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Chapter Text

Chapter 1 - Cosmic Phoenix

Myriad raindrops fell, their tiny drip-drip-drips merging into an all-encompassing droning background. Despite the less-than-ideal weather, it did little to dissuade the city dwellers from hurrying along to complete their errands. The incessant drumming of raindrops, combined with the constant murmur and clatter of vehicles - cars and public transport alike - seemed to create an even tighter, more suffocating atmosphere within the never-ending concrete jungle than the usual encroaching walls of characterless buildings manage on an average day. Even the coloured reflections of traffic lights appeared washed out on the glistening asphalt.
It was a grey day, with grey weather and grey people.

A woman in her early 30s hurried along with the sluggish current of the crowd, her blue eyes glued to the screen of her mobile phone. She brushed a stray ginger lock out of her face with the hand that held a dark umbrella above her head, as she was tapping and scrolling on her small device with the other. Her dark coat glistened dully, beads of water clinging stubbornly to the fabric. A murmured curse slipped past her lips as she struggled to type a message on the device, her efforts yielding far less success than she was striving for.

Abruptly, she stopped at the pedestrian crosswalk, glancing up to see the pedestrian signal to turn green before redirecting her attention to the mobile device as she stepped off the curb.
First came the screech of tires, followed by panicked screams slicing through the grey cocoon of everyday indifference.
Initially, she barely registered the commotion. Just another layer of the ever-present background noise of the bustling metropolis she called home. But as the screaming gained volume and sharp sounds grabbed at her attention, her curiosity won out, and she lifted her gaze.

A cold shiver ran down her spine, lighting up every single nerve endings in her slim body with primal fear. In slow motion, she caught sight of the car barreling through the red light. Time seemed to slow to a stop. She felt like she could almost make out the individual water droplets suspended in the scant light, glistening like frozen shards as the metal behemoth approached, inch by agonizing inch.

“Oh no…” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. She was unable to tear her eyes from the impending disaster. Her muscles locked, bracing for the impact, but her mind was flooded with eerie calmness. This was it. She was going to get hit. She was going to die.

However, instead of the anticipated impact sending her body into the air, invisible claws sank into her body from behind, wrenching her backwards with merciless force. She flailed, grasping desperately for something to slow or stop the violent movement but to no avail.
Her mind, feverishly trying to comprehend the impossibility of the situation, was further bombarded by sharp bursts of adrenaline coursing through her system.
The car’s headlights shrank as the scene around her, like a snapshot painted on a canvas framed by ever-widening dark emptiness, shrank further and further away.
The woman tried to scream, but no sound escaped her throat as the invisible claws kept pulling and pulling, their forceful grasp never ceasing. She was thrashing around in a frenzy, grasping at the phantom claws, desperately trying to free herself from the ghostly grapples.
Following a particularly strong flounder, the motion ceased as abruptly as it had seized her, and she found herself adrift in an endless inky void.

Disoriented, she frantically scanned the abyss, searching for something - anything - a shape, a sound or even just a different shade of the dark to anchor herself in the nothingness. The adrenaline gave way to cold terror as she realised she didn’t know where she was, how she got there, and - most importantly - how to get out. In a twisted, dark corner of her terrified mind she almost wished the claws would find her again, because at least she had moved in some sort of a direction while being dragged away. Now there was nothing. No direction, no movement nor any sign of life. Only infinite darkness.

The woman tried to look around again. When she turned her head to the left side - the only way she could tell the direction was her neck twisting approximately to her body - hope stirred in her weary soul as she noticed a faint light in the distance. Like a solitary star twinkling in the void, it beckoned her with an unexplainable pull.
Suspicion laced her wonder, but before any conscious thought could halt her movements, her hand instinctively reached toward the distant glow.

The tiny speck expanded, like a hesitant soul drifting toward an uncertain fate.

The woman could not understand why she likened the light to a soul - a sentience, something alive in this nothingness - but her frayed mind refused to question it.
All she could focus on was the lone beacon in this otherworldly void, wordlessly pleading for her attention.

The light grew, from a spackle to a small orb, drawing closer. It emitted a faint blue light, the corona swirling creating never before seen patterns. It looked like a tiny sun that could easily fit in the palms of her hands.
Then she felt it  - the resonance of some kind of unseen energy around the strange phenomenon. The energy seemed to seep into her body, pulsed under her skin and pulled her soul toward the enigma.
She couldn’t find any sane reason for why any of this was happening in the madness, but the urge to touch the star was undeniable. The woman reached out further, only a breath separating her from its radiant core.

When her fingertip brushed the corona of the sphere, rays of light burst out of the star, cutting through the inky void.

Colours spilled across the abyss, darkness overtaken by a vast sprawl of the cosmos with swirling, colourful nebulae, endless galaxies and a myriad of stars dotting the near and far horizon.

The woman wanted to hide, to shut her eyes in fear, to scream but no sound came from her throat, nor could she move a muscle in her body.
With the connection between her and the star established, she watched in astonishment as a faint silhouette took form within the shining brilliance - the corona of a star molding itself into a being, like a flower blooming in slow motion, reshaping light to reveal its true form.
Her muscles refused to obey her commands, locking her gaze forward, forcing her to watch as the figure solidified.
Right in front of her, a sleek form emerged, a strangely familiar image - like glancing into a mirror, only to find a mechanical reflection staring back instead of flesh and blood. The being had a face, and warm blue eyes stared into her frightened icy cerulean ones.
Then, slim, violet fingers pressed gently atop her outstretched hand, still fused to the radiant sphere.

Against all common sense, though common sense had long ceased to hold meaning in this surreal existence, the touch felt fantastically real. Everything did.
Then she heard a voice, strong yet gentle. Pleading, but never demanding. It rang not in her head but resonated in her very soul.

“Please, allow me to forge a different future. For both of us.”

Then, everything was engulfed in a blinding white light.

*****

Her senses seemed to return to her slowly and gradually as she came to, but her stomach had other ideas. The woman’s eyes shot wide, then her hands flung to her lips as she turned from laying her to her side, heaving while trying to catch her breath.
She tried to keep her ginger strands out of the way, as she wiped her lips on the back of her hand. She felt dizzy, but - despite her body’s protest - the woman opened her eyes.

‘What the hell happened? Am I still dreaming? Although, it looks like I’m not in Kansas anymore…’ she thought as she wearily scanned the bare room. It lacked any sort of character, the dark metallic walls had no indentations or protrusions and the only light source was provided by the fourth wall made up of some sort of light beams.

“Ugh,” the woman groaned as she pushed herself into a more upright position, her stomach doing backflips in the meantime. She leaned forward against the metallic wall, welcoming the chill of the smooth material against her aching temple.

“Where am I?” she mused, trying to make the vertigo go away by sheer will, “Hello? HELLO! Anyone here? HELP!” her voice rose to a shout but soon she winced as the sharp pain in her head threatened to split her skull in two.”Fuck!” she cursed, holding her bowed head between her shaking hands, the blood drumming in her ears like a full-fledged percussion band. She kept her eyes squeezed shut, concentrating on the ebbing-and-flowing pain, when she took notice.

Clap. Clink-clink-clink. Clap. Clink-clunk. Clap. Footsteps neared her location accompanied by the sound of a much more rapid clinking. Amid the seemingly random tinkling, an even gait approached; and with every step closer, hope swelled in her heart. She wasn’t alone, after all! Maybe the stranger was here to help. Maybe this was all really just a horrible dream, an after effect of a particularly alcohol fueled night and she’s starting to experience the first bouts of an epic hangover seeping into her dreams. Yes, that was the right explanation. What else could be?

Still crouched, all the wind left her lungs and cold sweat broke out on her skin as she took in the silhouettes on the other side of the wall of light. Like menacing violet stars, small lights on mechanical bodies bathed the room in sickly purple. The earlier heard sharp noise all of a sudden made sense, as tiny mechanical appendages moved the bulbous metallic bodies with violet eyes to make way to the singular most terrifying creature she had ever seen.
It was the swaying figure of a man, though the woman couldn’t determine whether his unsteady stance stemmed from the effort of balancing his grotesquely enormous metal arm or her own impaired vision. His sharp features twisted into a welcoming smile - polite yet unsettling enough to make every hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Every instinct in her body screamed: Danger. Get away. Not safe!

“It seems our unexpected guest had finally graced us with her conscious presence,” the man drawled. His voice was calm, measured and not at all what the woman was expecting coming from that misshapen mish-mash of flesh and machine.

“Who… who are you?” she stammered, pressing her trembling form against the far wall as much as possible.

“I am, my dear, the hero this planet needs,” the wiry man sneered, a vicious yet reverent smile playing on his lips.

“Look, I… I’m not important… Just let me go. Please!” she begged, her panic mounting and overtaking her senses. “I won’t tell anyone. I swear! Just let me go!”

Unfazed by her tears or terror-stricken expression, the man continued with quiet malice, "Oh, I know you’re not important. But even though you’re a surprising anomaly in my grand plan, I find myself with a use for you, after all. You weren’t meant to slip through the gap. You were supposed to die. Yet, here we are.

“It isn’t every day someone is given a second chance at life,” the man leaned closer to the bar, the violet hue giving his calm but measured features an almost demonic glow. “I consider your future cooperation to be your gratitude for my gift. Be honoured, as you'll be the next step in my march to victory against the Cybertronian pestilence infesting this world.”

Before she realised it, her body sprang into motion. She staggered to her feet and lurched toward the glowing wall, driven by a singular primal need to escape. Her limbs felt weighed down, as though she was moving through molasses. She reached out, her hand nearly touching the light, nearly reaching freedom - ZAP!

“What the fuck?” she howled, clutching her electrocuted hand, sinking to her knees and curling her body in defense.

“I would advise against touching the electronic containment field in the future,” the man remarked nonchalantly before turning on his heel, his white lab coat flaring dramatically with the movement. After taking a few steps, he paused and glanced back over his shoulder. From this angle, his features once again appeared more demonic than human: all sharp angles devoid of even a shred of sympathy.

“You wouldn’t want to forfeit your usefulness before you even had a chance of proving your worth, would you?”

She glared daggers at his retreating form, desperately wishing they would manifest as real weapons and strike him down. But nothing of that sort happened. The man walked away and she was left alone in her prison cell. Her thoughts were racing: Where was she? Who the hell was this Frankenstein wannabe and what did he mean? How did she end up here at all?

Suddenly the light emitted from the bars became unbearably bright, and she had to shield her eyes from the assault on her senses. The brightness engulfed the bars eventually till they wholly disappeared and ghost impressions of galaxies and distant stars shimmered into existence. The stars, like small specks of dust in the air, floated in the empty prison cell. The reflections on the metal walls made it look as if the infinite cosmos manifested around her.

In a flash of light, a familiar feminine form appeared in front of the awestruck crouching prisoner, the vision holding herself with an unspoken regality. The ethereal figure looked at her with sorrow and compassion in her eyes, but her faint smile radiated determination.

The woman wanted to move, wanted to shout at the stranger, wanted to scream at her to not just stand there but get her out of here… But the cascading avalanche of thoughts, emotions and the adrenaline finally overwhelmed her systems as her body succumbed to frantic exhaustion. Once again, the world sank into emptiness.
And this time - the dark stayed dark.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2 - Captured

He was seething. Millions of solar cycles of war, leading a deadly army, and he had fallen for one of the oldest tricks in the universe. The leader of the Decepticons - former leader, he mentally corrected himself - had been deceived by a single human, their mechanical henchmen and some rather convincing holograms. To put it simply, Megatron was pissed .

Hamstrung and bound by electromagnetic restraints, suspended high in the sky, the metal titan craned his neck cables to survey his surroundings for the umpteenth time. The movement was more taxing than it should have been, thanks to the Aracnamech still latched onto his intake, severely limiting his ability to move his helm and range of vision. His auditory receptors caught snippets of Skywarp and Nova Storm’s chatter, the Seekers engrossed in circuit-grating drivel as they transported their captive ex-leader.

After enduring several kliks of meaningless noise, his gaze returned to the GHOST truck’s trailer. He knew Dorothy and trusted his friend’s combat skills, but he couldn’t shake the nagging unease of not having an unobstructed view of the situation. Megatron understood the value of strategic timing. But at his core, the ex-gladiator was a mech of action. Energon surged through his veins, his servos itching to mete out consequences for the sheer audacity of their captor; a captor who dared to subdue the Cybertronian using Dot as a bargaining chip. He was glad at least the rest of the Malto family was somewhere else, out of harm's way.

Megatron made another futile attempt to access his internal comms, but the jamming technology proved to be too sophisticated to bypass. His optics scanned the terrain once again, his mind’s optic transforming the majestic rolling hills and vibrant flora of the planet into a tactical landscape within his processor. While he couldn’t contact the Autobots for now, he resolved to provide as many strategic cues as possible when the moment presented itself.

“Hehe, you’re not gonna be left hanging for long,” Skywarp snickered at her own pun. “We’re almost there.”

Megatron didn’t even bother dignifying the Seeker with a response. His optics methodically swept the horizon, searching for any number of possible identifiable landmarks.

It began as a faint hum; a barely perceptible sensation stirring behind his chest plates that slowly spread through his circuitry. The subtle vibration seemed to urge him to focus in a specific direction.

This wasn’t the first time. He had felt this strange sensation several times over the past weeks, but it had always been no more than an elusive whisper brushing against his EM field. It was there in one moment but gone the next. Briefly present, yet too weak to warrant any attention.
Megatron dismissed it at first as a minor glitch in his systems. Nothing he couldn’t handle himself. He even got into an argument with Optimus about it, the Autobot leader insisting the Decepticon should at least pay a brief visit to the medical bay to make sure it was nothing more serious.
In the end, Megatron gave in to the request - not because he agreed, but because his ally’s nagging had somehow proved just as insufferable as the bug itself.

After visiting the medical bay and leaving with a clean bill of health - along with a healthy dose of ‘I told you so’ - he chalked it up to age finally catching up with him.
Or perhaps, it was the result of the prolonged stress of navigating the fragile alliance between humans, GHOST and Optimus - who was either still naively optimistic or purposefully obtuse. Megatron often found himself struggling to tell the difference.

Not this time.
This time, the pull was strong and steady, with clear intent to direct him towards a hidden goal.
This time, his instinct - a cornerstone of his leadership alongside his tactical prowess - compelled him to heed the invisible force. He turned his helm towards the distance, where a small, dark shape was rapidly growing larger.

As the entourage drew closer to the building, the peculiar sensation intensified. It didn’t turn into a divine revelation, some glimpse into the future guided by Primus’ hand - that sort of thing was usually Optimus’ forte.
Instead, it was a steady, deep-seated certainty that whispered - despite the decidedly unfavourable circumstances - he was approaching a place the Cybertronian was meant to be. For what purpose, he had no idea. But, as the humans say, Megatron would cross that bridge when he got to it.

*****

Dorothy’s body gently swayed on the metal bench as the transport vehicle came to a halt. The next moment, bright light flooded the trailer, and the ex-soldier could not stop the involuntary motion to shield her eyes.

But before the ranger could take inventory of her surroundings, her vision was obstructed by a fabric sack pulled over her head. When she tried to pull the sack off, small metal appendages pressed into her thighs on both sides - not with enough force to pierce the fabric of her uniform or her skin, but enough to convey the threat.

‘Just wait till I get into a better position you fucker,’ she thought while the woman was slowly led out of the trailer. The fabric covering Dorothy’s face was tightly woven, not even silhouettes were visible to her eyes. The only indication that she was being outside was the warm caress of sunshine on her skin and the earth crunching under her boots.

Lieutenant Malto strained her ears, listening for any telltale sounds that might give away their location or hint at Megatron’s condition. All she could hear, though, was the steady clip-clap of small robots marching. Moments later, the warmth of the sun gave way to cooler air, and the sound of footsteps acquired a metallic echo. They were indoors.

“Right, I don’t know what your problem is, but kidnapping me and Megatron sure as hell ain’t gonna solve it. And is this the kind of respect you think veterans deserve? Treating them like hostages?” Dorothy spoke up with unveiled anger and  frustration in her voice as her body shifted into a defensive stance.

"I apologise if I’ve given you the wrong impression. Clearly, my skills in hospitality are lacking," came a masculine voice, not far from Dorothy, that belonged to their captor. Earlier, Megatron had identified him as Mandroid, the same Mandroid who had captured her Terran children a few months ago. Dorothy turned her head in the direction of the voice, trying to pinpoint the culprit’s location.

“Well, pro tip number one: forcing people into your company and blindfolding them will not exactly scream ‘I’m a terrific host,’ ” the woman quipped.

Before she could say more, the sack was abruptly pulled from her head. Dorothy couldn’t stop the involuntary gasp that escaped her lips as her surroundings came into focus. The industrial building might once have been a factory, but now its labyrinth of pipes and corridors were either eerily deserted or lined with sinister looking spider-like robots.

"The war left many of us wary of the unknown, and even more wary of the known threats," Mandroid said, striding ahead of Dorothy. His arms - one human, the other grotesquely mechanical - swept dramatically around the space as he continued his monologue. "You know as well as I do that the war left no one without scars."

"You served in the war?" Dorothy asked, her contempt for him unwavering but tinged with curiosity. As she methodically assessed her surroundings for an escape route, she couldn’t help being intrigued by the mention of shared combat experience. Still, it didn’t lessen her satisfaction - her knuckles still pleasantly stung due to that well-placed right hook by the train tracks.

"I was drafted by GHOST," Mandroid replied, indulging her curiosity. "My contributions were more of a scientific nature. Wretched work… Forced to slave away completing projects I despised. Do you remember San Francisco? The Decepticon strike?"

"The Battle of the Bay?” Dorothy’s eyebrows rose with surprise, “I was leading an infiltration platoon when the Seekers attacked.”
Despite her clear animosity towards her captor, the mention of the battle stirred the faintest flicker of camaraderie, however twisted she felt it might have been.

"I was also present. So you remember, I presume, how the Autobots’ friendly fire levelled many civilian buildings," Mandroid said, shooting her a glance heavy with restrained bitterness. "Including GHOST’s robotics laboratory. Not all of us made it out; and those who did aren’t necessarily the lucky ones. I spent days buried under the rubble, tonnes of debris crushing me while the sound of war raged on above.

“My Arachnamechs," he paused, casting a sweeping glance at the spider-like robots gathered around them, and for a fleeting moment, Dorothy thought she saw something almost like fondness in his cold eyes, "they found me. They saved me the only way they knew how. In the end, I still have my life and some,” the  man looked at his robotic arm with a mixture of awe and disdain, ”souvenirs to help me fulfill my purpose."

"I’ve lost something in the war too," Dorothy said, rolling up one trouser leg to reveal her prosthetic limb. "But I judge people by their actions, not their prosthetics."

Mandroid hummed thoughtfully and began walking down the corridor. Darkness loomed at its end, swallowing his steps. "Then perhaps you understand why humanity needs my help. An appointed guardian. A hero. Someone who can cleanse the Earth of the violence that has engulfed it. And, as history proved countless times before, the best way to defeat the beast is to take a page from its own book." 

When the man reached the top of the small flight of stairs, a strange sound crept into the woman’s ears, one she hadn’t been aware of until now. A quiet, restrained grunt, metal scraping against metal, and strained noises as though the very beams of the building were struggling to support some immense weight.

“Light!” Mandroid barked theatrically, and one of the Arachnamechs obediently pulled a lever on the wall. Crimson light replaced the suffocating darkness, illuminating the bound Cybertronian commander straining against his restraints. His intake remained obstructed by the clinging spider robot, yet his gaze burned with the fury of a thousand suns.

The man snapped his fingers, and the muzzle released its hold.

“Dorothy!” Megatron wasted no time calling out to his comrade. “Are you all right? If that bastard has done anything to you, I swear…”

Her instincts screamed at her to throw caution aside and rush to her friend’s aid. But her combat-hardened, logical mind knew that playing hero now would only land them both in deeper trouble. They needed reinforcements.

Dorothy watched, helpless, as Mandroid leaned in close to the ex-Decepticon, taunting him and revealing the depths of his twisted plan to ‘take a page’ from his enemies’ book starting by taking apart the Cybertronian first to use his mechanical carcass as spare parts.

Her gaze remained fixed on the enormous laser scalpel suspended from the ceiling, its nozzle gathering energy just above Megatron. Then, with brutal efficiency, the laser struck, slicing into the Cybertronian’s sensitive shoulder joint. The resulting roar of pain was unlike anything Dorothy had ever heard. Not even in the throes of combat. This wasn’t a fight. It was a massacre.

‘I’m so sorry for leaving, but I promise I’ll find a way to help you,’ the thought raced through Dorothy’s mind as she slowly retreated, putting distance between her and the violent scene. Dot’s eyes fixed on a thick pipe running beneath the platform into the facility’s underbelly; a potential escape route she had spotted earlier. She moved toward it with purpose, preparing to leap over the rail when Mandroid turned around.

"You are a clever woman, Dorothy,” Mandroid turned back towards the retreating ranger, “together we can put an end to this blight before it ever spreads ever further. Order Optimus to surrender, and when the two most important heads of the hydra have been cut off the rest will soon follow. See reason, ranger…" the scientist’s monologue faltered as his gaze landed on the nameplate of the ranger’s uniform. "Malto?" he uttered, stunned. His disbelief was short-lived, however, as Dorothy’s boots swiftly introduced themselves to his chin. Using the rail as leverage, she executed a flawless backflip, landing squarely on the pipe she had identified as her escape route. Shaking off his initial shock, the scientist lunged toward her, but the ex-soldier was already out of the scientist’s sight.

"Looks like it’s just you and me now, Mandroid," Megatron’s dark mirth was fuel to the scientist’s smouldering fury.

“Shut up, or I will dismantle the ranger for sport!” the scientist barked, then his eyes lit up as he devised the next step of his ever evolving plan. "Skywarp! Nova Storm!" Mandroid called, and the Seekers dutifully emerged, awaiting their orders. "Take this to Optimus Prime," the scientist commanded, throwing the nameplate toward them, "and tell him to come to me with the Terran brats. Only, of course, if he ever wants to see their precious ranger alive."

"You are a greater fool than I thought," Megatron snarled through gritted dentae. "If you think Optimus would comply with such a demand."

The scientist wanted to let out all the frustration he held, all the anger and resentment and make the Cybertronian endure all the pain he endured in his life, though Mandroid managed to restrain his more explosive reactions. Soon enough, it wouldn’t matter. Let the Cybertronian believe he had the upper hand for now - Dr Meridian would have the last word, harvesting the best and most compatible components from the scrapheap that was once the mighty Decepticon leader.

"Oh, let me be the judge of that," Mandroid replied with a smug grin, leaning in close to the Cybertronian’s faceplate. "I’ve already fooled one Cybertronian today, after all."

The roar that followed echoed throughout the facility, ricocheting off its walls in a seemingly endless chorus of agony.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3 - The Breakout

The woman couldn’t tell how long she’d been kept prisoner in the featureless metallic cell, the sickening purple light spilling down on her slack and grimy body. A heap of flesh and rags, slumped, creating a pathetic heap in the far corner of the room.

Long ago, she had abandoned the effort of counting seconds, trying to piece them together into approximate minutes and somewhat accurate hours. Was her imprisonment stretching into weeks, or had it lasted only days? She couldn’t say. With no natural light to anchor her to the day-night cycle, her sense of time had slipped away entirely.

The prisoner purposefully avoided catching sight of her faint, distorted reflection mirrored by the metallic walls of her cell. She had made the mistake once; staring at the rugged, hollow-eyed husk that dared to claim to be her reflection. For a good while afterwards, all she could think about was which version of her was real. Was it the one who still barely clung to the faintest hope whenever a foreign sound mingled with the monotonic drone of heavy machinery and the electric whine of smaller components? Or the one who had resigned herself to never seeing the light of day again? Sometimes, she wondered if this was some sick god’s version of purgatory, condemning her to a fate worse than eternal damnation.

Occasionally, she curled up in one of the corners, her dark jacket crumpled into a makeshift pillow, letting her tears fall until exhaustion dragged her consciousness into a dark corner of her psyche. In this hidden realm, grey streets stretched endlessly, lined by grey walls dotted with bright purple lights. A car screeched, headlights glaring as they hurtled towards her at impossible speed; yet the pain of impact never came…

A star guided her among nebulae and galaxies. A body not so different from hers -  metal that was made of light - embraced her weary soul and provided silent shelter from reality’s torment.
In return, in her dreams the woman followed the light willingly, helping it search for something it yearned with the deepest part of its soul. The woman tried to ask what they were looking for, but every time she tried to speak, she was unable to form the words. Her vocal cords remained without resonance, only her questioning eyes were trained on the shimmering silhouette scanning the never-ending horizon.

Sometimes, the ethereal figure would halt when a particularly bright star shined in the distance. The spectre would watch, hope and desperation etched into her feminine features with a warm longing shining in her eyes. It would only last a second before the star would dim, carrying on its journey to the distant cosmos. The figure would follow the shrinking pinprick with a sad look till it would disappear.

It was no different this time. The stranger and the woman were floating among the stars when the figure came to a sudden halt. Like many times before, the silhouette’s gaze locked onto a distant star. The stranger’s eyes filled with hope, her body taut as she watched the familiar greenish orb in the distance coming closer and closer… Until it stopped. Like a timid, bashful companion unable to believe it had finally found its other half, the orb hesitated, hovering in place. Then, ever so slowly, the star drifted closer, stopping in front of them - just out of reach.

The woman gently laid her hand on her companion’s arm, giving the stranger the support she needed to make the first step towards the sought after end of her quest. The stranger looked at the woman, grateful eyes locked into encouraging ones. The silhouette nodded, then turned back towards the star with a hopeful smile; her slender arm reaching for connection with the shining orb.

The woman’s heart swelled with joy. She did not know what was happening, but she was sure her ethereal companion was nearing the end of a long and perilous journey.

Then, just as the silhouette of light’s fingertips were about to brush the orb, joy gave way to despair. The greenish light jolted - panic and shame radiating from the small star’s core as it began to shrink away, retreating into the darkness until, eventually, it was completely engulfed by the void.
The silhouette remained motionless for a moment, arms still reaching for her grail. Then, slowly, she sank to her knees, head bent, silently mourning the loss of yet another hopeful encounter.

The prisoner woke abruptly, her heart pounding in her chest and blood thundering in her ears. Disorientation threatened to expel the meager nourishment her captor’s mechanical minions routinely provided.
She hated sleeping. She hated how her exhaustion seemed to amplify her loneliness, paranoia and delusions; how her dreams blurred the lines between reality and unreality.

What was reality anyway? Was it the ethereal dreamscape, where she wandered alongside her strange, dreamlike companion - embarking on a silent journey, searching for something yet unknown to her yet yearning for it with every fiber of her being? Or was it the cold, metallic cell in which she was held hostage by a madman, one who claimed to possess the technology capable of creating rifts between dimensions to further his self-proclaimed crusade against a so-called global threat?
In what world does someone get snatched from their own existence and flung into another realm, just as death’s cold grip is about to seize their soul? A bittersweet rebirth - to barely avoid oblivion, only to land in a situation unquestionably worse than death.

If what Dr. Meridian - as the man liked to address himself - claimed was true, her current situation was unfathomable, yet somehow the simplest explanation. After all, sometimes the simplest solution is the truth, no matter how outlandish it may sound.

The woman fought to control her body’s involuntary reactions and reign her senses back into a somewhat regulated state, then slowly turned her gaze toward the strange, science-fiction-like laser bars. She strained her ears to hear anything beyond the usual cacophony of the facility’s noises, but it seemed like even the usual droning background noise was absent. The corridors, oftentimes busy with tiny scurrying mechanical bodies or carrying the echoing footsteps of something of colossal proportions, now stretched like tunnels leading to an endless all-consuming abyss.

‘What the…’ she thought, her sluggish mind catching up with the quiet oddity of her surroundings. ‘What happened? Where is everybody?’

She summoned all her remaining energy to focus on the characterless metallic walls and grated walkways, the contrast of the odd clang of the minutely contracting and expanding metal pipes and the absolute void of activity. Desperate to catch any trace of the usual sounds - or even something unusual, she found the quiet oppressive and eerie, like the absence of noise in a summer meadow at night. The silence felt like a void. Dead. Empty.

A strange kind of loneliness threatened to overwhelm her already taxed mind, but - alongside the crushing isolation - a new sensation started to sprout in her. This was not her mind’s machination; she felt as if the strange feeling would originate in her very soul.

At first, she dismissed it as the lingering aftermath of her nightmare - a feeble attempt of her demons to seize her troubled mind. But no matter how much she tried to will it away, the feeling swelled. Like a mirage of an oasis taunting a thirsty traveller, offering the promise of something they needed the most - the very thing they cannot live without. The feeling grew stronger. Unbearably so.
It became almost visceral; a deep-coded urge surged within her, forcing her to go and find what she was unconsciously craving. She didn’t know where to go, nor whom - or what - she was seeking, just that she must act on this instinct. This primal compulsion, that grew more intense by the second. She was scared, but for the first time since her capture, her fear was not solely for herself. She was also fearing for someone else.

The prisoner swept her gaze as far as the corridor outside her cell allowed. There was no one out there with her. Not human, not Arachnamech. Her only companion was the faint buzzing of the laser bars.

She shakily rose to her feet, her legs threatened to buckle under her, but the woman found her footing by leaning against the prison wall. She slowly inched closer to where the laser was emitted from the sensors in the doorframes, not knowing what she was looking for that she had not mapped out already when the Arachnamechs weren’t watching.

‘There must be a way to make the bars disappear, or there must be a vent somewhere, or something… Anything!’ she thought while, for the umpteenth time, tried to find the weak spot in her holding cell. Her search became more frantic by the second, her motive propelled by the unusual solitariness mixed with the unexplainable urge in her heart.

Like an otherworldly tidal wave, an agonised bellow ricocheted across the building. The previously silent corridors now had become gateways to the anguished cacophony of sounds.
Her terror overrode her senses, as she ducked down facing away from the corridors, clasping her hands over her ears to block out the pain-riddled cry. A cry of someone in danger, just like her.

The pull became stronger.

Another roar bellowed across the building, and the woman found herself silently praying to whatever deity would hear her pleas to spare the poor soul that’s being tortured.

Just as suddenly it came, the holler died down and silence held the darkness in a chokehold.
The woman lifted her head slowly, her breath coming in rapid puffs as she took inventory of her environment.
Darkness, broken only by faint service lights, greeted her eyes. It took her several minutes to realise what she found so peculiar about her seemingly unchanged surroundings.

“The bars!” she exclaimed, spinning around to find her prior restraints gone. No purple lights of the lasers - just the empty, gaping darkness of a corridor stretched before her eyes.

For a short time, the woman was paralysed by her discovery. She was planning her escape in the lulls of her despair, but now that the obstacle was gone, it felt surreal.

Was it real? Was it a dream? Perhaps it was a trap - another one of the madman’s twisted experiments to see how she would react? Or was it a divine intervention, the salvation she had yearned for, finally come to set her free?

‘It… it seems like the whole place went dark,’ she thought, looking around the dark corridors where instead of the cold neon light only the emergency lights provided some visibility. 

Still unsure, she took a shaky step toward her possible freedom - or cruelly orchestrated downfall - with bated breath, muscles taunt and nerves sharp to prepare for any semblance of the fight that might come.
One step, then another and another.
Each one brought the prisoner closer to the border between here and out there, one of her hands tentatively stretched out towards the empty space. She felt the urge to burst into tears when the expected electric shock never came.

Disbelief gave way to the overwhelming relief, and - before her anxiety could get the better of her - her tired legs seemed to move on their own accord.
She took one step forward. Then another. One more and she was picking up pace. Although captivity must have weakened her, as one second she was walking with caution and the next her foot caught on the metal floor. The woman tumbled forward with an alarmed yelp, landing halfway across the cell’s threshold.

“Shit…” she groaned while pushing herself up on her elbows with gritting teeth, a couple of her ginger locks falling out of her messy bun, framing her frightened eyes. It took a short while to compose herself, but when the realisation finally dawned on her - that she was really outside of her cell - her soul filled with newfound hope and determination.

“Whoever you are, from my dreams, if you can hear me at all, I could really use some help here,” the woman whispered aloud, a tired chuckle leaving her lips. She knew it was a futile attempt, and she was ready to chalk it up to her isolated mind and desperation.

What she did not expect was the sudden appearance of a small bluish light, appearing and hovering not far off in the distance. The tiny star floated in mid-air, neither advancing nor retreating. A faint blue glow illuminated the metal walls, like a beacon beckoning to be followed.

“Holy shit… you… you ARE real… Or I’m totally… losing it,” she mumbled under her breath, her vocal chords straining from prolonged disuse. But she refused to let go of the smallest sliver of hope she so desperately clung to.
With the heavy mixture of relief and disbelief on her mind, she wasted no more time to blend into the shadows, limping forward, following her guiding starlight.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4 - In The Belly Of The Beast

Dorothy Malto liked to think of herself as a multifaceted woman—soldier, mother, handyman… you name it.

“Comes with the job,” she would often joke.

Well, now she could add saving her giant alien ex-Decepticon friend from being dissected alive to her résumé.
She wished she hadn’t had the opportunity at all, but life—and a certain megalomaniac madman—had other plans.

She listened to Mandroid’s angry snarls and rants with unveiled delight as she held the ripped-out end of the power cable, disarming that ghastly contraption that had kept slicing into Megatron time and time again.
Peering over the ledge, she watched as the man frantically looked around, trying to find the source of his chagrin—when a small robot crawled up to the scientist.

“What is it?” the man growled, while the mechanical minion took a trembling step backwards on its small legs, “What do you mean the cell has been compromised?”

Dot watched from her hiding spot in the ceiling, concealed behind the beams, as Mandroid paced frantically back and forth.
The man then marched over to the wall of monitors and began flicking through the security feeds, but every transmission came back negative. There was no life present.

Neither Dorothy nor whoever—or whatever—had been kept in that cell.

Despite the various perspectives provided by the different camera angles, the nature of the prison’s containment remained unclear. However, the scientist’s fury at his loss was undeniable. 

“What’s wrong? Did you lose something?” Megatron chuckled, earning a murderous side-glance from the scientist.
The man took a deep breath, closed his eyes and let it out slowly.
Then, with a thunderous roar, he slammed his fists against the consoles.

Dorothy had to hand it to Megatron—the guy had massive ball bearings to mouth off at his captor while being completely immobilised. It made her chuckle and somewhat eased her turbulent worries.

‘There’s still fire in good ol’ Megs, no matter if that asshole thinks he has the upper hand,’ she thought with relief, reassured that Megatron’s mind hadn’t yet succumbed to the desperation of his situation. She cast one last glance at the restrained Cybertronian before turning away and slipping into the nearest ventilation shaft.

‘Just hold on a little bit longer. I’ll find a way to get both of us out of here,’ the woman kept repeating her mantra of determination, hastily crawling through the vents while trying to keep any noise to a minimum.
A difficult task, given how her boots relentlessly clanged against the metal walls of the tight corridors that were definitely not designed for humans to traverse in.

But no matter how fast she sneaked towards possible salvation, she could not outrun her rapidly swirling thoughts about what just happened mere moments ago.
The woman reached a corner where the small passage took a sharp left turn. Dot crept closer to the edge, leaned against the wall and quickly peeked around the corner.

“Clear,” she whispered, then crawled to the end of the corridor.

Climbing through the gate, she landed in a wider service tunnel, where large pipes lined the walls and metal grating paved the walkway. She ducked behind some fixtures just as a group of Arachnamecs approached. Dorothy let out a relieved sigh when the purple rays of the sentries’ scan narrowly missed her.

The woman grabbed her mobile phone from her pocket, and checked for a signal. No luck.
She needed to find higher ground.
For a second, Dot allowed herself to linger, her gaze fixed on her husband’s photo.
She was worried—not just for herself and Megatron, but for her children, both humans and Terrans alike. They were out there, afraid, and God knew what reckless plan they might agree to in order to free their mother.

And Alex. Sweet caring Alex… She loved him with all her heart, but it had been established very early in their relationship who the assertive one was.
It certainly wasn’t the man who would rather endure cold, unsalted popcorn in the cinema than inconvenience the clearly unbothered concession clerk by asking for a proper bucket of hot, salted snack.

Their first date. She didn’t even remember what they had been watching—only that, when he walked her home and they awkwardly shared their first kiss, she knew, then and there, that she was going to marry that man.

Later, when Robby was born, then Mo, she felt her life was finally fulfilled.
Everything had been worth it—the war, her injury, the struggles and trials of healing both the physical and mental scars gained on a literal intergalactic battlefield.

She and Alex had talked about having more children, but life always seemed to have other plans. Until the day her flesh and blood introduced the latest Malto additions to the family.

Dorothy had to admit that, at first, she didn’t know what to think. She was dumbfounded—hell, even scared—when she learned of the existence of the two newbuilds, especially after discovering Twitch and Thrash’s connection to her other two children.
But, just like her intuition with her life partner, her instincts told her those Transformer children needed her.

She made a promise, and the only regret she ever had was not making it sooner.

She still beat herself up over initially trusting GHOST, convinced she had done the right thing by handing the newly formed Terrans over to the organisation's care.
In her mind’s eye—and in some of her recurring nightmares—she often saw the shutters of the truck closing; the very same truck that had turned out to be Dr Meridian in disguise.

Then came the absolute, cold horror when she learned of the ambush.

For the longest time, she could hardly stomach the bitter truth—that it had taken Meridian kidnapping the kids for her to recognise her lapse in judgement. Thank goodness they were freed before anything worse could happen, or she would never have forgiven herself…

She took a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of her troubled thoughts. There was no use in beating herself up over the past—again.

Yet, as her mind managed to slow down, her psyche locked onto a thought that had eluded her attention until just now.

‘Meridian was visibly worked up about a cell being compromised… Does that mean—,’ the woman took a second to digest her sudden epiphany. ‘There’s someone else kept in here!’

Dorothy  sprang to her feet with renewed vigour and determination.

‘I have to let the others know where we are, and that Megs and I aren’t the only ones kidnapped,’ she thought as she sneaked towards the end of the service corridor. ‘But there haven’t been any missing persons reports going around lately. Nothin’ new in the recent weeks, at least. Whoever it is, I hope they can hold out long enough till help arrives.’

The ranger continued her mission to find reception, crawling through tight passages, shimmying between cracks in the walls and climbing atop ledges—all while trying to stay undetected by the increasingly present Aranchnamechs.

‘Oh no, no, NO!’ Dorothy’s mind raced as she reached the end of another corridor, only to find there was no further way to progress.
Before her stretched an enormous hall—a deadly deep drop below and an unclimbable wall above.
Far beneath, a conveyor belt carried waste with indifference, feeding the junk into the gaping maw of the fiery beast of a smelter.

Dot’s eyes scanned the hall, and suddenly, hope bloomed in her heart.

On the other side of the vast room, a ledge—more like a balcony—stood, with a sizable window decorating the wall. She welcomed the natural light like an old friend, offering a helping hand to provide an escape route from this nightmare factory.
Now that she had discovered her potential destination, the difficult part remained—figuring out the next step to actually reach the platform.
Then, she saw it.

“I’m way too old for this shit…” the woman sighed, resignation dripping from her voice as her gaze settled on the solitary chain hanging from above.

It was just out of reach. Too far to grasp, yet close enough that, if she jumped, she could grab it. Dorothy frantically searched for an alternative way to reach her goal. Preferably one that didn’t carry the risk of a single mistake leaving her as nothing more than a splattered stain on the concrete floor below.

However, the decision was soon to be made for Dot, as the echo of dozens of tiny mechanical legs clattering in the vents reached her ears.
In a moment, menacing purple light illuminated the far end of the tight corridors as the Arachnamechs, like mechanical bloodhounds catching a scent, marched towards her.

Dorothy felt her mouth run dry and the adrenaline ignited a fire in her body. Old instincts surged to life as she steadied herself; then, with a few quick steps, the ex-soldier launched herself across the abyss, reaching for her chains of escape.

For a fleeting moment she thought she wasn’t going to make it.

But her heart leapt in joy when her fingers made contact with cold, rough metal.
Dot allowed herself a moment of gratification, glancing back at the narrow opening in the seemingly endless concrete wall. The agitated spider robots crowded at the ledge.
Some attempted to follow her—inevitably falling to their doom. Others paced back and forth, relentlessly searching for a way to reach their target.

‘Not today fuckers,’ she thought triumphantly, as she started to sway her body to gain momentum. Her goal of reaching the balcony, so close to the outside world, was within reach.

She could almost feel it. The sunlight, the breeze…

The terror as an electric shock surged through her body, seizing up every single muscle and forcing her to let go of the chain. As she fell, she spotted one of the Arachnamech’s energy whips caught the chain-link rope. The mechanical arachnid dangled at the bottom now, feeding electricity into the conducting metal.

The woman unceremoniously landed on the conveyor belt amid heaps of rubbish with a pained yelp. The impact knocked the air from her lungs, and the thick dust cloud stirred by the fall did nothing to help her catch her breath.

Dorothy’s head shot up at the sound of another impact—this one much heavier, exploding with the clash of metal striking metal. She couldn’t suppress her rising fear as the Arachnamech, the very same one that managed to land her in her current predicament, slowly started to approach. The purple glow from its numerous optics seeped into the air, staining it a sickly violet.
Soon, the swirling dust cloud’s hue shifted, its purple gradually bleeding into a warmer, reddish glow. 

“Oh, you gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me!”

Dot’s exasperation only grew as she realised she was stuck between an Arachnamech and an oversized fireplace.
Even though every part of her body felt laced with agonising embers—thanks to the brutal jolt of electricity and the fall—she pushed through the pain. With a groan, she rose to her feet and assumed a defensive combat stance.

It was not the first time Dorothy “Dot” Malto had faced one of these mechanical arachnids, but this was the most terrifying encounter yet.
In front of her, the beast slowly approached. Behind her, the fiery smelter devoured anything and everything within its reach.

The seconds dragged on, stretching infinitely, like a never ending calm before the storm.

A moment of absolute stillness.

Then the Aracnamech made its move.

It lunged forward, metallic claws slicing through thin air where, just a second ago, Dot had stood.
She reacted swiftly, executing a somersault to absorb the impact and maintain her momentum. As she landed, she countered the Arachnamech’s offensive with a roundhouse kick.
Although it didn’t incapacitate her foe, it certainly made it stagger—giving her a few precious seconds to plan her next move.

However, the Arachnamech was deceptively fast.

Recovering almost instantly, it launched another attack, striking the air around the woman with its stake-like claws and attempting to capture her with its energy whip. Dorothy managed to deflect and avoid most of the attacks, but she felt her strength waning and her movements growing sluggish with each passing second.

Then, just as she thought she had gained the upper hand, a metallic appendage came out of nowhere, striking her down.
With a loud thud, she found herself on the conveyor belt once more, her back slamming against the worn metal surface.

Frantically, she twisted and rolled, narrowly evading the Arachnamech’s rapid strikes—all while painfully aware of the approaching flames, hungrily reaching towards the fighters.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed a piece of debris that seemed sharp and sturdy enough to aid in her defence. While dodging another attack, Dorothy blindly reached out, trying to grab the sharp piece of metal, but it was just barely out of her reach.

“C’mon, I almost got it,” the woman groaned.

However, in the next moment, all her hope was kicked away—along with her only possible means of defence. The soldier barely had a moment to raise her arms, bracing for the inevitable impact.
She flinched upon hearing the sickening crunch of metal, mixed with an anguished cry. Then, the metal was struck again. And again. And again…

Dorothy slowly pulled her arms away from her face, and for a second she had to question her reality.
Where, only moments ago, the Arachnamech had been poised to strike its final blow, now laid a heap of mangled metal, still repeatedly bludgeoned by a stranger.
The woman, who was relentlessly striking the remains of the enemy, couldn't have been older than her cousin, Glinda, who had turned thirty-five just a few months ago.

Although, unlike her cousin, this woman was rather petite with a dangerously thin body. Her muscles were not toned by exercise but bearing the signs of neglect and malnourishment. The stranger’s red hair must have been originally falling in a vibrant cascade of curls; now the strands  were held up in faded, matted patches by a scrunchy that definitely had seen better days.
Her clothes were no better—filthy and worn to threads.
What had once been a light-coloured jumper was now dulled to an indistinct grey, and her dark jeans were threadbare at the knees, riddled with holes and fraying edges.
Her boots, once likely polished black leather, had faded to a scuffed matte finish, with seams fraying and loose threads sticking out here and there.

The most striking thing about the stranger, however, was not her battered and weakened physical state or her shambled clothes, but her piercing blue eyes—ablaze with life and vicious determination.
By the time Dorothy managed to stand on her feet again and dust herself off a little, the stranger was still striking the remnants of the robot, wielding a sturdy metallic pipe.

“Hey,” Dot spoke calmly, holding her hands out as though she was approaching a cornered wild animal. “I think you got it. It’s gone…”

The stranger gave the metallic carcass a few more whacks. Then, as if she was waking from a trance, her head snapped towards the ex-soldier.
Fear flashed in her eyes as she immediately dropped into a defensive position.
Slowly, with measured movements, she began to back away—swaying slightly with the motion of the conveyor belt—her makeshift weapon held aloft, ready to strike.

“Look, I’m not gonna hurt you,” Dot kept her voice calm, but couldn’t stop the occasional nervous glance over her shoulder at the fiery pits creeping closer and closer.  “But we need to get off this thing before we both burn to a crisp.”

As Dorothy spoke, she edged closer to the side of the conveyor belt, letting out a small sigh of relief when she saw the stranger mirroring her movement.
The ex-soldier knew this tentative, barely-present alliance could shatter at any second.
Just as she had when calming frightened wildlife in the lush Pennsylvania forests as a ranger—or soothing panic-stricken pets separated from their families as a civilian—Dot put extra effort into appearing safe and non-threatening, guiding them both away from danger.

Dorothy didn’t want to risk giving the stranger any reason to flee, or worse, justify the dishevelled woman’s fear and end up on the wrong end of the metal pipe, still clutched in a white-knuckled grip.

As soon as both women stepped on solid, unmoving ground, the read-headed fugitive immediately backed herself against the wall. Her frightened but calculating eye never lost sight of Dorothy as she feverishly scanned her environment, attempting to observe the ranger at the same time. 

After a few moments, punctuated only by the monotonous clank and screech of nearby gears, the pregnant silence was broken by the dishevelled woman.

“Wh… who are… you?” She struggled to form the words as she visibly fought to bring her breathing back to a regular pattern. It seemed like only her adrenaline-fuelled system kept her square on her feet—especially after putting that Arachnamech out of commission. Following a couple of deep breaths and a clearing of her throat, her raspy voice found its way a bit easier. “Are… are you with… him?”

“Who are you talking about?”

“The man… doctor… who…” the stranger seemed to find it difficult to articulate whom she was referring to.

Dot’s mind feverishly tried to make the connection between her current circumstances and what the strange woman was trying to say.
Doctor.
So she was definitely not talking about Megatron.

‘Maybe she’s thinkin’ of Alex?’ Dorothy pondered. ‘But it doesn’t make sense at all. Alex never mentioned knowing anyone who fits her description—not a friend nor a former student. She is scared out of her mind… Why would she react like that at the mention of my husband? Who else could she…’

In that moment, like a puzzle piece finally slotting into place, it clicked.
Her sudden and unlikely saviour had to be the other prisoner Mandroid was rambling about earlier.

“Oh my God, it’s you…” Dot breathed with disbelief, though her reaction made the stranger tense up, gripping the steel pipe ever so tighter.

“What do you mean?” the stranger asked pointedly, her blue eyes taking on a stormy hue. “I knew it.” she muttered accusatorily as she retreated further from the ex-soldier, ready to search for a swift escape.

“Hun, it’s okay,” Dorothy hurriedly tried to deliver an explanation, before she would lose sight of the recently found fugitive. “I’m not with Mandroid! He also kidnapped me—well, me and my friend. I was on my way to get help when the Arachnamechs jumped me, and that nearly was the end… But thanks to you, we’re both here now. Standin’ and alive.”

Dot’s warm smile conveyed her relief when she saw that her words got through to the stranger; who, even though remained defensive, made no further attempts to look for an escape.

“Fucking bastard…” the redhead spat, unveiled ferocity lacing her voice.
But the realisation, that she and the woman in uniform shared a common enemy, seemed to finally put her at ease. Though she remained tense, the stranger at last lowered the pipe, letting it hang loosely at her side.

“You’re goddamn right, he is,” Dot couldn’t help the small chuckle escaping her lips upon hearing the outburst. “But before all else, we need to get to cover and regroup. We’re as good as sittin’ ducks out here in the open, and I’m sure those spider-machines are already on our tails again.”

“You’re right. Okay, okay. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. Need to get out of here. Not safe. Gotta move… not safe… not safe… not…”

The woman’s bravery seemed to falter with every word, as if her fighting spirit were slipping away now that she no longer had to face her struggles alone.
Her initially self-soothing mantra mirrored her deteriorating mental state as it began to spiral downward.
Dot didn’t blame her. If her assumption was correct, the poor soul had been held captive for weeks.

“Hey. Hey, listen,” Dorothy’s calm voice seemed to cut through the other woman’s ever-thickening haze of panic.

Taking advantage of the stranger’s moment of clarity, the ranger put a comforting hand on the other woman’s shoulder.
It didn’t escape Dot how the redhead involuntarily flinched at the contact—and it made the ranger sad and immensely furious at the same time.
The signs were unmistakable.
Whatever happened over the past weeks… healing from it would be one hell of a journey.
Dot made a promise then and there—just as she had before, many times, when she vowed to stand by her family: human, Terran and Cybertronian alike.

‘We’ll get out of this. All of us. You, me and Megs. And after that… I’ve got your back, for as long as you’ll let me,’ the ranger thought.

But for now Dorothy hid her true feelings behind her calm exterior.
There would be another time, a better time, to discuss what the hell was happening in the nightmare factory. Right now,  they needed to get to cover.
Cursing Meridian into the next century could simmer on the backburner… at least until the time came to burn that bastard and all his twisted shebang to the ground.

“Do you remember which way you’ve come from?” the ranger took a step back, careful not to agitate her companion further.

The woman’s posture softened ever so slightly, confirming Dot’s assumptions, as the ranger tried to pry the information out of the redhead.

“’Cause we can’t go back the way I came,” the ex-soldier said, casting a glance up at the towering concrete wall above them.

The redhead followed her gaze and hummed in agreement at the sight of the unreachable ledge high above.
She took a deep breath.
Although she seemed calmer than moments before, the stiffness in her muscles and the tight clench of her jaw betrayed the silent war still raging within her mind.
She remained silent, yet it was clear she was debating whether the offered trust would bring her safety or throw her into more danger.

At last she nodded.

Then, turning, she lifted a hand to point at a well-hidden corner not far from where they stood.
That was when Dot saw the opening. In front of it lay a bent, discarded vent cover on the grated floor.

“There is a service tunnel, just beyond that entrance,” the redhead said, her voice still weak but growing stronger with every word she uttered. “Although, I’m not sure if there’s a way out that way, but I sure as hell don’t want to go back where it eventually leads back to.”

“It’ll do until we recoup and decide what to do…”

“Your name,” the stranger cut Dot’s musing short.

“Excuse me?”

“Your name. Who are you?”

“Fair point,” the ranger nodded, holding the woman’s gaze with an encouraging smile. “My name is Dorothy Malto, but you can call me Dot. All my friends do.”

The stranger didn’t return the invitation, but she didn’t reject it either—and in Dorothy’s book, that was a win.

“And what’s your name?” the ranger asked.

After a moment of hesitation, the red-haired woman spoke up:

“Soleil Armstrong,” she said curtly.

 Then, with the barest hint of a smile gracing her lips, she added, “But you can call me Sol.”