooled Starscream, but I don’t buy it. I’ve fought Cliffjumper. You didn’t down him without backup.”

Bee didn’t react.

Knockout spilled the tea.

Of course he did.

Breakdown’s optics narrowed. “You mute or just smug?”

Shadestrike finally moved.

He tilted his helm again, this time just slightly, and gave the tiniest smile.

Then said — in a voice cool and low:

“If I wanted you to know the difference, I’d tell you.”

Breakdown froze for a second.

That wasn’t the voice of someone trying to prove anything.

That was someone done proving things.

Before Breakdown could respond, Shadestrike brushed past him with deliberate calm, shoulder barely avoiding contact. The kind of move you made when you weren’t afraid of a fight.

“Primus,” Breakdown muttered, turning after him. “He’s worse than you said.”

From a side door, Knockout leaned against the frame, arms folded and grinning like he was watching his favorite drama unfold.

“I told you,” Knockout said. “He’s an acquired taste.”

Breakdown scowled. “You keep collecting strays like this, I’m gonna start charging rent.”

Knockout smirked. “Oh, please. You love the chaos.”

Breakdown grunted. But he didn’t deny it.

Chapter Text

They didn’t tell him where the Vehicons were going.

That’s how he knew it was important.

He stood by the main sensor terminal in the Nemesis war room, head low, arms crossed, optics tracking the faint ripples of a broadcast Soundwave was decoding in real-time. It wasn’t Cybertronian. It wasn’t even encrypted.

Human chatter.

Desperate. Tense.

He picked out a few words: dingus, nuclear, transport.

Fowler’s voice. He recognized the cadence.

But he knew it wasn’t just humans involved. No, this was something stranger. Sharper.

MECH.

Bee hadn’t tangled with them in this timeline — not yet. But he remembered Silas. Remembered how that monster saw them not as sentient beings, but as parts. Organics had always had a taste for consumption, but MECH took it to an artform. And now they were after a volatile device.

Starscream, of course, had jumped at the chance. “Let them tire each other out,” he’d sneered. “And we’ll sweep in for the prize.”

No one asked Shadestrike to go.

But Soundwave’s silence lingered when he passed the console — and Shadestrike knew what that meant.

He was being watched.

So he followed.

Something was wrong. This timeline was different. Messed up.

In his own one, the transport was done, when Megatron was in stasis, on the border of living and death. Decepticons had no idea about the technology. 

From his position above the canyon’s edge, Shadestrike crouched low, one servo braced on a rock ledge, optics focused downward.

Now that he fought about it, he remembered Optimus back then said. "Apply minimum force – disarmament only."

Meanwhile Arcee blew one of their reinforcements into thin air. 

It made him chuckle.

Suddenly, the Vehicons tore loudly through the sky. Opening fire on the Autobot formation.

The convoy had broken apart.

Wreckage scattered along the road. One of the trailers was on fire — but not the one MECH wanted. That one had disappeared, likely shunted onto a rail line nearby.

He had no obligations to inform Starscream about that.

He saw Bulkhead, Arcee and Optimus darting between blasts.

But it was Bumblebee who caught his attention.

His younger self weaved through incoming fire with reckless confidence, sending Vehicons spinning with precision hits and slick footwork.

The optimism.

The belief in the fight.

The dumb, fragile hope.

Optimus got knocked down by a Vehicon and fell down the canyon with a thump. The distance of his fall wasn't too high.

Shadestrike stayed hidden. Watched the battlefield unfold like a strategist, not a soldier. He didn’t join the fray — not when he wasn’t ordered to. Not when his position was safer here, seeing the bigger picture.

He followed MECH’s chopper with his optics, calculating intercept vectors. They’d already figured it out. The cargo was on the train. And Optimus, ever the martyr, had already bolted after it.

He felt a sharp twist in his chest.

Not from the Autobot struggle.

But from the fact that he remembered this.

He remembered how close they’d come to losing the kids. To letting MECH walk away with a warhead and a new playbook for dismantling Cybertronians.

And how none of the Decepticons even cared.

Not really.

Starscream just wanted to make the explosion loud enough that Megatron would notice him again. The Vehicons were cannon fodder. Soundwave was silent. Knockout was off-duty. Breakdown wasn’t even briefed.

And Bee — him — had been busy saving lives.

Now?

Shadestrike leaned back, optics narrowing.

He could warn them. Disrupt MECH’s transmission. Send a falsified ping to throw them off the rail’s coordinates.

He didn’t.

Not because he wanted them dead.

But because this wasn’t his timeline. He didn't know if he even should interfere.

Let them struggle through the mess just like he had.

Let the kids jump from a moving train.

Let the missile nearly kill them.

Let Optimus earn his heroism.

Shadestrike stood and turned away before the final impact even played out.

The train would stop. The kids would survive. Silas would retreat.

From his vantage point, Shadestrike watched the three MECH vehicles veer off – force to reroute after the tunnel collapsed.

...

Do not engage. Do not engage. Let it go.

But his optics narrowed.

Those units didn't appear in his timeline, which meant they were a variable. A threat.

Frag it.

He dropped like a shadow from the cliffside.

Nobody could see him. Autobots, Decepticons or even MECH.

His body twisted mid-fall, servos shifting, blades sliding into place as he slammed into the first car from above - hard enough to cave in the roof.

Steel screamed. Gas exploded.

His knife-hand punched through the window frame in one brutal motion, catching the driver across the chest. Not a kill — not yet — but close. The car veered, skidded.

Shadestrike kicked off mid-roll, landing in a crouch just as the vehicle spiraled behind him and crashed, flames licking at the underbrush.

One down.

He shifted to his alt-mode, with tires screeching against gravel, roaring back onto the road with a snarl of engine torque.

The other two MECH cars had picked up speed, unaware of what had just happened.

Keep it that way.

The second car was arcing into a sharp mountain turn.

He transformed mid-run and peeled off the main trail, darting into the treeline. Forest branches shattered against his frame as he tore through the underbrush.

His target was getting closer.

Bee sprinted through the foliage, calculating every meter, every fraction of a klik.

Then – with fluid grace – he launched from the cliffside.

Weightless.

Controlled.

Blade primed.

He hit the car like a missile.

Knife-hand punctured the tire with precision, sending the vehicle spinning in a wide arc. It clipped the guardrail, bounced, and flipped over the edge, plummeting into the ravine.

Shadestrike landed in a roll, servo dragging a long gouge through the gravel before stabilizing.

Two down.

One to go.

He glanced ahead — last car already pulling far distance.

A challenge, then.

His frame shifted again — alt-mode kicking to life with a roar of raw energy. He hit the asphalt hard and accelerated like a bullet.

Numbers surged across his HUD.

110 kph... 180... 230...

The last MECH car already noticed what was happening, visibly starting to panic. Their comm crackled as the operator called in.

> "Unknown unit — approaching at high speed. Took out two—need backu—!" 

He didn't finish.

Shadestrike clipped the side of the car at full speed, shattering its structural integrity. The vehicle jackknifed sideways, and before it could stabilize, he slammed into it again from the front — calculated impact.

The car launched.

Not flipped. Launched.

The human went flying.

He didn’t scream long.

Shadestrike skidded to a halt in a wide drift, dust spiraling around him like mist.

The silence afterwards was sharp. Empty.

Not rage.

Not vengeance.

Correction.

Every move clean. Every strike efficient.

Three down.

No survivors.

No proof.

No witnesses.

Every kill as so it would look like accident on the road.

MECH won't notice it was his doing, neither the Decepticons. 

Autobots probably won't care in this matter. 

No proof of this at all. As it never happened.

He transformed back to root mode and stepped onto the rise, watching from behind cover as the Autobots vanished through their groundbridge.

The kids. Safe.

The warhead. Safe.

No one knew he’d been here.

Just the dirt. The silence. 

The mission was complete, there was no reason to stay, yet Shadestrike lingered anyway.

He moved through the silence like a phantom, stepping between the charred husks of destroyed Vehicons. Their armor still smoldered in places. A few optics flickered once. Then stilled.

No sparks left. Just shell.

He should have walked away. Should’ve turned toward the canyon edge and groundbridged back to the Nemesis. Slipped into the shadows and pretended, like everyone else, that they never had names. Never had thoughts.

Just disposable, obedient copies.

Clones.

Ghosts.

Maybe he wasn't a clone, but he still was familiar with feeling of being unseen, repreceable – a tool.

And even if these weren’t the same troopers he'd known, even if they came from another timeline, they still bore that same look in death — one that never sat right with him.

Empty.

Abandoned.

Unseen.

A soft chime echoed in his helm.

Besides, he couldn't let that technology fall into MECH hands.

He got a comm.

> : "Where are you? The battle has ended!" : Starscream snarled.

He didn't answer.

> :“Return to the Nemesis. Now.” :

Bee rolled his optics.

> : "Got unfinished business." :

He muted the channel before Starscream could continue.

Then he opened a different one.

> : "Soundwave. I know it may be weird to ask, but could you make a groundbridge from my location... to one of the abandoned energon mines? Something near collapse." :

There was a pause.

Longer than expected.

Soundwave always hesitated when Shadestrike asked strange things. Not because he doubted him — but because he knew him.

He knew the signs.

The silence that wasn’t calm.

The calm that wasn’t peace.

> : "Don't worry. I'll come back, I swear. Just leave the groundbridge open." :

> : Soundwave: Request acknowledged.

Comm line: active. Location monitoring engaged. :

A vortex of light cracked open beside him.

Shadestrike didn’t move at first. Then he reached down, gently, and lifted the nearest Vehicon’s ruined form into his arms.

Heavy. Bent. Fragile in a way few understood.

He carried him through the portal.

The mine was as unstable as he'd hoped.

Flickering lights. Half-caved walls. Pools of dried energon staining the floor like bloodstains frozen in time.

Soundwave’s signal echoed through the comm link.

He heard footsteps.

Metal shifting. Grunts of effort.

And clangs.

Rhythmic.

Measured.

Then—a hard metallic thunk.

Shadestrike returned to the battlefield minutes later.

Then again.

And again.

Every time, dragging another body through the groundbridge.

Every time, laying one more shattered trooper to rest beneath the earth.

He wasn’t burying them properly — there were no tools, no rituals. Just whatever rubble he could shift by hand. Just enough to hide them. To cover them. To make them not be left rotting under the sun, forgotten by both factions.

Soundwave listened in silence.

No questions. No interruptions.

But his internal file logs updated continuously.

> : Subject: Shadestrike 

Behavioral Pattern: Divergence from standard Decepticon protocol.

Action: Burial of non-functional troopers.

Subtext: Memorialization impulse? Guilt response? Instability? :

The logic didn’t track.

But Soundwave didn’t interrupt the pattern either.

In both timelines, no one was doing it. Bee knew that.

And Soundwave, for all his silence, understood the value of observation.

He heard the final clang. The last layer of debris settling.

Then a quiet sigh through the mic.

Not dramatic.

Just... tired.

> : "I’m done." : Shadestrike sighed.

> : Soundwave: Groundbridge returning. :

> : "Thanks for not asking." :

> : Soundwave: Observation sufficient. :

No other words were exchanged.

The bridge opened once more.

Shadestrike stepped through — dirt-scuffed, energon-streaked, silent.

A soldier who’d buried the war too many times.

And still didn’t know how to stop.

The groundbridge hissed closed behind him, leaving the corridor dim and still.

Shadestrike walked with even steps, not limping, not staggering — just... arriving.

But his armor told a different story.

Dried energon. Dust-streaked plating. A splash of red.

He moved past a squad of patrolling Vehicons. None of them spoke. None of them dared.

But Knockout?

Knockout noticed everything.

The moment Shadestrike stepped into view, the medic stopped mid-sentence, stylus frozen above a datapad.

He blinked once. Twice.

Then slowly tilted his helm, optics trailing down Shadestrike’s frame.

“…You’re bleeding,” he said.

Shadestrike said nothing. Rolled his optics and kept walking.

Knockout caught up in two long strides and placed a servo against his arm to stop him — light enough not to provoke, firm enough to say this matters.

“I said—” he started, then paused.

His optics narrowed.

“Wait.”

He pulled his hand back.

The energon on it was not the right hue.

Knockout’s expression shifted instantly.

“…That’s not your energon.”

Still, Bee said nothing.

Knockout’s gaze sharpened. He scanned him again, slower this time.

Dust. Scorch marks.

…and faint smears of organic blood.

His vocalizer pitched up. “Is that human blood on your thigh plating?!”

Bee tilted his helm, utterly unfazed.

“Don’t be dramatic,” he finally muttered.

Knockout straightened, face shifting between scandalized and fascinated. “Don’t—? Are you serious? What were you doing out there?!”

“Cleaning up.”

“Cleaning up what? A war crime?!”

Bee’s field flattened in irritation. “It’s not mine. That’s all you need to know.”

Knockout gave him a long, slow look. “You know you’re the worst patient I’ve ever had, right?”

Shadestrike raised an optic ridge, deadpan.

Rachet was saying similar things.

“I’m not even injured.”

“That’s not the point!” Knockout gestured to the blood again, aghast. “You’re soaking! What am I supposed to do — sterilize the floor after you?!”

Shadestrike turned to go.

“Washracks are three doors down,” Knockout called after him. “Try not to haunt the ventilation with your mystery massacre while you’re at it.”

Bee didn’t answer.

But his retreating footsteps squelched faintly.

______

The chamber was dark, low-lit by streams of code flickering across cylindrical holo-columns. No one entered this space without clearance. No one heard what was stored here — unless Soundwave allowed it.

And Soundwave?

Was listening.

Still.

A single datapoint hovered above the others, rotating slowly like a planet in orbit. 

> : SUBJECT: SHADESTRIKE

CATEGORY: UNUSUAL ACTIVITY – FIELD CONDUCT – CLASSIFIED :

He reviewed the footage silently.

No video of the kills.

But he had the logs.

Three MECH units offline in sequence. Each demise mimicking structural failure or terrain incidents. No signatures. No traceable cybernetic interaction.

But then — the oddness compounded.

Vehicon bodies.

Removed. Buried.

Manually.

Not ordered.

Not practical.

Not Decepticon.

And yet, done with care.

Soundwave shifted his focus.

He accessed timeline overlays. Cross-referenced internal reports. Consulted low-access Autobot files captured in prior raids.

> : Shadestrike : No known record prior to appearance on Nemesis.

Signature: scrambled. 

Voiceprint: corrupted.

Frame: late-war variant :

But his mannerisms…

Familiar.

Soundwave stilled.

Then opened a locked data log — one he hadn’t touched in a long time.

Optimus Prime’s inner circle.

He ran movement diagnostics.

Combat stances.

Micro-delays in limb articulation.

The way Shadestrike tilted his helm.

The way he braced before a jump.

The way he looked at a younger, yellow Autobot on the battlefield and didn’t react — yet shifted posture by two millimeters, like a ghost remembering its reflection.

The similarities were...

Not conclusive.

But Soundwave didn't need conclusions.

He only needed possibilities.

> : Theory: Shadestrike may not be new. He may be... displaced. :

Maybe he was once an Optimus ward. Replaced.

No sound. No alarm. No judgment.

Just a quiet, private record. Only for his use.

Filed away.

For later.

-----

Shadestrike stepped out of the washrack unit, steam trailing off his freshly scrubbed armor. Most of the energon stains were gone. The human blood — scrubbed clean. Even his plating looked less scorched.

But he didn’t feel clean.

He never did.

He started walking.

Three steps in—

A subtle sound. A shift in the air.

He stopped.

Didn’t turn.

“…You’ve been watching.”

No reply.

He waited.

A flicker of motion — subtle. Then Soundwave stepped from the shadows. Silent as always, but no longer pretending to be elsewhere.

“Let me guess,” he said quietly. “You’re here about the burial.”

Still nothing. But the silence wasn’t empty — it was pressure. A kind of interrogation all its own.

Soundwave projected a simple, raw telemetry map. Vehicle wreckage. Three MECH cars. All taken out along a mountain route. No visible Cybertronian signatures. No audio logs. All clean.

Except they weren’t random.

Patterned. Surgical.

Intentional.

He showed on his visor.

> : No part of mission parameters. No orders issued  — You are acting outside command. :

"They got in a way" He gave the barest shrug.

Soundwave tilted his helm, then shifted projections — now to the buried Vehicons.

No words. Just the image.

No Decepticon had ever done that.

> : Not standard procedure. :

“I don’t follow standard.”

Soundwave watched him. Still. Dissecting.

Then — a new projection.

Two silhouettes.

Bumblebee: smaller, younger, yellow.

Shadestrike: taller, sharper. But... too many similar ratios. Too many echoes.

No accusations. No conclusions.

> : Record indicates Optimus Prime once had a ward. File: incomplete. Mentorship terminated. No reason given. :

Shadestrike let the silence stretch.

Then scoffed, soft.

“You think I was trained by him?”

Soundwave didn’t reply.

Shadestrike shook his head, voice calm but clipped. “I don’t play soldier. Never did. I work alone. Whatever files you have are either junked or misfiled.”

Another pause.

Longer this time.

Soundwave withdrew the image. Filed it.

Didn’t delete it.

He took one last look at Shadestrike — field unreadable — then walked away without a sound.

Soundwave thought Shadestrike got replaced by Bumblebee.

No confirmation. No denial.

But the theory? It had already taken root.

The doors sealed behind him with a metallic sigh.

Dark. Silent. Unoccupied.

Shadestrike leaned back against the nearest wall and slid down until he hit the floor with a dull clang.

He let the quiet settle around him.

Soundwave hadn’t said anything damning.

Hadn’t accused.

Hadn’t named him.

But the implication hung in the air like static.

"Optimus Prime once had a ward."

He ran a hand down his faceplate.

That file wasn’t supposed to exist.

Optimus had scrubbed it after that day.

The day his voice shattered.

The day Megatron left him broken, mangled, discarded like scrap.

Optimus hadn’t spoken to him for cycles afterward. Not properly.

Not until the silence was official.

No more records. No more mentorship.

No more connection.

Because Optimus blamed himself. For telling Megatron. For loving him too openly.

So he buried it.

Bumblebee became a soldier.

Not a ward.

After all of this, he still treated him kindly, trying to remain that proximity, but it wasn't quite the same anymore. 

And now... now Soundwave was seeking of something that no longer existed — that couldn’t exist. Not if Bee wanted to survive.

He exhaled through his vents. Sharp. Dry.

No one could know. Not the Decepticons. Not the Autobots. Not even Knockout.

His fingers flexed, restless.

Soundwave was too smart. Too patient. He wouldn’t confront again — not yet. He would watch. Collect. Wait for Bee to slip.

But I won’t.

He stood slowly. Straightened his frame.

Pulled the mask back over the spark.

No history. No attachments. No identity beyond the name they gave him.

Shadestrike.

Not Bumblebee.

Never Bumblebee.

He stepped out of the shadows, back into the hall, and let the door seal behind him.

Like nothing had ever happened.

Chapter Text

It was quiet.

Knockout liked the late shift.

Fewer emergencies. Fewer Vehicons walking in with their arms dangling off. Fewer unannounced Starscream episodes.

He was reviewing diagnostics when the door hissed open behind him.

He didn’t look up right away.

Only one mech on the ship walked that quietly and still managed to broadcast trouble.

“Let me guess,” he said without turning. “You’re not here for actual medical attention.”

Shadestrike said nothing. Settled into the shadowed corner, arms crossed, leaning against the wall with field held tight.

Knockout finally looked up.

“You’re clean,” he noted, optics scanning Bee’s frame. “No energon. No shrapnel.”

Still, no answer.

Knockout narrowed his optics and set the datapad down.

“So why are you here?”

A pause.

Then, Bee said softly. “Didn’t feel like going to quarters.”

He hated being alone.

Knockout could see it — in the tension of his frame, in the way he hovered near connection without ever stepping into it. Close, but always just out of reach.

Like proximity was dangerous.

Knockout tilted his helm. “And you chose to haunt my medbay instead?”

“Quiet here.”

“Flattered.”

He crossed the room slowly. Not close — just enough to study him properly.

“Something happened,” he said at last. “On your mission.”

Bee glanced over, unreadable. “That obvious?”

“Only to someone with actual perception.” Knockout smirked. “Which eliminates most of this ship.”

Bee didn’t reply. But something in his shoulders tightened slightly.

“Want to talk about it?”

He meant it.

But Bee couldn't afford it. Not when too much truth could unravel everything. Not when one crack could split his lies.

Bee pushed off the wall. “Maybe I’m just tired.”

Knockout raised a brow. “Now that you say it, I've only seen you sleep once. Four megaklicks top.”

"Not true." Bee said, deadpan. "What about our first encounter?"

"Oh, please. You mean two cycles of post–operative stasis? You should've been out for two weeks"

Knockout expression softened slightly.

“You know,” he added, tone lower, “I’m not trying to get under your plating.”

Bee arched a brow.

“You don’t have to keep everything buried.”

Bee exhaled quietly through his vents.

Knockout sighed and stepped back, gesturing toward the medberth.

“You can stay here, if it helps. But go to recharge. That’s an order.”

Bee didn’t argue.

Didn’t want to sleep — not really. Not after what dreams dragged up from the dark. But his optics were already dimming, and the weight pressing down was too much to ignore.

He didn’t remember to lay down on a berth.

But his systems powered down anyway.

________

The lights were low. A few offline Vehicons hung from repair rigs, their frames auto-patching while diagnostic code scrolled across the walls. It was the kind of quiet moment Breakdown liked — just him, the tools, and the hum of background systems.

And, of course, Knockout.

The medic strolled in with that unmistakable click of heels and an energy that screamed I have seen something.

Breakdown didn’t even look up. “You’ve got that face again.”

Knockout smirked. “What face?”

“The one that says ‘I’m about to unload a mech’s entire psychological profile for free."

“I do not give away my diagnostics for free,” Knockout sniffed. “But... I might offer a sample.”

Breakdown grunted and leaned against the workbench. “Shadestrike?”

Knockout’s grin grew sharper. “Naturally.”

“What’s he done now?”

“Absolutely nothing.” Knockout perched on the edge of the table like a dramatic feline. “And that’s the problem.”

Breakdown raised an optic ridge.

“He walked into my medbay tonight,” Knockout continued, gesturing vaguely, “not injured, not leaking, not even winded. Sat in a dark corner like a haunted datapad and didn’t say a word for five full minutes.”

“So?”

“He didn’t blink.”

“…You’re mad about blinking?”

“I’m mad about patterns, Breakdown.” Knockout leaned forward. “He’s a mech who’s clearly been through frag–all — but not in the way we’re used to. He fights too well, recovers too fast, and avoids everyone like we’re a security breach.”

Breakdown gave a grunt. “Could just be trauma.”

“I know trauma,” Knockout snapped. “This? This is containment.”

Breakdown crossed his arms. “Maybe he’s just private.”

“Maybe. Or maybe he’s hiding something.”

Knockout’s field narrowed, serious now.

“He came back from that mission soaked in energon that wasn’t his. And human blood.”

Breakdown’s optics lit slightly. “Wait — human?”

Knockout nodded. “Not a scratch on him. I confronted him. He said it was ‘clean–up.’ Like he just tidied up a crime scene.”

Breakdown blinked. “...Okay, that’s messed up.”

“I know.” Knockout’s tone dropped, thoughtful. “But that’s not even the weirdest part.”

Breakdown waited.

“He looked tired. Like something in him was breaking down, and he didn’t know how to hold it in anymore.”

Breakdown didn’t laugh. He didn’t roll his optics. He just stared at the floor a moment.

Then said, quietly: “That mech’s a storm. You can feel it when he walks in.”

Knockout didn’t disagree.

“Whatever he’s hiding?” Breakdown added. “Eventually, it’s gonna tear the ship apart.”

Knockout leaned back slowly.

And smiled, just a little.

“Well, if it does... at least we’ll have ringside seats.”

_______

The briefing was short.

Breakdown just came from his scouting mission, fought with Bulkhead and took the relic that turned out to be fake.

Starscream barked the order, Knockout preened, probably hoped he could take the credit and impress Megatron.

But that wasn't what caught Bee's attention.

It was who gave the order for Breakdown's reconnaissance. 

Megatron hadn't spoken about this at once, but probably because Starscream hadn't told them about it at all.

It was Starscream leading the op, claws sketching wild lines across the map like some scrap artist pretending to be a general. Knockout offered half-hearted suggestions and Breakdown just wanted to throw the first punch.

Bee stood in silence, arms crossed, back to the wall.

Watching.

Breakdown muttered. “Ancient energon site,” 

Bee’s processor pinged with memory fragments.

The Harvester.

He tightened his EM field. 

Soundwave scrolled the database and gave the intel on the relic, but he already knew what this was.

"Pay attention" Starscream scoffed.

He remembered that relic. Knew what it did. How it drained energon so fast it left even the strongest bots limp in seconds. It had almost killed Bulkhead in his timeline  — how unstable it is.

And here they were, pretending it was a prize.

"Soundwave, have you serched the human database for possible relic location?"

Soundwave pinged the Earth museum feed. A camera footage revealed itself.

"Yes, that's definitely it." Breakdown confirmed.

Starscream grinned with his low, dark tone. "It's harvest time." 

Bee chuckled quietly, covering his face with servo as if he was apologizing. 

Starscream’s optics twitched. 

“You’re staying,” he snapped. “For later use.”

Bee tilted his helm, suppressing a smile. 

Is it, because I made him irritated by my laugh? I should do it more often then.

When the others ground-bridged out, Bee remained behind with Soundwave.

The silence between them was oppressive.

....

No, I can't stand it.

 “You’ll let me know if I’m needed,” Bee said, waving a servo as he turned on his heel. “Try not to die of silence while I’m gone.”

He didn’t wait for a response.

On his way out, a group of Vehicons passed by. They halted.

Saluted.

“Officer Shadestrike,” one said.

Bee nearly tripped.

...

He gave the sloppiest return gesture in recorded Cybertronian history — more of a confused twitch than a salute.

They took it seriously and kept walking.

...

Wha—what just happened?

Then another. A nod.

...

Coincidence.

Not shortly after, another. On the hurry, but he came to a halt few steps away, "Good morning," made a slight bow and then sped through the hall again. 

On this one Bee froze, optics widened in pure shock.

Blinked once. Twice.

Something's wrong.

With a slid on a wrist he opened his datapad and checked the mission log.

He scrolled it all the way down to the point that was of his interest.

> : Soundwave Field Report: Subject [Shadestrike] – Burial of Fallen Vehicons. :

And all off the Vehicons were expressing grattitude.

They’re thanking me?

His spark squeezed.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or run.

Few kliks later he received a call.

Starscream voice came in. 

> : “Assist in relic securing. Now.” :

They had it.

Bee sighed and stepped through the portal.

He arrived as Starscream held speech with Knockout and Breakdown flanking him. The Harvester pulsed in his claws.

"—have motherload of energon for the taking" Starscream was saying. "Courtesy of this gift from ancient Autobots!"

Knockout cut through. "Uh, actually comander Starscream, it was a gift from Breakdown and myself." He gestured talons towards his friend.

Starscream snapped the Harvester toward them and they both recoiled out of shock.

The bright blue pulse sliced the air, almost hitting them if they wouldn't backed off just in time.

It's power struck nearby Vehicon instead and they watched as all he collapsed, of his energon draining, sucking life source out of him in agony.

"All that energon," Starscream said visibly preening, "In such a tiny vessel." He beamed widely.

"Those ancient Autobots never missed a trick, comander Starscream." Knockout proclaimed, smiling nervously.

Probably scared he might end up being one of the tests subjects.

Bee stepped closer, disgust twitching through his vents.

“That’s your leadership now?” he said, voice low, “Using your own soldiers as test subjects? You're that desperate you're going for threatening your subordinates?" His helm shaked in disbelief. 

Starscream turned, expression razor-sharp. "Somethings wrong, Shadestrike? You're volunteering next?”

He didn't flinch.

“Kinda pathetic,” he muttered, rubbing the side of his helm and kicking a pebble on the ground.

Starscream snarled, raising the Harvester. 

Knockout jumped in between. "What he meant was – perhaps Megatron would prefer it in pristine condition?"

He still was aiming to Shadestrike, though he seemed unbothered. Both of his servos slowly clenched behind his back with face screaming 'you wouldn't dare'.

Starscream, twitching, redirected the Harvester to the exposed energon seam instead.

Bee's sensor suddenly flared.

Bulkhead's close.

Too close.

No point in telling them. 

Then— crash.

The sound of shattered pottery.

Everyone turned.

"What are you doing?" Starscream barked.

Bee stared at the ground. "I—accident...?" 

Knockout raised a brow. “Seriously? The most stealthy mech onboard can’t see a ceramic vase?”

Out of the corner of his optics, Bee saw green.

Bulkhead.

He didn’t give him away.

Just turned slightly. Stared up into the sky. Distracted. Talking nonsense.

Meanwhile Bulkhead tried sneaking and noticed the black bot noticed him, yet didn't alarm the rest. He was confused, but continued onward.

“So... Starscream. Just wondering... Why are you giving orders now instead of Megatron?”

Starscream barely started to respond before—

Boom.

Bulkhead charged.

The Harvester activated, draining him fast, but not fast enough.

“What are you doing?!”

“What I do best,” Bulkhead growled, shattering relic in his grip, “Breaking things!” Then solidly punched Starscream straight in the faceplate.

Starscream reeled.

Bee didn't do anything. Just stood and watched. Slightly amused.

Bulkhead met his optics. Still confused.

The Harvester would kill whoever stood closest.

This was the best option. To destroy it. For both sides.

Even if it wasn’t his fight anymore. 

Even if no one ever knew.

The Autobots arrived through the bridge just as the Decepticons scattered.

Bee didn’t wait for the command.

He was already gone.

Slipping into shadow, unseen. He perched on the ridge again, watching as Starscream, Knockout, Breakdown all retreated.

> Starscream: “We were this close!”

> Breakdown: “Stupid green wrecker.”

> Knockout: “Maybe if someone helped instead of lurking in the shadows…”

Bee muted the channel.

He wasn’t sure why he helped him. Wasn’t even sure if he should have, because in his timeline Bulkhead destroyed it without his help.

But he did and maybe he will have to face the consequences of his actions.

Bee turned away from the field, leaving no trace behind.

_______

"Engaging an enemy on your own was risky, Bulkhead." Optimus stated.

Bulkhead didn’t respond right away. 

He was staring at the hill. At the spot where the black-and-yellow bot had stood.

A presence — real, but wrong. Like something had slipped through that shouldn't have.

“Did anyone see him?” he asked finally. “Tall. Dark plating. Yellow glowing optics and trim. Quiet. Kinda…”

“Creepy?” Arcee offered. “You've watched too many horror movies with Miko.”

Bulkhead hesitated. “He… helped.”

Bee optics flickered as he beeped softly beside him.

> : See - one - race - Decepticon? :

Optimus turned toward him, optics narrowing. “You saw him too?”

Bumblebee next string of beeps came, slower. Lower.

> : Think - ghost. :

If both Bumblebee and Bulkhead had seen the same mech...

Optimus exchanged a glance with Arcee. No one spoke.

Thinking about mysterious someone who had helped. And what's his reasoning? After all he's a Decepticon...

______

They were back on Nemesis, but the atmosphere was sharp cutting.

Starscream stormed in, optics blazing.

The door panels hissed with a metallic slam that echoed off the walls. A nearby Vehicon flinched and ducked out of his way.

“You sabotaged,” he hissed, paced quickly and made sharp turn towards Shadestrike “That’s what it was. Sabotage.”

Starscream continued, “Everything was perfect! And then someone gave enough disctraction for an Autobot to act!"

He bared his denta. “I should've known. Playing the neutral act. Always so quiet, so composed—well, we’ll see how composed you'll be when Megatron learns someone’s been interfering with his relic acquisition strategy.”

He turned on his heel.

"One certain problem with that Starscream" Shadestrike cut cold and calm, crossing his arms. "It wasn't Megatron who gave the order, am I wrong?"

Starscream spun around, wings twitching.  

"That doesn't matter!" he snarled. "You gave us away! Let that Wrecker destroy the relic and then dissapeared, before the real fight began!"

Bee smiled, slow, almost pitying. "And whose fault is that?"

Starscream blinked. "I—I would assume yours!"

"Oh really Starscream? Shadestrike stepped forward, each footstep deliberate. "Who wanted to test the Energon Harvester? Who threatened his own troops with a volatile relic?." His questions were more of a statement. 

"That—wasn't—"

"Who gave the order without Megatron's approval. Who drained a Vehicon on a whim to prove his point." 

Starscream field bristled.

"You could've brought it back to the ship," Bee optics locked on Starscream. "Stored it. Secure it. But no – you wanted a spectacle. You wanted to play god."

He stopped in front of him, voice dropping. 

"I don't follow stupid orders."

He turned on his pede.

"Think again next time."

The door hissed behind him.

Starscream stood trembling. Then, without a warning, he whirled on Knockout and Breakdown.

"AND WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?! GET TO WORK!"

______

Bee half-ran down the hall. Fast enough to avoid being asked any more questions and hold his EM field as calm as possible.

To his dissapointment the console room was guarded by a Vehicon.

Scrap.

He had no choice. He will have to gently incapacitate him and throw him into the room.

Just as he stepped forward to action, Vehicon – to his surprise – nodded and let him into the room.

That's— definitely not what he was expecting. But he didn't complain. It was perfect for his current situation.

He sealed the door of console room behind him.

He didn't turn on the lights. He worked better in the shadows. Quicker.

Then powered the console with a wave of his servo and watched the screen flicker to life — mission logs, status reports, field feedback, comm traffic.

He tapped into the latest report.

> : Harvester relic — Mission Outcome: Failure due to Autobot interference. 

Filed by: Soundwave.

Field-support acknowledgments: 

Starscream. Knockout. Breakdown. Shadestrike.

Passive units: Vehicons 17–32. :

There it was.

No mention of sabotage. No accusation.

But his name was there.

He couldn't erase the report or rewrite it. That would catch too much attention. Soundwave would catch it in a klick.

Bee leaned in closer with digits hovered above the log.

Instead – he modified the timestamp on his signal ping. Shifted a line of metadata to place him just outside the excavation range when the Harvester was active.

Technically still true. He wasn’t lying. He was just... trimming the edges. 

He locked the file and backed out.

As he left the room, he opened a private memo and typed a line without even thinking.

> : No one gets to rewrite me. Not again. :

He closed it.

______

His internal clock showed the cycle, 02:58.

Shadestrike was in the medbay again, sitting on the cold metal floor. 

He never used the berth. Not only because of the overlight, making his optics flicker.

Also, because sitting on it made him feel like being a patient, which he wasn't. 

Knockout was quiet, slow and deliberate, like he was trying not to spook a wild predator. 

Shadestrike came to his medbay again, without any purpose. He decided to not throw him out. 

Or give him another lecture about resting on the floor. Again.

It was probably his safe place. The only one on the ship that gave him comfort. 

It annoyed him a little, because —of all places, his medical lab. But in the same way it made him proud. Of all the places – how marvelous he had to be.

"You always this broody after a mission?” Knockout asked, finally breaking the silence. “Because I’m starting to think I should bill you for emotional radiation.” 

Bee didn’t answer. 

Knockout tilted his helm, smile thin. “Starscream’s probably chocking on his ego before Megatron. Something about sabotage. Something about a 'black-and-yellow shadow' not following orders.”

Still nothing. Sometimes he forgot he even had a voicebox.

Bee tried not to look up, so Knockout stepped closer and dropped the tone.

”You saw him coming. You knew.”

Bee's optics shifted a little too fast. "I saw a lot of things."

Knockout frowned, "Like a vase. That one you didn't saw?" snarled with sarcasm, crossing his arms.

Then Bee spoke, quieter now. 

“No one was supposed to get hurt.”

Knockout blinked.

That wasn’t a confession. It was a crack.

Bee looked away, clearly regretting the words the second they left his intake.

“I don’t care if you helped him,” he said. “Frankly, watching Starscream lose processor cycles over this is delightful. But you’re playing a game I can’t see the rules to.”

Bee tilted his helm. “So stop watching?”

“You know I won’t.” 

Knockout turned and slid onto berth with intention of going into recharge.

Bee blinked.

It left him speechless.

"You're... not going to your quarters?"

"I'm not leaving you unsupervised after your treachery," Knockout said dryly. "Besides, if Starscream tries anything, I'm in perfect position to say 'I told you so'."

He rolled onto his side, back turned to him and turned his helm slightly.

"Goodnight".

Bee stared at him.

He had every reason not to trust him.

And yet, he was willing to sleep in the same room as him? 

He cared?

It somehow made his spark feel... warm. 

He smiled under his intake and leaned his helm against the wall.

He ex–vented. Slowly.

Tried to sort through it.

Why did I do that?

I didn't mean to help. Not really.

But the second I saw Starscream raise that relic it was like my instincts took over. 

He couldn't let them have dangerous weapon able to wipe anyone out of existence.

He remembered how it's like to be disposable.

The Decepticons were starting to see him through, but maybe they just didn't care.

Megatron didn't care about anyone but himself after all.

He closed his optics.

I should stop.

Pull back.

Let things play out without him getting involved.

Shut up — he thought to himself.

A ping vibrated quietly in his comm line.

Starscream. 

He muted it immediately. Didn’t even look.

But after a while — another one.

He rolled his eyes.

What again—

...Megatron.

Chapter Text

Ping.

Bumblebee's optics opened.

He hadn't realized when he had fallen into recharge.

He checked the internal clock. 

04:03

Frag. He overslept. He hadn't meant to drift.

Across the room, Knockout layed still on berth curled half toward the wall.

Maybe Bee slept only a megaklick, but he received a comm from Megatron and haven't responded. At all.

He opened his HUD. From what he checked comm line was appearing like every 10 kliks. Until now, that it flared. Maybe he was getting impatient.

Ping.

> : Command Priority – Incoming Transmission – Origin: Megatron :

Bee sat up slowly, vent lines soft and shallow. He didn’t move immediately.

The glow from the comm request pulsed just bright enough to turn the shadows colder.

 It was nice he was giving the request anyway, instead of storming imidiatelly.

Megatron could do that. He held the highest command after all.

He glanced at Knockout. Still offline, but decided it's better to not wake him up.

Then, slowly, he reached to accept the call — text only. Clearly something Megatron didn't want to.

> : Shadestrike. You’ve been absent from the bridge. :

"Well, I tried to recharge, but I definitely won't type you that." – he muttered quietly to himself.

He stared at the words for a nanosecond too long before responding.

> : Recovery.  :

He kept it vague. 

Another pause.

Then—

> : I see. And the mission? Your analysis of the relic’s failure. :

Bee’s spark squeezed.

It was about suspicion.

He typed slowly.

> : Autobot interference. Starscream acted prematurely. Relic lost due to poor environmental control. :

One thing he had to be thankful for — that leading his team on Earth taught him how to present even worsts reports in the best possible light.

> : Starscream, of course, has provided his version. :

Bee could practically hear the sneer even if it never reached Megatron’s voice. A bored threat. A test.

He knew this game.

"Of course he did, it's Starscream." Bee scoffed under his breath.

Let Megatron fill the space. Never offer more than necessary.

> : And your part in it? :

Bee hesitated. 

> : Limited. I was not deployed until aftermath. Observed events. Minimal engagement. :

Another long silence.

Long enough that Bee’s systems started quietly booting stress protocols.

> : I deferred to command hierarchy. I wasn’t briefed on the relic’s activation protocol, so I avoided interference. :

Another silence.

Longer this time.

> : And yet… Soundwave reports inconsistencies. Minor. But recurring. :

Bee’s spark thumped once — too loud in his own chassis.

> : Misfile. I never breached strike radius. Check location logs. :

He hated how good he’d gotten at lying.

Megatron was quiet again.

> : Duly noted. :

But that wasn’t the end.

> : Your loyalty is not in question. But your usefulness is. :

That stung.

Worse because it was meant to.

Bee typed slower now.

> : Then give me a target. I’ll prove myself. :

> : I don’t have any new assignment for you now. But await my orders and be ready. :

Bee sat there for a long time, staring at the screen.

His vents hissed quietly. Servos clenched.

He felt useless again. His spark ached. 

But then another comm came.

> : You may submit personal requests through my line, should the need arise. :

...

"Wh—What." 

He just received scolding. 

He blinked, trying to see if he wasn't seeing things. He wasn’t. 

Wait. Was it because he defended Megatron's leadership?

That was new.

Unexpected.

Made him feel slightly better at last.

> : Permission to leave the ship. : Bee typed instantly, before he could stop himself. : Temporarily. :

> : Purpose? :

> : Personal calibration. Isolation improves system regulation. :

> Soundwave will authorize your exit. Do not waste my time with minor protocol again. :

"Why did he.. what just ha—... what?" Bee stuttered to himself, but clearly too loud.

Only then did Knockout shift on the berth.

“…You talk in your sleep now?” the medic mumbled groggily, optics dim.

Bee blinked.

Then, leaned back against the wall again, helm tilted upward.

“No,” he said quietly.

“I was answering a nightmare.”

Knockout swung his legs off the berth, posture casual, but optics sharp. “Megatron?”

“No one else pings this late.”

Knockout scoffed. “Charming. Did he offer tea or just his usual flavor of vague threats?”

“…Both,” Bee murmured, not quite joking.

_______

The sky was streaked in burnt gold as the dawn rise.

Shadestrike sliced down the road like a bullet — low, sleek, dangerous. The only sound was the growl of his engine and the soft howl of air tearing past his frame.

It wasn’t about the speed this time.

It was the silence it gave him. The illusion of control.

He drifted clean around a curve when something flickered across his sensors.

Another signal.

Not faint. Too close.

He flicked open his HUD.

Too fast.

And then he saw her — blur of blue carving up the horizon.

Arcee.

Of course it was her.

Recon assignment? Maybe. Or maybe she’d caught trace of his last groundbridge signal.

Whatever the reason, she was heading straight for him — and not with the intent to talk.

He didn't slow.

She transformed mid-air, landed in a graceful skid across the gravel — twin blasters pointed straight toward his path.

“You’ve got some nerve showing your signal here,” she snapped.

He didn't stop, sped past her clean and unbothered.

Arcee blinked, thrown. “What the—?”

She jumped back into alt-mode and followed, engine roaring in protest.

...She followed.

Seriously? Now he had to engage, or the Decepticons suspicion would rise. And to think he only wanted a peaceful moment.

Fine. Let’s make this look good.

He pulled into a sharp turn and skidded wide across the road, transforming with practiced grace — heel down, arm raised, stance loose but ready.

Arcee transformed with a snap, landing on her pedes with blasters already forming around her servos.

She didn’t move yet. Didn’t fire.

Just stared him down with optics like daggers.

“So…” she said slowly, like the pieces were clicking together, “you’re the ghost Bulkhead told us about.”

Shadestrike tilted his helm — cool, unreadable.

“Ghost?” he echoed, just a trace of something beneath the word.

Arcee’s optics narrowed. “Black frame. Yellow trim. You let Bulkhead destroy that Harvester."

He said nothing. Just let her burn through the silence.

“You’re not just a new Decepticon, are you?” she said, stepping forward, weapon raised but not yet firing. “You’re... different.”

He almost smiled.

“What do they call you?” she asked, voice taut.

“Shadestrike?,” he said, flatly.

No hesitation. No emotion.

A beat passed.

Then two.

Arcee’s servo twitched — not to fire, but in thought.

“You’re dangerous,” she said, stepping in tighter. “But you’re not with them if you helped us. Not really.”

His optics didn’t shift. “I am now.”

Arcee studied him.

Her field rippled — tension, confusion, fear, something more personal.

“…Do I know you?”

That caught him.

Just for a flicker.

He masked it quick — a breath, a twitch, a step back.

“No.”

A lie he’d tell until it was dust in his processor.

"If you're with them," Arcee added with suspicion. "Why you don't attack?"

Shadestrike couldn't help, but to roll his eyes. "Is that what you think of every Decepticon?"

She was still trying to feel something in him. Any clue.

Shadestrike didn’t move.

Any flicker could unravel him. He wasn't in a mood to fight with her. His memories could stung right back at him. He didn't want them.

Then—

Ping.

A low comm alert blinked across his HUD.

> : Decepticon line – Command tier routing – Non-urgent priority :

He kept his expression unreadable.

Internally, he opened the transmission on a silent channel.

> : "Autobot signal detected in your radius. Designation: Arcee. Confirm status. Assistance required?" :

He resisted the urge to curse.

Another ping followed, this one a message — Knockout.

> : Just saw your ping light up near an Autobot hotspot. Please tell me you’re not picking a scenic death. :

Bee’s field tightened a fraction.

He flicked his optics toward Arcee, who stepped closer.

“You flinched,” she said sharply.

“I didn’t.”

“You so did.”

Another step and each nanoklick filled more tension.

He was calculating every motion now — every twitch of plating, every hum of coolant through his limbs.

“Who are you really?” she asked again, low. Serious now. “Because there’s something off about you. I know it. I feel it.”

"You'd be surprised how often I hear this."

Then tapped out a silent response over the Decepticon channel.

> : Negative. Solo recon. Autobot encountered. Situation under control. No engagement needed. :

He hesitated.

Then added:

> : Recommend no further interference. :

He closed the comm.

And looked up.

Arcee’s expression hadn’t changed, but her stance was less sure now. “You didn’t call backup.” 

A statement, not a question.

“Wow, maybe you’re not that stupid,” he replied.

That caught her.

Somewhere deep in her EM field, he felt it — the flutter of hesitation. Of familiarity.

“You’re still not going to tell me,” she said.

“No.”

“Why?”

Because if you know who I am, this all falls apart. Maybe I fall apart.

But all he said was:

“Because some things are safer in the dark.”

He turned. Transformed in a single, smooth motion.

And drifted off into the horizon, engine low and steady.

Arcee stood alone, blasters half-lowered, watching the dust trail vanish behind him.

“…Still feels like a ghost,” she muttered, but didn’t give a chase.

Then — still in shock — she oppened her shared comm. "Bulkhead," she said slowly. "I think I found your ghost."

> :"Told you he was real" : He responded.

Miko's voice cut in imiddiately. 

> :"Cool! Did you fight him? Did you beat him up? Or he beat you up? Can I see him too? Are you still fighting—" :

> :"Miko!" : Bulkhead groaned.

"...No." Arcee shortly answered.

> :"No to what?" : Miko pressed.

Arcee frowned. "Everything. He didn't fight. Didn't call for back-up. He just... stood there. Like he was waiting for me to make my first move."

> :"So it is a ghost! Jack! You lost the bet!" : Miko yelled.

Arcee ignored her. 

"We exchanged a few words. His name is Shadestrike."

Ratchet’s brow furrowed. “That designation doesn't appear in any database.” he said, already scrolling.

“I don’t think he’s lying about that part,” Arcee muttered. “But I do think… he’s dangerous."

_______

Shadestrike tored through the road.

The only voice louder than his engine was ping comming in.

He answered in a nanoklick.

> : “Welcome back, mystery mech.” : Knockout’s voice echoed lazily.

Bee didn’t stop.

> : “Didn’t log your departure. How thrilling.” :

"That's because you immediately passed out the moment our conversation ended."

> : “I needed my beauty recharge, thank you very much." :

Bee huffed a low chuckle.

> : “You always answer that quickly?” :

“To Megatron? I'm trying.”

> : “To anyone.” :

Bee’s tone didn’t shift. “Better to be prompt.”

> : “You say that like it’s a survival instinct.” :

It kinda was, but Bee didn't answer.

"You called me for any specific reason or just for scold?" Bee scoffed, voice tighter.

> : "Actually, I though you might be persuaded into a little race today?" : Knockout was definitely smirking. 

...They would find out about this. He can't let himself really have fun... Or can he?

"We shouldn't. You know Soundwave—"

> : "Oh puh-lease, since when do you follow every order?" Especially after your last stunt? Accidental vase that ruined the whole mission? :

"...Where are you, anyway?" Bee slightly changed the topic, but still on the same track.

> : "I'm just rolling from town to town until—" :

A horn blamed in the background. Tires screeched agressively as if someone driving past him was expecting a race.

>  : "—the next opportunity presents itself." :

Bee groaned. "I'm not doing this."

> : "Oh come ooon. It's pretty boring on a ship. I know you're a speed junkie." 

"...What gave me away?"

> : "Your alt mode screams it." :

Knockout then hestitantly added.

 > : "And maaaayyybe I noticed the scheeme of that mission report from the convoy. But seriously, 200 mph in 5.2 seconds?" You're either cheating or a legend." :

"...You actually calculated it?"

> : "Don't jugde me. I'm a fanatic. You could break a world record if you tried." :

"Never abuse power for the personal gain..." Bee muttered almost to himself.

That was rule number one of team Prime.

> : "...The frag are you talking about?" :

In which he's not anymore. Old habits.

"Bring it on."

______

They lined up in their alt-modes near a lonely backroad stretch, marked in a loose, serpentine loop.

"Fifteen klicks," Knockout said as he just sent him coordinates of the whole track. "Simple track. Straight, sharp turns, open curves."

"Ready?" Knockout couldn't hide his excitement. 

"Ready." Bee agreed.

"GO!"

Tires shrieked as both bots launched forward, neck-and-neck at first.

Bee overtook him in a drift, cutting a curve like a liquid metal with an outmost precision.

> : Oh—okay! Wanna play that game?" : Knockout voice lit up with excitement. 

Bee sniggered and surged faster.

But—

His HUD flickered slightly.

His frame suddenly feelt heavier. Cooling systems lagged. A vent stuttered.

It passed after a few nanoseconds. He kept going. 

Knockout used the opportunity and accelerated beside him. 

They were all the time driving almost side by side now.

----

Knockout skidded into a dramatic stop, spinning in a wide arc at the finish line.

> : "Yeah! That's what I'm talking about!" :

Bee crossed seconds later - slower. Lagging behind. 

He didn't screech to a stop so much as glide into a half-collapse, brakes catching unevenly.

"Congrats," he muttered, but the words came out thin. Strained.

He couldn't hide the stutter in his engine. He masked it with a cough through his vents.

He could barely keep his frame still. Fluids hissed against overheating plating.

Knockout transformed mid-donut and strolled over. "Hey, you good?"

Bee stayed in alt-mode long enough to make it awkward.

He was still catching his breath.

"...Y-yeah, I'm good."

Knockout optics narrowed. "Uh-huh. Your definition of 'good' is straight-up offensive. Transform. Now."

Bee didn't move.

"I said—"

"Just—just give me a sec."

Knockout didn't give him a fragging nanoklick. He took out his scanner.

Bee panicked.

He forced himself into root-mode with a metallic snap, wobbling slightly. His plating was too tight and his fans roared too loud.

But he forced a thin smirk anyway. "Next time," he rasped, "I win." 

"Flattering," Knockout muttered, already scanning. "Stop fragging moving."

Bee jerked back, grabbing Knockout’s wrist with a half-steady grip.

Knockout backed off, optics sharp. "Your energon signature is low."

Bee forced a laugh. "I've got a masking device. You know that."

"And you know proximity scans ignore terrain masking." Knockout stepped in again, field sharpened. "You've been running on nothing."

Bee looked away too quickly.

Knockout scoffed. “I’ve been wondering how you slip under so many scans. Most masking mods aren’t even that good. But it’s not only the tech, is it? You’re doing it yourself.”

Bee froze.

Knockout is good. Too good.

"You're keeping your energon low on purpose," Knockout crossed his arms and said, quiet this time. "So no one could track your signal. Not even us." 

Bee flinched. 

Then scoffed. "It's not your business really. Nobody asked you."

Knockout looked up and chuckled irritated. "Unbelievable."

There it was. 

Exhaustion caught up all at once. His frame wobbled, vision blurring. Everything spun in his optics. He stumbled, knees buckling—

—and Knockout caught him mid-fall.

“It is my business,” Knockout snapped, voice tight. “I’m a medic, for Primus’s sake!”

Bee could barely stay upright. He muttered something—inaudible.

"Who's been giving you energon on the ship? Knockout demanded. "Wait till I rip their spark for cutting your rations." 

"...You," Bee blurted without thinking, breathless, with head lolling slightly.

Knockout’s frame went still with his intake opened in shock and then he managed to find words.

“You… me? Are you mocking me?!” He frowned at him.

Bee tried to keep his optics focused. “You... your supply. I figured... I was just using what was around...”

"Knockout gaped. “I track every cube in my lab! You’ve never taken one from me! You’ve never even asked!”

Bee looked down, guilt crawling over his armor.

"I thought— I don’t know—maybe you were stealing from storage—Primus, something!” Knockout snarled.

Bee didn’t answer. Couldn’t think properly.

"So the last time you got energon was—what? Post-surgery?! What I injected to stop you from dying?"

Bee swayed. Didn't deny it.

Knockout stared. His optic twitched. "...I swear, I will rip that fragging masking module off your frame if you don't—" 

"...Starscream gave me one," Bee muttered.

Knockout blinked in disbelief, his optics narrowed.

"...You are so bad at lying."

Bee shrugged faintly. "You would be surprised."

Knockout didn't know if he was talking about other situations or this one.

But that was it.

“You—you—you know what?!” Knockout shoved him.

Bee hit the ground, while making quick, broken —A— squealing noise. The same one when Megatron dropped him back then.

“I tried to help,” Knockout growled. “But you—you’re reckless, stubborn, cocky—”

“…So are you,” Bee wheezed, barely above a whisper. It was meant to be as a joke.

Why have I said that? Stupid.

Knockout threw up his hands and stormed off.

Bee sat there in the grass, optics dimming slightly. Then sighed and started muttering to himself. 

"I should start a counter for how many mechs leave me in the dirt..."

Then Knockout stormed back, but he barely registered that.

"You stay right there! DON'T move. Heard me?!" 

Bee lifted a servo weakly. "Or maybe count who's left to drop me...."

He laughed to himself softly.

"Starscream... Breakdown... Soundwave..."

He blinked. Vision swimming. "Maybe Vehicons... no. They probably wouldn't. Not after... that."

His optics started flickering.

"Honestly thought Starscream would be the first to—"

“What the frag is wrong with you?!” Knockout’s voice cracked across the clearing like a whip. “Are you always talking to yourself when you’re alone?!”

Bee flinched, optics wide in panic.

He didn't hear him come back.

Knockout was already beside him, looping an arm under Bee’s shoulder and hauling him up.

“Wha—when did you—?”

“You seriously need a tracking chip,” Knockout muttered. “You’re glitching out.”

"But—why bother to come back?"

"On the second thought, I don't trust you won't ran off." 

Bee leaned into him, trembling but trying to laugh.

“Because of our little squabble?”

“You’re the most insufferable fragging bot I’ve ever carried,” Knockout growled, dragging him toward the groundbridge.

“Seriously, how has Megatron not offlined you yet?”

Bee smiled faintly. “Charm.”

_____

They went through the halls of the Nemesis, Knockout still supporting him.

Bee was dead weight by now — silent, unsteady, leaning more than he meant to. But Knockout didn’t slow. He moved, guiding him through dim corridors, deliberately skirting the main traffic zones.

He was trying to keep them out of sight, so nobody would notice Bee’s condition.

Bee didn’t say anything. But… he appreciated that.

Back in medbay, Knockout led him to the berth.

Bee halted, optics dim, fans whining softly.

"...Can I sit on the floor?" he asked, unsure.

Knockout blinked. Then stated at him. "You know how bad it is when you ask for permission." 

Knockout tapped his chin with one claw in exaggerated thought. "But you're asking so nicely, so maybe, let me think — hmmmm—no."

Bee gave him the most deadpanned look possible.

Then promptly shoved off his assistance, stumbled across the room, and collapsed gracelessly into his usual shadowed corner anyway.

Knockout rolled his optics, muttering something about 'dramatic idiot' but he was smiling as he said it.

He knew Shadestrike was going to do this no matter what. And honestly? It reassured him.

If he could still think for himself, if he still chose comfort over protocol — he wasn’t too far gone. Not yet.

Shadestrike stared at the floor. Unmoving.

Knockout knew what it meant.

Zone-out mode: activated.

Knockout huffed.

Then casually tossed an energon cube across the room.

It thunked solidly off Shadestrike’s faceplate and landed in his servos with a dull clink.

Shadestrike blinked. Glared. Didn’t even dignify him with a retort.

Just cracked it open and sipped.

Slowly. Carefully. Struggling a little.

Meanwhile Knockout leaned back against the console and decided it's a perfect moment to bring a certain topic.

“Decepticon alert flagged your signal – faint, of course – near an Autobot signature. Arcee, if I’m not mistaken. Very bold of you not to request backup.”

Bee didn't look up. “She wasn’t a threat.”

“She never is," Knockout crossed his arms. "Until she is.”

Bee took another sip.

“You don’t rattle easily.”

“Should I?”

“Most mechs do when they’re being tracked by high command. Even Starscream."

Bee nearly choked, coughing around a surprised laugh. “Especially Starscream.”

Knockout cackled under his breath, but it faded quickly.

He stepped forward again, not close — but closer.

“And you’re not damaged,” he said, quieter now. “You didn’t fight her.”

“I didn’t need to?” 

Bee looked him straight in the optics.

“No need for violence when you know how to talk.”

That gave Knockout the briefest pause — not from suspicion, but from something else.

Respect.

“Fine,” Knockout said at last, turning toward the door. “So long as it doesn’t get me killed, I’ll allow it.”

He was almost gone, the doors nearly hissing open, when Bee called softly after him.

“Wait.”

“Do you…” Bee hesitated, the words tasting like rust. “Do you trust me?”

Knockout looked at him for a long, quiet moment.

“No,” he said, voice flat. “But I’m getting better at reading your silences.”

Then, with a flick of his helm:

“Now, finish the cube. Go to recharge.”

The door slid shut behind him.

Bee sat in silence.

Cube half-full. Chest still tight.

But that small answer made him felt a little less alone.

Even if it still was no.

Chapter Text

"Lord Megatron, I fear Breakdown has gone missing"

Shadestrike stilled.

Oh no.

He knew where this was going, the outcome. But he never really felt it... he couldn't. It hit different this time, now that he knows him better. 

"The Autobots?" Megatron asked, toned disinterested. 

"According to surveillance provided by thy astonishingly accurate Soundwave," Starscream preened. "Breakdown has been abducted. By humans."

"Your point?" Megatron inquired calmly as ever. 

Starscream noticed the green flag and stated, with too much flair. "My strongest recommendation? We assemble the rescue team to harm the vermin responsible for this outrage!" 

To Bee's own surprise, he agreed — for once Starscream wasn't wrong.

There was no logic, no reason not to go after MECH and save Breakdown. 

Megatron in his timeline probably thought of it too, so I have nothing to worry—

"Breakdown is on his own" Megatron cut his thoughts with his absolutely cold tone.

Aaaand of course you're doing different.

Starscream sputtered, caught off guard by the blunt dismissal. "Umm, Master?"

"If Breakdown allowed himself to be captured by those smaller than him, weaker than him," Megatron sneered, "he deserves whatever fate awaits him."

What. 

Bee felt his vents stutter. 

Did the timeline change here, because of my presence or Megatron just never intented on saving Breakdown?

Starscream fumbled, optics darting. "But Breakdown is a key player in our—" Megatron's glare sliced toward him. Instantly Starscream raised his claws in surrender.

"Your wisdom reigns supreme, Lord Megatron" He bowed and backed out of the room, muttering under his vents.

The door hissed.

For a beat, silence.

Then, a whisper of movement—Shadestrike dropped from the scaffolding, landing light on his pedes.

Megatron didn’t turn.

He already knew he was there. He let him be there.

"You're just going to leave him?" Bee asked, voice low, sharp with disbelief.

"He made his choice. Shouldn't engage without order in a first place."

Bee stepped forward, crossing his arms. "You know what humans are capable of?"

"Do you?" Megatron raised a brow.

His mind flashed —  a stolen T-cog. Pain that he had to bare back then — feeling useless and hopeless.

"No." He responded instead after a while, his glaze on the ground.

"They are nothing," Megatron said, voice rising. "Small. Weak. If Breakdown falls to them, it is not our failure." 

Bee's vents flared and optics burned.

"Breakdown can take care of himself or maybe I'm wrong? Are you insinuating he's weak?"

Bee snapped. "What kind of leader leaves his soldiers behind?"

That got Megatron's attention. He turned slowly with unreadable expression, voice like ice.

"You're talking like an Autobot."

Bee fists clenched. "Maybe because even Starscream thinks this is a team. A twisted, backstabbing, barely-functional one—but still a team."

Megatron's field spiked.

"You look like someone who's left plenty behind. So why should I listen to you?

Bee froze. That hit harder than it ahould have.

His voice cracked. "You know nothing about me..."

Silence stretched. Heavy one.

Megatron exvented slowly. "Starscream wants power. I won't give him victory."

Bee stared at the ground, that quiet, poisonous burn still simmering. 

Megatron turned slightly.

"Go ahead. Say it."

"It is unlikely that Megatron would bother with an errand of mercy." Bee muttered with venom.

Megatron's optics narrowed.

Bee blinked. Oh scrap.

He hadn't meant to say that out loud.

But to his surprise Megatron didn't hit him. Didn't scream. Didn't even reply. 

So Bee turned on his heel and left him with that thought.

_______

Knockout stood near the war room, where Megatron was no doubt orchestrating his latest grudge against the organics. He didn’t need to guess what had happened.

The second the doors slid open, Knockout felt his EM field tighten.

He knew trouble when it walked in. 

And Shadestrike walked out quiet and controlled. Fragile in the way raw energon is – volatile under pressure.

“Let me guess,” Knockout said lightly, as if he didn't care. “It's about Breakdown.”

He didn’t need confirmation. Gossip spread faster than energon leaks around here. And if Shadestrike was here, then Breakdown’s situation was worse than rumors let on.

Shadestrike didn’t speak. Just marched past with sharp, determined strides.

Knockout trailed behind him, optics flicking over every detail—tight shoulders, clenched fists, dimmed optics.

Something was wrong.

Knockout felt it like a weight in his spark chamber. That field again — controlled, but like a glass shaking just before it shatters.

Bee started dryly. “If this is about energon again, I swear on the AllSpark—”

“It’s not,” Knockout said – softer than he meant to.

Followed him in silence as he was hesitating to continue.

"Okay, my point is—" Knockout winced. "—you know."  

Shadestrike halted, arms crossed, turning toward him with that razor-edged calm.

“No, please. Continue.”

He was being seen through again. Frag it.

Knockout huffed and rolled his optics. “I need your help,” he whispered loudly. “There. Happy? Got what you wanted? You recording this for blackmail, or are we saving that for later?”

Shadestrike blinked.

Then chuckled.

"Pfft. Who do you think I am – Soundwave?."

Knockout didn’t smile back. Asking for help already felt like scraping his own paintjob. But it wasn’t about him this time.

“It’s Breakdown,” he said. “MECH took—."

"I know." Shadestrike cut in. "Just came from Megatron."

That lit something in Knockout’s spark. “So who’s he sending? Starscream? You? I’ll take a squad of Vehicons. Even Steve.”

Shadestrike stood silent. Didn't look at him.

And that silence said everything. 

"Megatron’s not sending anyone.”

The words hit him like a slap.

“What?” he breathed. “You’re sure?”

One sharp nod.

And just like that—everything else fell away.

Knockout straightened. 

"So. What are we doing?"

Shadestrike blinked, surprised. “You’re taking initiative now?”

Knockout tilted his helm. “Why not? Breakdown would do the same for me.”

Shadestrike folded his arms. “Why are you coming to me? You think I can override a bridge lockout? March into MECH and pull him out myself?”

"Yes," Knockout said bluntly. "—yes, I actually think you can." 

Shadestrike stared at him. 

Knockout added, quieter now, “And… you’re the only one who gives a damn.”

The silence between them wasn’t awkward, but heavy.

Shadestrike held his gaze. “Then you’re coming with me.”

Knockout blinked. "But—we both alone don't stand a chance against an army."

“Breakdown wouldn’t hesitate,” Shadestrike added, voice rough.

And that—

That did it.

That stupid, noble spark.

Knockout cursed under his breath and pinched the bridge of his noseplate. “You realize we’ll have to fake three diagnostics, override two security locks, and reroute the bridge without triggering a single sensor?”

Shadestrike raised a brow. "I mean—If you don't want to save him we can stay."

“…You’re saying yes?” Knockout asked carefully.

Shadestrike smiled faintly. "Honestly, I would go with or without you. But I wanted to persuade you on going with me."

Knockout scoffed. “Had no idea you could be so manipulative.”

Bee chuckled. "Landing pad. Five minutes” he said over his shoulder. “Try not to be seen. We’re committing high treason, after all.”

“You say that like it’s not a regular Tuesday,” Knockout grinned.

Shadestrike laughed back.

And for a brief second—just one—he swore Shadestrike looked lighter.

Still broken and dangerous, but there was another layer unknown.

______

"Sometimes we must rise above ourselves for the greater good," Optimus said, voice even and low.

They were on topic of Breakdown's rescue. 

Bumblebee flinched.

That phrase. He'd heard it before.

From Shadestrike. When they met on the road.

It couldn't be coincidence.

Shadestrike was a Decepticon, yet held a wisdom of a Prime?

He tried to remember anything else, but couldn't. Just the sense of uncertainty – but trust at the same time.

"I'm sorry, Optimus, but I just can't do it." Bulkhead exlaimed.

Miko turned to him in disbelief, clearly dissapointed.

Bee couldn't blame him. They were talking about saving his sworn enemy after all. And Bulkhead couldn't get past their history. At least not yet.

Optimus understood. Didn't argue and with the other Autobots went through the groundbridge to possible location of Breakdown.

Bee hesitated at the edge, then drove behind them.

_____

"No signs of life." Optimus announced, scanning the terrain beyond the bridge. "Human or Cybertronian."

But Bumblebee noticed tire marks on the ground and beeped sharply.

> : Road – Move – ? : (Should we follow the trails?)

"Forget the tracks, Bumblebee." Rachet cut in. "I'm picking up a faint energon signal – three clicks north by northwest."

Bee froze.

Follow the trails. 

The voice wasn't real, but his memory of it was – the resonance of Shadestrike’s voice still echoing in his core.

He said that not as order or advice. Just... truth.

And somehow, impossibly, it matched.

He stared at the distance.

It couldn't be coincidence. 

Couldn't.

How did he know that Breakdown would be captured. He was a Decepticon, so maybe he planned it.

But why? Why would he throw one of his teammates in front of MECH? It wouldn't have sense. Maybe he felt dangerous, but also loyal. He just wouldn't do something that cruel.

“Bumblebee?” Optimus asked, stepping beside him. “What is it?”

Bee turned to face him, struggling with the words his voice he couldn’t give.

He pointed — then cycled his vents and began to speak through beeps.

> :  No – time — know – where – must – go : (There’s no time to explain. I know where Breakdown is.)

Arcee frowned. “How do you know that?”

Bee hesitated. Then rapidly beeped again.

> : Black – enemy – talk – me — early  : (Shadestrike told me. Before.)

Ratchet scoffed. “You what? You’re trusting a Decepticon?”

“He’s right to question it,” Arcee said, arms folded. “Bee, how would he know? How could he predict this?.”

Optimus’s field dimmed, conflicted. “It could be a trap. We cannot risk the mission on uncertain leads.”

But Bee's gaze didn't waver.

He couldn’t explain how he knew it wasn’t a lie. Couldn’t explain the silent understanding that passed between them. Not in words.

Only through instinct. Through recognition.

How he know the forgotten language in which he was communicating.

Bee knew they wouldn't understand. 

The others turned toward the northwest signal, following Ratchet’s reading.

But he decided to trust his instincts.

"Bee?"

He turned, transformed and drove with screeching tires.

"Bumblebee!" He only managed to hear Optimus calling as he rapidly went beyond his reach.

I'm sorry Optimus. I have to disobey this once. I hope you understand. 

______________

Shadestrike crouched low, optics scanning the compound from the cliff edge.

MECH had fortified the old rail station with makeshift turrets, searchlights, and a perimeter of human guards. Sloppy. Temporary. But dangerous enough.

Beside him, Knockout grumbled softly.

“Well? Are we slicing through or playing ghost until dawn?”

Shadestrike didn’t answer immediately. He watched the pattern of guards. Counted their steps.

They didn’t have time for stealth.

“Get ready,” he murmured.

Just as his blades deployed with a metallic hiss—

A low, rumbling growl echoed from the distance.

He paused.

He knew that engine note.

Bumblebee. 

The younger mech arrived fast, transformed mid-roll, blaster already aimed — his stance wide, tense.

“You came,” Shadestrike said surprised, slight smile breaking his guard.

He didn't expect he would solve his confusing clues.

Honestly, he expected Bulkhead to storm in by now. 

The timeline must be different.

 Knockout reared back in disbelief. “You brought an Autobot?!”

“We need all the help we can get,” Shadestrike rolled his optics, stepping between them. “And I trust him.”

Bee didn’t lower his blaster, but his field... calmed.

It was subtle.

But Shadestrike felt it. Like a question answered.

“I couldn’t tell you everything,” he added to Bee. “But I’m glad you came.”

Knockout made a strangled noise of disgust.

"Let's get to break down this place out." 

At first Shadestrike didn't realize his pun, but then he smirked under his breath.

Knockout cringed, covering his faceplate with both talons in embarrassment "...For the Primus." 

Then added. "I'd never expect you to have that kind of side in you."

On that Shadestrike restrained his smile imidiatelly, optics darting downward.

"To bee honest," Knockout smirked, turning toward Bumblebee, "I know very little about you." and on it he turned to Shadestrike.

They stared at each other in silence.

But then they snickered.

Bee just watched, confused. It felt... familiar. Like something the Autbots would do.

"Come on, I am not that little. I'm literally higher than you." Shadestrike still chuckled.

"Yes, of course, by few whole nanometers." 

Bee almost felt safe near them. They were ready to put their life at risk to save their friend. These were the true Autobots atribute. 

He noticed kind of bond between them, that he thought was long demolished within Decepticons.

____________

"Enjoying the view?" Silas sneered. "Ironically your would-be rescuers may be in more pieces than you right now."

Breakdown, shackled and half-drained, growled low in his throat. “Decepticons don’t break that easily.”

“Funny,” Silas replied. “Because your people? They’re not coming.”

Breakdown glared with one, left optic.

He didn’t believe that.

He couldn’t.

He wasn’t worth much to Megatron, but... they wouldn't leave him. Right?

“Besides, who said they were Decepticons?”

That made his spark skip.

...Autobots?

No. That was worse. They wouldn’t come to save him. They wouldn't care.

"That doesn't make sense. Autobots wouldn't come to rescue me" 

Then—

THUD.

Two blades carved clean through the door like scissors through fabric.

It fell with a screech of metal, and three shapes poured through the smoke.

Knockout. Shadestrike.

And—

“...Bumblebee?” Breakdown blinked, stunned.

Blasters fired. A blade spun. Screams echoed.

Shadestrike was already halfway through the first squad, with his blades glowing with energon. He moved like lightning — precise, brutal shots that dropped targets before they could aim. With unreadable expression.

Knockout’s battle spear breaking through organics.

Breakdown stared.

Suddenly he noticed extended servo in front of him.

From Bumblebee.

No words.

Just help.

Breakdown's expression twisted. "What the scrap is this?"

Shadestrike stepped through, casually slicing down the human. "Rescue mission. You’re welcome."

"You brought an Autobot?" Breakdown growled, optics narrowing at Bumblebee.

Knockout sighed. "We’re on a clock here, Breakdown. Can we unpack your trauma after we survive this?"

Bumblebee didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But he stepped forward and held out a hand.

Breakdown hesitated — just for a moment.

Then he grabbed it and Bee pulled him up.

________

The tunnel outside was chaos.

MECH soldiers surrounded the entrance, shouting orders over garbled comms. Spotlights swept across broken ground, illuminating the intruders. 

Bots stormed outside, meanwhile humans were trying to incapacitate them with blasters and missiles.

"You have any escape plan?" Breakdown turned to Shadestrike, on which he retorted.

"Yes," Shadestrike smirked. "Destroy." 

He was already moving forward.

A blur of motion and blade, carving through the nearest humans like a ghost dipped in vengeance. Knockout followed with a crackle of energon bursts, frying the circuits of approaching weaponry. Bumblebee held the line behind them, precise with every shot.

Breakdown, still stiff from captivity, grabbed a discarded vehicle and hurled it toward an incoming chopper.

BOOM.

It burst mid-air.

Shadestrike grinned. "Nice."

Breakdown suddenly lunged, shoulder-slamming Bee to the side just as the beam scorched the floor where he’d stood. They hit the ground hard.

Bee blinked up at him, stunned.

"Returning the favor," Breakdown muttered, standing over him.

They were a machine now. A unit.

Knockout on the left, Shadestrike darting through the right flank, Breakdown smashing forward like a living siege tower. Bumblebee watched, flanked, then shot down another sniper.

"Knockout, right! Bumblebee, duck! Breakdown, toss me up!"

Shadestrike called the moves like he'd done it a hundred times before.

None of them questioned him. 

Knockout stunned a shocktrooper with his energon prod. Bumblebee dropped low, letting a missile zip past his helm. Breakdown barely hesitated. 

And when Shadestrike vaulted off Breakdown’s broad shoulders to slice a helicopter in two with a gracefull flip, Breakdown caught him mid-air without a word.

They didn't just fight. They flowed.

Shadestrike never really had such cordinated team, especially one that was listening to him. He felt so fullfilled at that moment it almost felt like a dream. He was enjoying the moment, even laughing playfully as if it was a game.

Knockout noticed his pure joy and it made him surprised and a little concerned, but he smiled.

_______

The battlefield fell silent. MECH forces scattered, retreating.

Then, from above, the scream of incoming jets.

Starscream.

With a squad of Vehicons, dropping in late and smug.

Breakdown turned, optics lighting. "Commander Starscream! I knew Megatron wouldn’t leave me behind."

Starscream sneered as he landed, wings twitching in distaste. His gaze swept over the wreckage.

Then over Knockout. Then Shadestrike.

Then stopped on Bumblebee.

"Consulting with the enemy Breakdown?" Starscream was furious.

"Bumblebee got me out of there." Breakdown stiffened.

Bee came alone. Put himself in risk. For someone like him – a Decepticon.

"Many sparks felt thanks Autobot." Starscream’s expression soured. "Now destroy him."

Breakdown hesitated. "But y- "

"Do you plan on joining their ranks anytime soon? No?! THEN BEGONE WITH HIM ALREADY! Starscream hissed.

Breakdown looked the yellow scout in the eyes. He looked like a started mechling. Looking by their difference in size or maybe he indeed was one, but that would be foolish of the Prime to sent a mechling on a war.

"Maybe in the next life." Breakdown transformed his servo.

Bumblebee trembled, optics downward. Arms lifted in reflex.

Breakdown raised his hammer.

Then—

Clang.

Bumblebee didn’t feel pain. He looked upwards to assess the situation.

The hammer stopped mid-air, caught.

By Shadestrike.

He held it two-handed, deflecting the blow with casual force.

His glare was furious, staring deep into Breakdown's eye. 

It made Breakdown flinch. 

Every Decepticon was shocked by his action.

Starscream gawked. "Traitor."

The word cracked the air like a static.

Shadestrike stilled—then tilted his helm with a faint, incredulous smirk. "Who said I'm joining the Autobots?"

The calm in his voice was scarier than rage.

Breakdown flinched, retracting his hammer arm.

Starscream, though, was grinning ear to ear now, optics gleaming with malice. "Oh, Megatron will love this."

Shadestrike turned toward Starscream.

Slowly and measured like a predator locking in.

"You have a few options," he said, voice low. 

"One: you tell Megatron this was your mission. Unauthorized. You get punished. Two: you say the Autobot helped. You get punished. Three: you lie. Say we handled it. Say you eliminated the Autobot. You get credit."

Starscream was visibly thinking about the last option and raised his claw as he wanted to speak.

But Shadestrike cut him off, tone razor-sharp.

"...It would be assault without his permission." Shadestrike didn't let him. Stepped closer. "Also punishable. In conclusion..." 

He brought his servos together slowly in front of his chest, then rotated them forward—mocking Starscream's usual dramatic flourish.

"You should shut up."

A beat.

And then—

snrkt.

A sniffled laugh from Vehicon. Then another.

The smirks were contagious. Even Breakdown looked like he was biting back a grin.

Starscream exploded.

"WHY, YOU LITTLE—!"

BLAM!

Blaster fire cracked the cliff edge.

"INCOMING!"

The Autobots were here.

"RETREAT!" Starscream screamed.

He launched into the air with a screech of metal, Vehicons scrambling after him.

Knockout and Breakdown transformed, trailed behind them – but stopped after a few nanoklicks.

Because Shadestrike didn't move.

He just stood there. Staring.

"Did he lose the trace of reality again?" Knockout asked, optics narrowing.

"Maybe he's staying." Breakdown muttered.

Shadestrike finally turned.

Not toward the Decepticons.

Toward Bumblebee.

His field flickered — deliberate, light. Then he raised a servo.

Pressed it to his chest.

A single, clear sign. But not for everyone.

Then he drove off without a word.

Knockout and Breakdown waited confused half a klik away, transformed into root mode. The moment Shadestrike passed them—

They followed.

The Autobots reached Bee just seconds later.

Ratchet scanned him on arrival and fumed. "Bumblebee, what you did was highly irresponsible!" 

His scanner blinked. Then paused and he muttered, surprised. "...You’re not injured." 

Arcee stepped forward, arms crossed tight. "We thought you just stormed off. You scared us."

Bee beeped slowly.

> : Good – worry – no – :

His field hummed warm. Apologetic.

Optimus stepped forward, voice calm, but weighted. 

"What did he gesture to you, Bumblebee? Before he left?"

A pause.

Bee looked up at the horizon where the Decepticons had vanished.

His optics softened.

He didn’t beep right away. Just let his EM field swell — not loud. Not flashy.

But warm.

> : Proud :