Archive of Our Own

The first Cybertronians born on Earth came without warning or ceremony, without applause or anticipation. Optimus Prime had been in the middle of a sentence, relaying something to Arcee that he could not remember the importance of, when the Matrix informed him of the arrival. There was no voice, no blossom of light to herald the news. 

He simply knew– just as he knew that the sky was never as empty as it looked, and that his home was gone forever no matter what else he did, he knew that someone of his kind had just been born.

“Optimus? You still with us?”

Arcee had to stand on the very points of her peds to get his attention. If he’d taken any longer to acknowledge her, he likely would have found her climbing on his shoulders to bang her fist on his head.

“Yes, Arcee– apologies, my mind was… elsewhere for a moment.” He tried to hide how literal the phrase was for him with a cough of static. “You were saying?”

Arcee blinked once, stopping short of rolling her optics (likely only because Optimus was right in front of her).

“I was saying that the kids are gonna be out of school for the next few months.” From how she sighed, she was clearly repeating herself. “Something they call ‘summer vacation’. We figure they’ll be spending a lot more time around here, so we should probably make more accommodations. Jack keeps asking when we’re gonna get a snack fridge… whatever that is.”

Optimus nodded, though he was looking right through her. “We should consult with Agent Fowler on what can be brought in. I’m sure the government expenditure can account for a… fridge. Excuse me.”

He asked for forgiveness only after he started walking away from Arcee; he would have preferred a more graceful way to dismiss her, but Primely manners were the last thing on his mind at that moment. No one else around him seemed perturbed– Bulkhead continued training with his wrecking balls, Bumblebee told a story to the humans with Rafael translating from Primal Vernacular to English, and Ratchet didn’t falter at all at his console– which only confirmed that the Matrix was correct.

(If it had been wrong, then that would have been just as worrying for different reasons.)

Even without the Allspark, even so far away from Cybertron, Primus’ children were not only surviving, but willingly making more of their own. It should have been a cause for celebration, yet all Optimus could feel was confusion.

The Matrix told him that the child was on Earth– in fact, on the very same landmass he was now standing on. Clearly it wasn’t Arcee who had given birth, and she was the only Autobot on Earth who was capable of such a feat. The only other of her kind on the planet was Airachnid… but it was just as unlikely to be her as well, for reasons that were just as obvious.

Were there others on Earth that he didn’t know of– hiding from the humans, just as the Autobots and Decepticons were? Surely no one could enter the atmosphere without someone noticing… though he recalled that the United States, the country that had sheltered him and his soldiers for the last three years, had as many enemies as allies; just as Iacon and Kaon were historic rivals on Cybertron, Earth’s own territories were drawn out in ancient blood. If an alien appeared on the other side of the planet, in a different sky, another government could easily shelter them without any other one knowing.

But that was a concern for another day. The newborn was in the United States, which ruled out most unknowns. It had to be a femme already on Earth…

There was only one way Optimus would ever know the truth; finding the new mother and child himself.

“Ratchet. I require a Ground Bridge.” 

The medic must have been engrossed in his work– he hadn’t even noticed that Optimus had retrieved two energon cubes from their stores, and he started when the Prime appeared next to him. Even so, he always managed to hide his surprise.

“Very well.” Whatever report or research he was working on was swiftly cast to one side as he pulled up the control panel. “What coordinates?”

Optimus did not know, though the Matrix was kind enough to at least give him a direction from its magnetic pull towards the new unfamiliar spark. “Take me to the other side of the country. I will know what I’m looking for when I’m in range.”

Ratchet was about to say something, and if it was anyone else asking for a Bridge he absolutely would have, but he reserved any words until after the configuration was done.

“So… what are you looking for?” he asked, while Optimus had been rehearsing how to break the news to his closest friend. Of any Autobot, Ratchet was the first who deserved to know. Yet that wasn’t what Optimus told him.

“The Nemesis has recently been sighted in the area. They have been tracking energon readings more often than usual. I believe there may be some left for us to commandeer, if we are quiet about it.”

He didn’t know why he had to lie. Perhaps only to not give his team any hope before he knew if it truly existed for them all. Morale had already been shaky ever since Bumblebee’s T-Cog was stolen– if Optimus wasn’t careful about it, a new spark appearing out of nowhere could spell relief or disaster in equal measures for everyone.

Ratchet rumbled his vox, averting his gaze like he always did when he thought something too good to be true was on the horizon. “Well, Primus knows we could use some…” 

The medic pulled the Bridge lever with his usual show of effort. Usually he wouldn’t even consider firing up a portal unless there was a team of at least two ready to go through, but a Prime was someone to make exceptions for. 

”Go ahead, Optimus. Be careful.”

Even though Optimus knew he’d become very good at lying, he hated that Ratchet had believed him so easily. 

…

“Hey, where’s Optimus going?” Miko noticed him from leaving just behind Bumblebee, scrambling off of the couch with a sudden burst of energy that had been suspiciously absent when everyone else was cleaning up the mess of drink cans and wrappers that all humans left in their wake.

“We don’t usually ask.” Bulkhead only ever stopped what he was doing when he saw Miko running off somewhere– he’d developed something of a sixth sense for knowing when she was about to get herself into trouble. “Whatever it is, it’ll be important.”

The teenager scrunched her face up as the Bridge dissolved, and Bumblebee went right back to describing his first encounter with a combiner team to Jack and Rafael. It was a good story, sure, but once Miko’s immersion was broken there was no getting it back.

“He could at least say bye , couldn’t he?” she scoffed.

Bulkhead laughed, though there was no humour in how he shook his head. Then he told her, “We only do that if we don’t expect to come back.”

It was raining when he found them, as if Primus too was shedding tears alongside the rest of His children. At first, Optimus might have thought they were tears of joy, but he was quickly proven wrong in many ways.

Rain on Earth was a far different spectacle to the kind that once drenched Cybertron in its better days. Dark and ferrous clouds from the Rust Sea would gather over the nearest cities, warning all with insufficient armour to find shelter before the flood from the sky began– not of water, but of acid and oil. Those in Tarn and Kaon and Helex, where the eyesores of refineries and mines were kept away from delicate optics, had the worst of it. The fumes from the factories would turn the clouds into bloated pitch-black beasts that vomited thick toxic sludge onto the streets below, and the miners and fighters would simply trudge through the runoff on their way to another workday.

Optimus tried not to remember such stains on Cybertron’s past in the midst of this rain, the harmless water; cool and refreshing even as it threatened to drive rust into his hinges. It was a heavy downpour, streaming down his armour even as the heat of his engines made it evaporate into a fine mist around him. Maps of Earth called this part of the US ‘Maine’, on the border of itself and Canada. No missions had ever brought Optimus here until now, and he wished he’d had a chance to know of it earlier.

Where Nevada was desert and shrubs, cacti and crags, Maine was resplendent in its undergrowth. The trees grew far enough apart that he could move amongst them without breaking branches; tail enough that he knew anyone flying overhead would only see glimpses of red and blue that could easily be written off as light refracting through the rain in strange ways. 

He would have liked to stay here, if he’d had the choice. But the Matrix told him to move on. He walked for another hour before the trees started to die away, though the plants at his legs were still choking out the soil. A cliff was growing in the distance, gathering grey and green across its imposing shape until it was sitting right in front of him.  

It was still afternoon in Nevada, but here the evening was already throwing its gloomy drape out, making the rain clouds all the darker with its approach. When Optimus turned his head away from the setting sun, the cracks of the mountain face before him began to glow. And when he blinked, the light persisted. 

There was blue on the rocks, wet and luminescent. The mountain was bleeding energon. It was a fresh mark, only now succumbing to the relentless hammering of the rain. Drip, drip, drip onto the stones, soon to be washed away without a trace. There was no other sign of life in range, no sparks or EM fields, nothing except the silent magnetic promise from the Matrix within him. Optimus engaged his guns before he went any further. 

Unless the scene was of an immaculate murder, there was never only one drop of energon to be found. He found the trail, a series of spattered blue beacons, just as night hurried across the sky. There was evidence of someone desperately trying to rub or scratch the telltale stains out of the rocks and plants. They were obviously in a hurry– to get out of the rain? 

Why were they out here in the first place, with a newborn sparkling…? If the sparkling was here at all.

Optimus assumed it was a Decepticon that he was tracking, because that was the only thing that made sense. If they’d been injured, Megatron likely wouldn’t waste time finishing them off. He’d expect them to run away and die by themselves, and saving him the effort would likely be seen as a great honour in their final moments.

The stains became thick streaks as the victim gave up trying to hide their trail, leading Optimus down the crumbling facade of the mountain. The stone wall narrowed to an opening which would have been invisible in the shield of rain, if not for the frame of familiar luminescent blue around the rocks.

As if to reassure him, the Matrix pulsed in his energon-stream. He was much closer now, though he still couldn’t pinpoint the source of new light burning at the edge of his existence. The fact that he could still feel it at least told him the energon trail was a separate phenomena, that he wasn’t too late to stop some horrible tragedy. 

For his own sake, he focused on the fleeing Decepticon that was likely waiting for him, re-assessing their potential state as he descended to the end of the trail. He was able to make some firm decisions on what kind of frame he’d be dealing with– even a Prime in full health and state of mind struggled to move down the tumble of rocks, trying to manoeuvre himself so his plating wouldn’t scrape against boulders. His frame was large and cumbersome for work like this, so despite their injuries the Decepticon must have been nimble enough to traverse the stones without falling and snapping something off. 

Starscream was a possible suspect– he hadn’t been sighted by anyone since his fight with Bumblebee over the T-Cog theft, and it was unlikely that he could bluff his way back into Megatron’s fold this time around. If his injuries were dire enough, he wouldn’t have been able to fly away. Yes, Optimus was certain now that it was the 'Con who was injured, else he would have been ambushed by now. 

Even so, Decepticons were known to act desperately whether they were able to fend off danger or not— either fighting to the bitter end or, more commonly, fleeing from the battle with whatever they could save of themselves. And there was still no explanation for why a sparkling would be caught in the middle of such a scene.

The glowing barrels of the Prime’s guns burned through the darkness as he approached the mouth of the cave, pausing at the energon stains to scan his narrowed optics across the black beyond. Standing closer, he was able to study the way the fuel was painted on the rock. Unlike the clumsy smudges and accidental drops that had led him here, these marks were almost deliberate.

As if they were a warning. 

"Back away, Prime."

That was not Starscream’s voice. 

Optimus swung his guns towards the direction of it; a feral hiss embedded with a venom that he'd never encountered before. Deeper into the cave, two dull pink lights barely cut through the gloom. Their beholder had shied far back into the shadow of the shelter, away from the rain and the moonlight that threatened to break away her cover. There was only one Decepticon with eyes like those.

“Airachnid…?” 

She was alone, no detectable Vehicon escort or hidden officers that Optimus could see or sense. From the fizzling of her energy field as well as the energon she’d already shed, she was severely injured. 

Despite her warning, Optimus stepped forward.

"I said BACK AWAY !" Two of her back legs were bared alongside her fangs as weapons, ready to slice and shear his plates if he dared come into range of them.

Optimus halted, but did not retreat from her burning gaze. His optics, their reticules magnifying in the dark, could pick out only certain details of her tensed frame with the rest of her body hidden by the cave’s shadow. He could tell that she was taking the defensive stance– which, even with her injuries, wasn’t at all in-character for her.

(But, it seemed, old habits were dying for everyone in the wake of this new Earthly war. After all, hadn’t Starscream proved himself a restrained, almost amicable leader when Megatron had left to explore the space around Earth? Very, very strange things were happening indeed.)

"Has the damp gone to your processor, Prime?!” Airachnid continued to hiss, trying to fend him away with barbed words instead of talons. “Get away from me before I claw out–!"

Her threat ended in a cry of pain, and the pink lights of her optics were suddenly extinguished. What Optimus could see of her body now slumped to the granite floor; servos folded around her chest, helm bowed in defeat. 

She was too weak to move, and the heavy loss of energon would have likely disabled her ranged weapons. The infamous hunter of the Decepticons, sadism and spite incarnate, now lay as helpless as a sparkling before Optimus. His gun hummed with its loaded charge of plasma, aimed steadily at the spider.

A single twitch of his digit would light the cavern with what was left of her energon. One simple reflex would end centuries of murder and redeem countless galaxy-wide genocides. His next actions would mean the life or death of more than just one person. 

In that vital moment of indecision, the Matrix decided to let him in on a secret, and he realised just how true that fact was.

Airachnid was indeed as helpless as a newborn sparkling, with their blind optics and bare protoform… and their delicate web of EM fields; barely detectable, barely bigger than the growing sparks they protected.

"Where are your Decepticon brethren?" Optimus lowered his weapons as he asked, looking into Airachnid's eyes  while they blinked open once more. She made a noise, like a scoff edged with razor-wire, swiftly followed by coughing. Thick droplets of fresh energon covered the distance between the two ancient enemies.

"What does it matter to you?" she growled. "They're far away from here. They won't care about my demise any more than you will. So just put me out of my misery, Autobot."

"You know I cannot do that, Airachnid.”

"And why is that?" 

Optimus noticed how she crawled backwards towards the nearest wall of the cave despite her injuries, and the sharp edge of fear that had now crept into her voice. Perhaps it had always been there, and she could simply no longer hide it.

"Because," he transformed his gun back to its servo form, standing resolute against the background of thunder that had now arrived to herald the scene, "if I do, your child will die as well."

Airachnid's faceplate cycled through a spectrum of emotions; surprise, outrage, confusion– some that even Optimus did not recognise when painted on a fierce face like hers, some that came and went too fast for him to categorise, and some that reminded him of another femme from long ago that, like the rains in Kaon, he tried not to think about. 

Finally, at the crest of her confession, Airachnid lowered her helm again against her knees in defeat.

"What gave it away?" she whispered, as if her vocaliser was about to permanently seal itself shut and these would be her final words.

"The Matrix tells me of every new spark brought into existence,” he told her. “But even without it, I know a mother when I see one. A new one, especially so." 

When he entered the mouth of the cave, this time Airachnid did not force him away. She stared off at the sheet of hammering rain outside, turning her face away from the Prime so that he could not see it when brief flashes of lightning split apart the firmament. Her spider legs lay purposefully folded in a shield around her back, the joints twitching in random spasms. 

There, in the centre of that mass of razor-tipped rods, Optimus could sense the small magnetic flux, the smaller spark within frantically ticking away.

Airachnid with a child. He had thought it an impossibility, yet it was in fact the only possibility. The only fact more surprising to him was that, from everything he could see, she was protecting it.

The only way any of it made sense was to believe that this femme was not Airachnid after all; not the one who had haunted the Autobots since the war had left Cybertron a hollow shell, not even the one that had found herself on Earth just mere months ago. She was a fading shadow of that Airachnid, a haunting of her former self.

Something had happened in those months since her arrival. Something that had shattered her, leaving her clinging to those tiny vestiges of her former self even as her personality was unwillingly rewritten into something foreign, something alien and disgusting to her. He could see it in how she shuddered, how her claws wanted to tear at her armour, how furious she was at herself for letting anyone, let alone a Prime, see her in such a state.

And now one question was left hanging in the air like a viral disease, waiting for the moment of infection; what had scarred her so much, leaving her so unrecognisable? There was only one possible answer that would leave her on the run, far from the Nemesis, with a newborn as well.

"May I ask who the sire is?"

Airachnid flinched at the mention of that word, her optics shuttering from a sudden and unmistakable flare of anguish. “Surely you already know.”

 Optimus had hoped it hadn’t been him. But who else could it have been? Who else would she be running from?

"There was a reason why I left the Decepticons in the first place.” Her voice was now barely a whisper, almost drowned out completely by the thunder. “Why so many of us did. Ever since he found dark energon, he was never the same. Even back on Cybertron, we knew it. He wanted to bring back sparkling farms, you know. After you ejected the Allspark. He wanted soldiers… no matter what it took.”

Optimus had not known that. Though he did not show it he knew that the implications, the revelation that Megatron would go to such lengths, was staggering. His long-gone friend had no qualms with using the most devastating blueprints of the Senate, the enemy that had sent him down the path of war in the first place, out of sheer spite. 

Making drones was easy, if you had the right materials– the Vehicons were always proof of that. But a true soldier, Autobot or Decepticon, needed a spark. And there were precious few ways to obtain one nowadays.

“So he… impregnated you,” Optimus almost choked on the word, “to bolster his numbers.”

But Airachnid shook her head. “He didn’t know I was pregnant.”

And then she finally lashed out– her claws sank into his chest, the red plates that formed part of his alt-mode. There was pain, but no energon to draw from. She didn’t seem to notice.

"If it wasn't for the Autobots,” she snarled at him, “I would never have had to go back there. Back to him … if it wasn’t for you , this would never have happened!" 

Optimus was not scared of her anger, or of any pain she might cause him. Such fury needed somewhere to go, either towards herself or whoever was nearest, and he was the only other target available. A mother’s instincts would not let such feelings go towards a newborn, not even if the mother felt they were earned. But that only made such feelings more intense and bitter, and in need of someone to blame for them.

Then Airachnid choked, and not even the thunder could cover up the sobs that came from her throat as she released him. 

“If you won’t kill me,” her voice simmered under the sadness, “then I should kill you instead. But I know I can’t. I couldn’t even kill him… and he deserved it far more than you.”

She wouldn’t say why she couldn’t, and Optimus knew better than to push his luck by asking. He believed her either way; she had so far only given him a superficial scar. If she truly wanted to hurt him– and he had no doubt that she wanted to– she could do much worse before he could put her down.

Rather than being grateful that she could do nothing other than weep, Optimus shared her grief. It was quietly terrifying to see the true impact of the War before him– the consequences wrought by Megatron that had left such a strong femme now struggling to even speak. And Airachnid was strong; as much as she was immoral and selfish, a manipulative and devious creature, not even Arcee would ever call her weak. 

Arcee… what would she think of something like this? Her enemy, the source of so much of her suffering; now a victim of her own cause and cast out to rot. 

The humans had a word for things like this; karma. ‘What goes around comes around’. Optimus wondered if Arcee would have thought something like this was too much punishment even for someone like her. Or, perhaps not enough .

No. No one deserved a fate such as this.

"Did no one else know of your situation?" he asked Airachnid, and it was the only way he could show any form of sympathy that she would accept. Even so, her glare sharpened to steel.

"Of course not," she growled, her claws scoring the rock beneath her with deep gouges. "If anyone did, it wouldn’t have changed anything. Do you know how it feels, Prime? To be dragged right back into Unicron’s hands when you thought you were finally free?" 

Her mouth twisted into a shaking frown, and her optics burned brighter even with her fuel still bleeding away. 

“I wanted to leave. When Unicron was waking up. I thought I could rally the others around me. I almost did. But then Soundwave…” She broke off own vocaliser. Optimus remained silent, and her helm fell forwards in an exhausted slump.

"Just go. Leave me and my burden to die with some dignity ." 

Silence prevailed, save for the constant ambience of rain-soaked nature, for the next few tense moments. Optimus needed those moments to think of what to say next.

"Airachnid," he began. "If the Decepticons have done this to you…” 

He stopped himself, knowing she would not appreciate any sign of pity, then retraced his steps. 

“If they no longer welcome you, then you are a rogue. A neutral, in all respects. You consider yourself one anyway, do you not?”

Airachnid’s lip curled. “I consider myself many things. But I've never been a Decepticon.”

 “So there you have it. In this moment, we are not enemies. So I cannot allow you to die when it can be so easily prevented. Especially not when you have a child in your grasp."

She scoffed again; refusing to meet his gaze, refusing to move at all. Maybe she couldn’t anymore, with all her energy now depleted. Still, Optimus had to press forward. He couldn’t leave her here to die anymore than he could leave one of his Autobots.

"Please, Airachnid... let me help you and your sparkling." 

Yet more silence, more rain, more minuscule thuds from the newborn spark shielded at her back.  Something like a sigh eventually pushed past her vocaliser, as the legs wrapped behind her started to coil out. Her servos reached behind into that unfolding arrangement, and her hands now held a tiny bundle of her own webbing. 

The silk was a makeshift cocoon– she had probably used the last of her energy just to make the cover for her child. She cradled it close to her chestplates, near her spark chamber; helm dipped downwards, optics squeezed shut.

Optimus had seen such images far more times than he ever cared to remember. Mothers desperately shielding their sparklings from whatever lay ahead, be it an advancing armada or incoming grenade or flying shrapnel. Rarely did both, or either, make it out of those situations alive. And now Airachnid was hiding her child from a future that was as dark and cold as the earthly night outside. 

He had seen mothers defiant to the end in an effort to protect their last link to their dying planet, and mothers-to-be sacrificing everything but their spark to stay alive, and those who never had the chance to carry being shot through their chambers... and the memory caused his own optics to flutter.

It was the second time he’d thought of her that evening, the second time in centuries.

"You both need energon," Optimus said, eliciting a condescending glare from Airachnid; a sliver of her old self still fighting to stay alive.

"And you just so happen to carry cubes around with you?" She frowned while running her claws down the sparkling’s cocoon with such gentleness that they didn’t seem like claws at all.

Optimus knew that smiling was not at all appropriate in the circumstances, but his foresight made it difficult to keep his mouth flat. "As a matter of fact, I do." 

From his subspace he retracted two cyan cubes. Their fresh glow tore right through the dark, bringing Airachnid’s hungry face into full view. His hand only barely moved out of the way of her extended leg, the barb reaching to snatch the cubes up. When her grasp remained empty, she gave him a deep frown as he held the fuel out of her reach.

"When I give you this energon,” he told her, “I expect that your first move will be to attack me. Therefore, you must let me manually disable your weapon systems first."

For a nanoklick, Airachnid actually appeared to consider the offer– as if it was fair to her, as if she even had a choice– before she reluctantly nodded. 

Optimus edged closer, keeping his optics firmly on the irregular twitches of her spider legs as his EM field tried to balance out the erratic crackle of her own. Those legs were always a cause of fascination, or at least curiosity sourced from revulsion. The Prime, like anyone else on his side of the War, did not know how Airachnid became a technorganic being, as those of her kind were known. 

In fact, no one knew anything at all about her before she became a Decepticon. She had appeared out of thin-air, making her debut in the massacre of Crystal City with a swarm of Insecticons at her back, just in time to cause havoc for the evacuation of the Ark. After Cybertron was abandoned, she made a name for herself alongside the likes of Shockwave and Tarantulas, the Horrorcons and the Decepticon Justice Division. She presumably got bored by the time she defected; keeping to herself and her trophies all this time, until Earth and the Chaos God at its core drew her back into the fold.

"She hasn't made a sound," Airachnid said numbly, still so lightly running her talons down the blanket of webbing as Optimus cautiously knelt next to her. "Not when she was born. Not even when...” 

She paused as the Prime took her servo, turning the palm upwards. Most weapons of war were external grafts onto frames that were never expected to see battle, so some wires were not housed safely inside the limbs. With enough precision, one could break enough links that the entire weapon would no longer function without repairs. 

As Optimus scanned her limb for vulnerable points, easing his digits under her plating to snap the fragile circuits, he thought that Airachhid might just abandon whatever she was saying– before she finally exhaled through her fangs.

“...Not even when her brother was killed in front of her."

And Optimus froze, the only time in that surreal evening that he’d yet been shocked still. He had long ago realised that one never did just accept the everyday horrors of war– those that were common knowledge, and those that no one should ever know of. Just when one thought that they’d seen the worst of what their kind was capable of, a new grisly event lay waiting around the corner. 

Hearing that Megatron had forced himself upon one of his own was horrifying enough. To then kill the product of such a union, to dispose of something so precious as a new life in a world where the old ones were quickly going extinct…

The Matrix had told him of two births. He’d been so stunned at the sensation of even one that he hadn’t even noticed when the other vanished from his senses.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Airachnid." 

And he was. There was no proper way to express it, no easy way to show his sincerity when Decepticons so often seemed to be an entirely different species to the Autobots. Though, while one hand held her servo by the wrist, the other placed itself lightly upon her palm. A gentle grip, meant to soothe and ground whoever received it… 

So long as the ‘whoever’ wasn’t Airachnid.

"It’s nothing to be sorry for," she snarled, jerking her servo away from his touch. "He shouldn’t have existed in the first place. In the end, he's still a charred stain on the Nemesis floor... and his sister might as well be dead too."

She looked away again, but not before Optimus saw a single bead of coolant emerge from her eyes. Her servo fell back into place at her side and he took it again, this time with no resistance as he focused on the job at hand. 

Once he found the cables that routed power from her tanks to her blasters, he’d only need to clip them to render her lasers and webbing useless. As for her acid and razor legs... well, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it– whether or not that bridge was just a few klicks away, ready to collapse underneath him. 

As he performed the delicate work, privately wondering how Ratchet could do such procedures every cycle with stakes far higher than a broken blaster port, Airachnid talked to herself. Or perhaps to her daughter, who remained curled up tight in her cocoon by her unlikely mother’s spark.

“There was nothing I could do. Nothing else I could think of. I could only carry one at a time. She was quiet, but her brother… he would have given us away. I thought I’d hidden him. I went back for him, but… he was there. Of all the people who could have heard him.” 

She spat, leaving viscous acid to burn a hole somewhere away from her. “I saw him obliterate the child. He didn’t even recognise it as his own. Which was a mercy, I suppose… and a valuable lesson learned.”

“Lesson?” Optimus finished the wire of the first servo, giving her a moment to hiss in pain. With her weapons disabled, at least some of her energon would go to more vital systems instead.

“That these children could not be easily disposed of,” Airachnid replied, not even mustering the strength to be angry at him for listening in. “You’ll expect that I considered the act myself. And I did. I never asked for these sparklings. They aren’t supposed to be here anymore than I am, and there was nowhere else for them to go. Even as I pulled my daughter from my chamber, I was thinking of how best to end her. 

“But as her brother died… a part of my spark died as well. I realised then that these things did not just come from my core. They were tied to it. Quite literally, they are parts of myself that must be nurtured before I can take them back.”

Optimus had heard such a philosophy from an old swordmaster, from better days. Dai Atlas, his name might have been. Before the Well gave its last gasp of new sparks and doomed the fractured Cybertronians to a slow and sure extinction, bond-born sparks were a rare sight. People like Dai Atlas saw a beauty and vulnerability in rearing life within the body Primus had gifted, in taking what He had given them and using it to create something new and– though it might have been blasphemy to say so– better. 

Orion, as he’d been known back then, had not known the truth in those words until he’d met the person he’d wanted to make something better with. A new Cybertron. A new way of life…

The death of a child was said to be like the death of a sparkmate. Neither were wounds that would ever heal. Now that he’d thought about her a third time, he knew that he wouldn’t sleep that night.

“Even knowing all that,” Airachnid continued, briefly saving Optimus from memories too precious to have any place here in the present, “I might have still been able to do it. To sever the last tie that binds. To save the parts of myself that still mattered. If not for…” 

Her grip on her daughter tightened as she discussed the prospect of killing her, and as she looked up Optimus saw that her faceplate was now tracked by streams of coolant.

“If not for what?” he pressed.

Airachnid shook her head. "If not for my kin on Archa Seven. My family, I suppose. It doesn’t matter.” 

Even as she turned away, Optimus felt the Earth and all around it fall away from beneath him.

Archa Seven.

He knew the place well. The planet, the system, the state of the War when it found itself there. It was a place that he’d hoped and prayed never to hear of again. The thunder above the cave mirrored the roiling thud of his long-broken spark. 

His digits were closed tight over a line of wires inside Airachnid’s servo plating, and it took all his strength to bring himself to break the line. 

With the former Decepticon now relatively disarmed, Optimus held the first energon cube near her. She swiftly grabbed and brought it to her lips, gulping the precious liquid down. It was empty in less than a klick, and she sighed deeply as her auto-repairs went to work. Optimus held out the other cube, which she took more hesitantly this time. With a glance at the Prime, she turned her back on him so that he couldn’t see her sparkling.

From this new perspective he could see that Airachnid's choice of using only two legs to threaten him with wasn't a choice at all; they were the only ones she had left. The others must have been lost somehow during her escape from the Nemesis… and with such integral parts of her alt-mode gone, she was truly stranded here.

“Tell me about them,” he said. “The spiders on Archa.”

Airachnid squeezed the empty cube with her claws, as if testing her own recovering strength, and raised her eyeridges towards him. “Why do you care?”

“I need to know what’s keeping your child alive. I suspect it is the same thing preventing you from killing me. So tell me.”

She scoffed, tossing the cube aside to be lost somewhere in the rain, and no other sound came from her for some klicks. Either something from outside had drawn her attention, or she had no interest in answering the Prime. 

Optimus watched the rain with her. Even if she didn’t want to tell him, she would do it anyway just so he wouldn’t ask again. 

“They’re like Insecticons, I suppose,” she eventually said. “Chitin instead of metal. Same number of optics. A single hive-mind, ruled by a queen. Thousands of them, deadly and efficient… and ferociously protective of their young." 

 The last sentence ended in a regretful growl. “I knew that even before this. I learned it the hard way. Their eggs glow like energon ore. I was so hungry that… you can imagine what I did. They didn’t kill me, at least. I was part of the swarm by then.”

She’d called them her family, despite the lack of love in her hiss. Acid and webs were exotic weaponry even among Decepticons, but hers were not artificial. They were a part of her just as much as her child was.

“They made you this way,” Optimus said, and she neither protested nor explained. “You consider yourself one of them?”

As little as he knew about the nature of technorganics, Optimus was conscious that this would likely be a sensitive subject. Though Airachnid had already revealed so much to him with nowhere to run and no way to kill him. She looked at him over her shoulder, her fangs almost covered by her lips, before she pulled them back in a mocking bark of laughter.

"You tell me, Prime. Am I Decepticon, or rogue? Am I even Cybertronian?" She turned around fully to face him, a hand pillowing the head of her cradled sparkling. “Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you. It doesn’t change anything. Whatever my relation to those spiders… we both have that in common. And sooner or later, it will be my ruin.” 

She said it bitterly, even as she held the object of her hate so tenderly, even as she slumped over with her broken legs. 

"The instincts they gave me have never betrayed me before. Now I don’t even know what they’re trying to tell me. I have no say in it. If my brain had to choose between keeping myself or my child alive… I don’t even know which one it would pick.”

She couldn’t be a monster even if she wanted to be. And did she want to? It was impossible for even Optimus to say. He was left kneeling there, forced to re-evaluate everything he thought he’d known about her. She had instincts, like an animal without control of itself. She had been twisted into something new and unwanted once before, and now it was happening again.

How much of the Airachnid that had killed so many Autobots, so many creatures, was really her? How much of her was he seeing right now? Even without the loss of a child, the forced bond on her spark, the mutilation of her body… she didn’t know who she was. Who she was supposed to be. 

She was in unimaginable pain, more than even she could ever inflict on another. Deep down, Optimus knew she deserved it. Deeper still, he knew that no one deserved it.

"What will you do now?” he asked, unable to think of where she could possibly go. “With the Decepticons behind you, and a sparkling to care for..."

Airachnid shrugged, a casual gesture in defiance to everything that had just happened. Her last two legs dangled uselessly from her back as she turned away from him to wipe new tears of coolant away.

"I'm a scavenger as well as a hunter,” she declared, even though it was just a meaningless label to cling to. “I'll adapt. As I always do."

"Energon is the one thing you cannot scavenge,” Optimus informed her, though she surely already knew. “You need a method of finding unclaimed deposits, and a way to extract viable fuel from—“

"No, I don’t," she cut in, her remaining legs jerking in newly-energised irritation. "I’m not like you. So long as I can hunt, I can live without energon… for a while, at least. I've survived one war already. I can make it through another… so long as Autobots stay out of my way."

" You have survived a war, Airachnid,” he corrected, “but no sparkling has… not without help."

The former Decepticon stared at him in slow-growing disbelief. She was smart, and she quickly realised what Optimus was offering her. The only thing he could offer, before he could leave her like this. 

As he expected, her reaction was not one of gratitude.

"The day I believe the Autobots would ever aid me is the day I kiss the Allspark," she spat, depositing her wrapped sparkling back into the safety of the rotary joint at her back. “Assuming you didn’t break the thing when you launched it into the dead of space.”

Optimus chose to overlook the knife she tried to twist into him. "You are right. The Autobots as a whole may not help you. But I will."

Airachnid looked at him like he was a Minicon on stilts, like he was a Sharkticon beached at the edge of the Rust Sea– to summarise, like he was a fool. And she made a point to tell him such, just in case he didn’t quite get it.

"You are an idiot , Prime.” It was the most sincere thing he’d ever heard come from her fangs. “I have nothing to give that you or your Autobots would want. Why would you help me only to hinder yourself?"

“You don’t believe that a foolish Prime has a duty to help all those in need?”

“I can believe something stupid like that. But times have changed. You don’t have a wealth of resources to give away to anyone who asks for it. So answer me, properly. Why would you help me?”

Optimus straightened, feeling his jaw-hinge throb as he reset the plate. If she wanted a true answer, then he would give her it. It was the only thing he had left to give.

“Because I believe that redemption can be earned by anyone who truly wants it. Because that sparkling you have is proof that some good, some very small sliver of good, might still make it out of this war alive. Because…”

He hesitated as he thought again– if this was something he wanted to acknowledge, something he wanted her to know– and his mind did not change. 

“Because you are not the only one who lost a part of themselves on Archa Seven.”

Airachnid blinked, her eyes flashing once in a moment of surprise. “What did you lose?”

With great difficulty, his voice edged with hurt that had long ago lost its edge, Optimus told her. She wouldn’t believe him if he didn’t.

“A person. A soldier. A dear friend. Someone… who then, was my world."

It hurt to speak of her, but he didn’t regret doing so. To forget her, to consign her to the vault of his memories was a fate worse than that which came for her. If she only lived on in this one conversation, this one attempt at Optimus trying to save another victim of Archa for whom it was not too late, then it was worth the pain of remembering her absence.

“So answer me, properly,” he asked, deliberately mirroring her own stern demand. “Will you let me help you?”

She looked at him in silence, and for a moment the rain, the thunder, even the wind seemed to cut out so as not to interrupt her. It was a long moment, a sorrowful one, before she let herself give in to the inevitable.

"Very well. Until I find myself to be self-sustainable..." She had some difficulty getting her next words past a blockade of whatever pride she had left. "I will accept whatever help you will give to me. And my… sparkling. But I promise nothing in return. Now will you finally leave me alone?"

Optimus nodded– it was good enough. The only thing he wanted was something she could not yet give, not until she decided who she was and who she wanted to be. It would be a long road, and the sparkling might be full grown before she reached the end of it. But it was worth a try. 

Just once, Optimus wanted proof that his belief in redemption wasn’t one he’d held in vain all this time. For if someone like Airachnid could change, then the rest of the Decepticons were not utterly lost.

With nothing else to be said, he rose to his feet. Airachnid turned away from him, happy to tell him to leave but, apparently, not wanting to watch him obey. It would take time for her to regain her strength, and even longer for the weight of her situation to settle in her spark. He would likely return more than once before then.

 The pounding rain had washed the entrance of the cave clean, leaving no sign at all that a Cybertronian was sheltering within. Even with her weapons down, so long as she stayed hidden, Optimus was sure she’d be safe from Decepticon eyes until he met her again. Whenever that might be.

In all the time he’d spent interrogating Airachnid, the moon had taken centre stage in the storm clouds. Ratchet would be worrying by now. Optimus opened his commlink, a surreal feeling as he reconnected to the outside world. The moments he’d shared with Airachnid had felt like they’d taken place on another planet, in another timeline entirely. She was an entirely different person now, after all. Whether that person was better or worse would remain to be seen.

"Ratchet, this is Optimus. I need a Ground Bridge."

"Understood," came the medic's voice at the other end of the comm line, a sigh of relief punctuating the acknowledgement. Then, right on cue, a green-blue vortex yawned in front of the Prime.

“The person you lost.” Airachnid now stood in the dark of her refuge, only visible from her optics and the flicker of life behind her own spark. “What was her name?”

Optimus' affected confusion for his own sake, though it was a flimsy mask. "I never said she was a femme."

"You didn't have to. What was her name?"

He considered leaving without an answer. He hadn’t spoken her name in so long, not since Cybertron. No Autobots would dare speak it around him, and even though he could control his temper better now he let the others believe that it was a forbidden word. It was better that way. 

If not even his own soldiers could say it, then why should Airachnid have the privilege of knowing it? 

But in her eyes, Optimus saw no malice. She wasn’t asking out of spite, to mock him or turn his pain into leverage. Even though she absolutely would have if the situation was any different, even though he did not know why she asked, he told her.

“Elita One.”

He exhaled through a bullet wound in his spark. Airachnid did not flinch, though her stance changed ever slightly in the shadows.

“Did Megatron kill her?”

To simply nod would have been the easiest answer. But that would have been lying.

“He is the reason she is dead,” he revealed. “But he did not take the killing blow. That crime lies with the spiders.”

“I see.” Airachnid looked away, letting the secret apology for what her family had done go unspoken. With what she knew they were capable of, she did not have to ask for further details. “When… when will you be back?”

This was the hardest thing for her to ask– an admission that she truly needed him to survive. Another silence stretched out between them, broken only by the endless hammer of rain. Not sludge, or oil, nothing but harmless clean water. After hearing of what Megatron had done, Optimus still felt filthy as he stood there.

"Soon,” he told her, so desperate to fix everything his former friend had broken and sullied. “I promise."

Primes were supposed to keep their people safe, the history of their people intact, and to keep promises. Just because Airachnid was not yet willing to make them did not mean that Optimus couldn’t still set an example. 

They’d be seeing a lot of each other from now on. At some point, she’d learn to not hate him for what he was. He knew it was possible; long ago, before Earth, he’d had to teach the same lesson to himself.

Ratchet couldn’t help but check his chronometer every five klicks, while his optics darted between his console and the dormant Ground Bridge. He was always nervous when the team wasn’t all together in one place, where he knew for certain that they were alive and well. That was how it always was for him– even before they lost Cliffjumper, even back on Cybertron.

Optimus had been gone for more than an hour (the human time measurement, what would have been called a breem on Cybertron), trying to track energon signals that the Decepticons had somehow overlooked. Everyone else was in their quarters; waiting out the rain that was always able to seep through the draughty foyer of the base, preparing for having to take the children back home in the deluge. Ratchet knew that their Prime was the least likely of all of them to perish on a routine patrol, but he still bristled and twitched whenever Optimus insisted on going out alone. 

That was all that he could do, because he knew that there was nothing that could change Optimus’ mind. Even a Prime needed time to himself, to forget that he was a Prime at all. Ratchet understood that better than any other Autobot who was still alive. He had known Optimus before the Matrix had claimed him, when he was simply Orion, and he was probably the only one who could remember him as he once was.

Well… the only one other than Megatron. But Ratchet tried not to remember him at all. 

“Miko,” the medic sighed as a flash of black-and-pink darted in front of the Ground Bridge for the third time, “would it kill you to just stay put in one place?”

Miko, who was apparently trying to make herself dizzy by going back and forth between Rafael and Jack, finally paused to look up at Ratchet with a shrug. “Probably not. But that can kill sharks, y’know. They have to keep moving, or else they’ll suffocate.”

“That only applies to some sharks, actually,” Rafael called over from his laptop. “Species that evolved earlier can breathe by pumping water from their mouths over their gills.”

Ratchet rolled his optics as he turned back to his console. Since landing on Earth three years ago, he’d learned as much about the native wildlife as he ever cared to know (and humans counted as wildlife to him). “You are not a shark, Miko.”

“Yeah, as far as you know!” The human pointed up at him with an accusing glare. “But one day I’ll wake up with scales and a fin and teeth that can chew right through metal. And then those Decepticons won’t know what hit them when I-!”

She must have crept back over to Jack to ambush him, because the boy yelped a moment later. “Ow! Don’t bite me, weirdo!” 

Ratchet considered picking Miko up by the scruff of her shirt to lock her in the med-bay, but a familiar summons from his comm unit stopped him. His hand was already on the Ground Bridge control, so he pulled the lever down while his other digits typed in the right coordinates. The portal opened, though there was some delay before Optimus eventually emerged from it.

“Welcome back, Optimus.” Ratchet remained stationed at the console as the portal winked out of existence. He angled his helm slightly towards the Prime, who stood perfectly still with his frame dripping water all over the floor. Optimus didn’t nod to Ratchet, or even shutter his optics. It was as if the journey through the Bridge had suddenly shut down his processor. 

“Yo, Optimus?” Miko called up at him. “Anyone home?” She jumped up and waved her arms around, and somehow that seemed to bring Optimus out of his stupor with a click of his optics and shake of his head.

“Apologies,” he said to no-one in particular. “The damp must be causing a delay in my receptors.”

Ratchet grunted. “Well, at least the rest of you is in one piece. Did you find anything?”

Again, Optimus seemed to lag before he answered. “I suspected increased Decepticon activity in the area, but I found no signs of either them or energon. Nothing worth our concern. Where are the others?"

He dismissed his trip far too quickly for it to be convincing, but even if he’d said nothing Ratchet would have known something was wrong. The line of the Prime’s mouth was forced, his posture too straight, his gait too stiff. He was trying too hard to act calm, which only revealed his unease.

"Waiting for the rain to ease off,” Ratchet answered, trying to hide his own unease as obvious as it was. “I think they’ll be catching up on rest in their suites.”

"Then I believe I shall join them, after drying off." Optimus gave a nod to the children before he made his way towards the drying vents, next to the base washracks. Miko watched him leave with a scowl on her face. As soon as he was out of sight, she climbed up onto Ratchet’s console in a display of parkour that was as impressive as it was irritating.

"Did he seem kinda off to you?" she asked. As much as Ratchet was tempted to swat her away, he had to agree with her. 

"In what way?” He lied only so he could see if the human had picked up the same signs as he had.

"Y'know, kinda..." Miko clicked her fingers as she searched for an appropriate word. "Distracted? Like he was on a whole other planet for a minute there."

“He is on a whole other planet, Miko,” Jack reminded her from below– he kept his feet flat on the floor while Miko kicked hers back and forth over the edge of her perch. "We're the only natives around here. Though... I gotta admit he seemed weird to me as well. Does he get like that often, Ratchet?"

Both children faced Ratchet now, at the corner of his vision. His energon lines pumped loud around his head.

“Sometimes..." He fought the instinct to shrug as he answered. “The Cybertron we remember isn’t just far away in space, but in time as well. Once we start thinking about it, it can be hard to stop.”

Every Autobot had moments when they found themselves back there… and sometimes the moments weren’t ones anyone wanted to be caught within. Ratchet shook his head.

“But I wouldn't worry. You two haven’t known him as long as I have,” he assured, more for himself than for the humans. “Sometimes the Matrix speaks to him. Or sometimes he has too much to think about, and he keeps it to himself as a Prime should. Nothing worth our concern…” 

He repeated Prime's own words under his breath as Miko’s scowl overtook half of her face.

“What do you mean, ‘as a Prime should ’?” she pressed.

“Yeah, that’s kinda messed up,” Jack argued. “Even Optimus should be able to talk about stuff that worries him, right?”

Ratchet suddenly had one of those Cybertron memory moments himself– where Optimus was in his place, and he was one of the human children pleading with him to open up and not make his burden as Prime any heavier than it had to be. Optimus never did anything for himself, though. That was after the Allspark had been ejected from the planet, after the casualties of their species and others had reached into the millions. After they’d lost Elita One.

“If it’s anything we can help with,” Ratchet sighed, “he will tell us. But if we can’t help, then there’s no point in wasting time on it.” 

The children left his field of view as he turned his eyes back to the readings on his console, but he felt two meagre glares heating up his shoulder plates. 

“His words,” he insisted without turning his head, “not mine.” 

Even if he didn’t agree with them, the words of a Prime were as final as words from Primus Himself. Some used to say that they were one and the same.

“Wow,” Miko scoffed as she jumped down, “being a Prime sucks. I’d rather be a shark.”

“You are not a shark, Miko,” Jack groaned.

“A girl can dream!”

“Don’t you freakin’ bite me again! Get away!

Ratchet couldn’t be angry at them. They were children as well as aliens. They couldn’t possibly understand the scope of a war that crossed millennias and light years, or the toll of such a thing on any one person. They were so similar to sparklings, loud and innocent and helpless. Maybe that was why Optimus allowed them to stay in the base, to be part of the team. The Autobots that were left, most of them would never have children of their own– guarding these three aliens was the closest thing Optimus would ever have to knowing what fatherhood was like. 

The same was certainly true for Ratchet himself. He’d been old even before the War began. He’d brought many other peoples’ children into the world, coaxing them from spark chambers and bundling them into their parents’ arms. All that work, energon and tears, and how many of them were still alive today? How many had become Decepticons because they didn’t know any better? What a waste.

“Uh, Ratchet?”

The medic almost jumped at the sound of a new voice– he often forgot the youngest of the three humans even when he was right in front of him. If Jack and Miko were like sparklings, then Rafael was like a Minicon secret agent. “Yes, Rafael?”

The human boy had his laptop in its usual place under his arm– he folded it out in his hand as he climbed the steps up to Ratchet’s platform. “I was just wondering… I mean, I noticed something just before Optimus left. He took some energon cubes from storage.”

Ever since Rafael had been allowed access to the outpost’s servers, he’d been making himself useful with improving the network security, running diagnostics on their old tech and helping Ratchet maintain an inventory of their supplies. (Coincidentally, Raf could not only understand the Primal Vernacular that Bumblebee spoke in, but could also easily read the Neocybex glyphs the Autobots kept their notes with. No-one knew how, and no-one really questioned it at this point.)

“That sounds about right.” It was one bit of news that didn’t concern Ratchet at all. “He encourages anyone who goes on patrol to take emergency provisions. Especially after what happened in Antarctica…”

“Right. And he always adds them back if they’re not used.” Raf turned his laptop around so Ratchet could see the screen. “But… he hasn’t put them back this time.”

Ratchet leaned in close to confirm what he already knew was true– they’d had two hundred units of fuel rations just that morning, after everyone had taken their daily share, and now there was less. The numbers couldn’t lie when Rafael was in charge of them.

“No… he hasn’t.” Ratchet still squinted even as he straightened up. “Perhaps he forgot. Keep an eye on that number.”

“Will do. Though, I was thinking maybe he just drank them to fix that wound on his chest.”

“The what? ” The medic had pulled up the resource logs for himself, but barely glanced at them before his head snapped back towards the human.

“You didn’t notice? There was a scratch on the metal, like something had hit him.”

“I… no. I didn’t.” Ratchet replayed the scene from moments ago in front of his optics– and there it was. Three claw marks on Optimus’ chest, just above where his vestigial alt-mode plates met the protoform. 

“Probably… just a paint scratch from a tree,” Ratchet reasoned, even though he could see the depth of the cuts for himself. They were carved into the metal, intentional and worrying.

“Well, anyway,” Rafael closed his laptop before he jumped down the platform steps. “Just thought you should know.”

“Yes, yes. Thank you, Rafael.” 

Ratchet looked on after the young boy, while one optic still held the image of Optimus’ strange injury. He put it away so he could focus on the resource logs. It had been weeks since they’d last had a chance to replenish their supplies; there’d been no easy pickings from the ‘Cons, nor ore deposits found since their last run-in with MECH. Without even stricter rationing, they had enough to see the team through another two months at the most… and Optimus knew more than anyone how important it was to keep the numbers up– even before they had to leave Cybertron, there’d been more than one case of desperate cannibalism among Autobots and Decepticons alike. 

Whatever his old friend was up to or trying to hide, Ratchet would find out one way or another. He’d learned many lessons very quickly about Earth in the last three years. One of them was that Unicron was not the only secret buried within it; and, like Unicron, such things could not stay buried forever.

☽ ✶ ☾

Airachnid didn't know how long she lay there, huddled against the edge of the cave wall. Her chronometer had shut down somewhere in the mess of giving birth, alongside all her other auxiliary systems, and the energon she had now couldn’t be wasted on anything that didn’t help keep her alive.

Her optics were closed; the moon out of her sight, everything drenched in darkness. Outside, the rain hammered down like the long-gone Forge of Solus Prime might have done once upon a time. Occasionally a stray droplet would touch her armour and cause her to flinch, and she would have slapped herself for such weakness if she had the energy to spare. 

No wonder the Prime took pity on her... she was pathetic. If she wasn’t still so stubbornly clinging to her pride, she would have offlined herself. She should have done so while her weapons were active, if only to salvage her reputation at the expense of her spark.

No. She should have offlined Megatron, or died trying. A meaningful death was the least shameful kind. Now shame was all she had; shame and fear, and the parasite that had done it all to her.

It wasn’t fair to blame her. Airachnid knew it wasn’t, but nothing in her life was ever fair. 

The child had never cried when she was brought fresh into this world. Airachnid had cried enough for both of them. The sparkling was still silent now, not even whimpering from the darkness or the cold or the jagged EM field of her mother. In the chaos of her escape, Airachnid had hoped that she’d meet the same fate as her brother– though not as brutally, if only to spare her own spark from the shared agony. So far, the only pain left in her spark was from hunger and weariness and wounded pride, so that distant dream would remain as such.

This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to have twins. He wasn’t supposed to hurt them. 

Part of the web cocoon had worn away around the youngling’s face, though her own eyes remained closed to the world. At that moment, Airachnid’s greatest worry was that when they finally cracked open they would be stained forever red– her father’s eyes, haunting Airachnid for the rest of her life... a constant living reminder of her worst moment of weakness.

'In a way, I should be grateful for you.' Airachnid touched a talon to her child's still faceplate as she recalled what had transpired, just hours ago that already felt like days to her. 'Without you, Prime would have killed me... or at least hauled me back to his Autobots. And they would have done the dirty work for him.’

Her daughter had still been useful, just not in the way she’d originally intended. When she dared to think of anything other than the comforting shame of death, she instead thought of the knight in red-and-blue armour, the taste of his selfless energon laying light on her glossa. And she thought of all that she wanted to ask him– assuming that he would return, and that she’d still be able to stop herself from killing him.

The first question, one she’d already asked, was 'why?’. Why did he feel so inclined to help someone who had caused his soft comrades so many centuries of misery? Mere pity wasn't enough a reason. The Prime's own explanation was unsatisfactory. The inner workings of Autobot minds were one mystery that she'd never uncover, despite how familiar she was with picking their bodies apart. For her sake, just for now, she would accept what she was given and try not to think of what it would cost her.

The second question was ‘how long?’. How long would the energon last her, how long until he returned– if he ever really planned to? The uncertainty made her processor throb with static charge, and she retreated back to her shell with a hiss. The energon she’d ingested had activated her automatic healing systems, and she could feel tiny nanites going to work over her many cuts and scars. Even the still-weeping wounds in place of her back legs were starting to heal over. 

The limbs would grow back, albeit at an excruciatingly slow rate. They always did. It was just one advantage that she held over a conventional Cybertronian, yet she still doubted if it was worth all the baggage that came along with it. 

Airachnid had always had a love-hate relationship with her technorganic form, the 'hate' side of which had doubled exponentially over the past few months. It wasn't that at first glance people would instantly hate her based on what they saw, even if they didn’t recognise her. Nor was it the simple abominable fusion of flesh and metal, disgusting and wretched. She couldn't pinpoint the source of her hatred, nor the source of undeniable appreciation buried under the resentment, and had long ago given up on trying to find either. 

But if she was just another run-of-the-Well femme, then perhaps Megatron would have left her alone. Perhaps he would never have found her in the first place, and she’d never have known Cybertron or the War at all. She would have lived out her life on Archa Seven, unknown and untouched, watching countless generations of spiders grow and perish around her, pretending that she was one of them for as long as they allowed her to.

Then again, if she was normal then she wouldn’t have been on Archa Seven in the first place. It didn’t matter how she’d ended up there; the only thing she knew about it was that she would never know. Even when she was found and taken away, no longer having to hunt to not starve to death, she never looked into why she was so different from the others of her species, not even considering that they were not her species at all. 

Tarantulas was the one who told her she was Cybertronian all along, and Shockwave was the one who proved it by cutting her open. She still hadn’t believed either of them, and they hadn’t cared what she believed. She'd ended up working well with Shockwave when it came to Insecticons; he knew what they were capable of, and she knew what it took to control them. 

Just like her, no-one knew where the Insecticons came from. They were primitive beasts, living under the planet’s crust, whose numbers had skyrocketed when the Well of All Sparks ran dry, feasting on the casualties of war. Airachnid had admired them from the start. It was easy to put herself in their heads; infiltrating their frequencies, becoming part of their swarm. She preferred their minds to her own, so simple and honest that it was difficult to get lost in them.

She’d had a theory that the reason they were so easy to influence was because they got lost in her own heads– like prey in the spider’s web, once they were caught within, they couldn’t get out unless she freed them. They kept her company from light years away, her own hivemind. 

Now they were all gone, and she was the one lost in her own web. Her arms were tight around her daughter, so she let her claws dig deep into her own shoulders. They would heal like everything else, and the pain would stop her mind from going to places that wouldn’t help her.

Back to the Nemesis, to Megatron, to the very beginning of her gross miscalculations.

But now she had a permanent reminder of Megatron leeching off of her, as if the scars he’d left weren’t enough– where his talons had cut too deep for nanites alone to heal, and like hell was she going to crawl to the likes of Knockout so he could cover them up. Even before she knew she was pregnant, she’d avoided the doctor like the cybonic plague. There was only one time that she’d been unable to avoid him, when he’d chased her down for a mandatory physical. Either his equipment was faulty, or he was truly terrible at his job, because he hadn’t seen any signs of parasites in her spark. 

If he had seen them, he would have alerted Megatron immediately. And then she would have been killed. She didn’t know if that was preferable to being in debt to the Autobots.

Maybe Optimus Prime would forget about her. Maybe next time he’d bring Arcee with him, and the two Autobots could both find some peace in putting her out of her misery. If the fragging Prime hadn’t disabled her weaponry, she could have quickly done it herself…

No, there was no point in blaming the Prime for that. If she had any of the courage to kill herself and the spawn, she would have done it long before he showed up. She still had her claws, more than capable of tearing through a metal chassis to the spark beneath, but she was too much of a damn coward to do it the hard way. She’d missed her chance, and her punishment was getting to live. Or, failing that, she would die on someone else’s terms. 

The only thing that stopped her truly yearning for that outcome was her daughter, and the grim possibilities of what would happen to her when she was gone. Airachnid didn’t want to care about that, but the ripping pain in her spark forced her to do so. She had no choice but to obey her instincts, and protect her progeny, and wait to be saved.

‘You better be back by morning, Prime. Or I’ll move on, and you’ll never find us again, and we’ll haunt you until the Allspark takes you back.’

She enjoyed giving out threats, even if no-one else was around to hear them. They reminded her of who she was, despite the paradox of what she currently had to be. And though the words were silent on her glossa, the child seemed to flinch in her tight grasp. 

If she was truly Airachnid’s daughter, she wouldn’t have been born stupid. She would know already how unwanted she was, and what little she could do to change that.

The currents of heated air enveloped Optimus like an embrace, beating back the drops of water that clung to his armour until they evaporated. The vent grill beneath him worked with a loud buzz to dry his protoform, almost vibrating with the force of the wind. But even with the afterglow of warmth radiating from him, Optimus' maintained his frown. 

As he trekked through the empty outpost hallways towards his own quarters, his mind overflowed with thoughts that he could only barely grasp at before they slipped away into oblivion. They all held a recurring theme– glowing pink eyes and dull black armour, and a fragile web of sparks within.

He did not regret assisting Airachnid, not in the moment and not now, but he knew that by doing so he had created a grim and complex future for himself. How would he continue assisting her and her sparkling? How would he explain his actions to the Autobots? What should he do, what should she do, and what to do with her war-born daughter? 

He was not one to simply push such matters aside and address them later– he needed answers, he needed a strategy now . But this was unprecedented; even though it was the Matrix that had guided him to mother and sparkling, the voices of Primes long gone within could not give him any worthy advice.

He could at least lay out several certainties. Airachnid wouldn't be going anywhere in her current state; her weapons were still offline and Primus only knew how long it would take for her to heal. She deeply cared for her sparkling, as much as she tried to hide it. The Decepticons would be out looking for her, but her technorganic chemistry meant that she didn’t produce a standard Cybertronian signal. Unless they already had an idea of where she was, or unless they intensely scouted every square inch of the planet, she would be at least relatively safe where she was.

But the Decepticons were hardly the biggest threat to her. The Autobots, his loyal soldiers, could be just as dangerous. In a situation like this, where emotions would run hot on all sides, the Autobots were likely even more dangerous. Even the most sadistic Decepticon could often be bargained with. But an Autobot with a grudge, one who thought they couldn’t possibly do anything worse than their enemy…

Optimus had seen it firsthand. He’d heard the excuses his closest confidants had made for themselves in the aftermath. He’d allowed himself to be convinced by them in his darkest moments. Those same people did not follow him to Earth for a reason.

So the Autobots could not know about what he’d agreed to, at least not yet. Ratchet would certainly object to assisting a Decepticon, let alone one like Airachnid, and the relationship with the rest of his team was already strained enough.

The worst case scenario lay with Arcee; the hole left by Airachnid in deactivating Tailgate, already frayed by Cliffjumper’s death, was torn anew when they found each other again. If Arcee saw her leader giving help to the one who took everything from her, if she uncovered what Optimus was doing before he could explain…

As if an explanation would change anything.. 

‘Why would you hurt her like that?’

He was inside his spartan quarters when the Matrix finally spoke to him. Its voice was a fusion of a hundred others that came before him; mech and femme, young and old, hundreds of people who were more worthy Primes than he could ever be. They rarely ever spoke to him, rarer still to speak in such harmony with each other, but now the chorus was unanimous. 

‘The Autobots need you. They deserve you more than a Decepticon ever could. Why put them at risk to help her? She won’t ask to be saved. She won’t thank you for it. Let her in, and she’ll take everything.”

Somewhere under the din he thought that even the Thirteen spoke to him, though they were faint and imperceptible; even the wretched ghost of the Fallen echoed from somewhere deep within the Pit. Optimus thought he could hear him laughing.

‘Enough.’

With that single command, his predecessors fell silent. Even if they knew better, even if they were better than him, they could not disobey their descendant. Still, the Fallen snickered, sounding so much like Megatron in his madness.

If Optimus had any realistic hopes of saving Airachnid and her daughter from the pit created by Megatron, then his next moves would have to be ten steps ahead of any and all threats. From the moment he’d handed over those energon cubes, his life had been ripped into two. Just as it was when he’d accepted the Matrix; light on one side, dark on the other, sharp twin shards bound together by a secret– no, a lie – that was meant to keep not only his loved ones safe, but his entire species by proxy. 

The original lie had been that he was at all worthy of being a Prime. In comparison, the lie of sheltering an ex-Decepticon seemed merciful. Yet it was not one that he would be able to keep up with any ease. 

"You always were an ambitious one, Orion Pax."

Another voice whispered to him, but this one didn’t come from the Matrix. This one had been patiently waiting for her turn all evening. She was over his shoulder, gentle and resplendent, stunning and humble all at once. Rose pink armour and shining silver, the brightest of blue optics that would light up with stars whenever she caught him staring at her…

His legs suddenly crumpled beneath him, and he had to grab onto the wall to stop himself collapsing into a scrap heap. His processor was overloaded with an influx of memories; smiles and laughs and tears blending together in his own eyes. 

Sliding along the wall, Optimus dragged himself to his berth– its colossal size made worse with no-one to share it with. His eyes squeezed shut and denta clamped down on his lips. He was no stranger to relapses of grief, how they would ambush him with their stranglehold, but like the trauma of war it was something that never settled into a desensitising routine. 

When his optics fluttered open a long while later, his sight was fragmented and flickering. Something from his processor overwhelmed his optical sensors, and the glitches only spread out even further across his vision as another sigh heaved past his vox.

It was going to be a long and lonely night.

☽ ✶ ☾

Eight hundred million years ago…

The street below was far too empty for an Iacon weekend. Orion had been on this same street no more than a week ago, when it had been a popular spot for pop-up traders; those who couldn’t afford premises or licences to sell wares but who also couldn’t afford to not do their business. He’d made friends with a gem-trinket trader by trying to haggle with him, failing to hide the fact that he wanted to buy a gift for a beloved. Really he’d ended up paying far too little for it, but they both walked away happy enough; the trader could feed himself for a few days, and Orion could fool himself into thinking he’d ever have the courage to ask Elita for her spark in exchange for his own. 

Now there was no-one, not even vagrants hiding in the alleys. This close to the Council Halls, even legitimate businesses kept their doors closed nowadays. No-one wanted to draw attention to themselves. 

"Your energon is getting cold."

A sweet and familiar voice broke through Orion's wall of concentration, reducing it to rubble. Through that blinking rubble her blue eyes regarded him like a curious animal, fringed with black and hung above a light pink smile. Elita One, favouring her stage name nowadays, sat opposite him with a glass of energon near her mouth. His own remained cupped in his hands, rapidly cooling and losing its flavor while forgotten in his other crowded thoughts.

"Sometimes I wonder how you remember to stay fueled at all," she sighed, leaning over to dust some mica into his cup to make up for the lack of heat.

“I often don’t,” he admitted, taking a guilty gulp from his glass. The salty mica sat like wet sand on his glossa.

“Well, that’s what you have me for.” Elita set her own energon aside to reach across the table, taking one of his curled fingers in her delicate grip. “What’s on your mind this time?”

Orion wanted to take her hand with both of his, but he was frozen in his seat. He tried to swallow the sand coating his mouth. "Just thinking about... the Senate. What Sentinel said at the last city address." 

"Which part?” she asked. “When he promised to have the likes of us arrested, or when he threatened to have us executed?" 

“Somewhere in between.”

Elita laughed only so she wouldn’t scoff instead, and her head snapped to and fro to check that no-one was listening in before she spoke again. “I don’t see why we should even listen to him. He’s not a real Prime, and he doesn’t even deny it.”

She knew to whisper even that well-known fact out in public. The cafe balcony was mostly empty, the other patrons taking their provisions inside where they’d be sheltered from the vapour storm forecasted that evening, but enforcers still patrolled the streets below, and they listened for even the barest hint of blasphemy in the air.

“The ‘real’ Prime is whoever the Senate chooses to be,” Orion recited, the same lie that everyone spoke when they weren’t brave enough to say anything else.

“Of course.” Elita sighed. “Cause who needs the Matrix when you have a bunch of tyrants all in the same room?” She hid the movement of her mouth behind the lip of her glass, so she could deny having said anything to any onlookers.

“You’re sounding a lot like Megatronus,” Orion leaned in to say, making it a compliment. “Are you sure you haven’t met him before?”

“I’ve heard enough of him through you that I might as well have.” Elita shook her head, turning her beautiful smile into a brief blur. “Does Alpha Trion know about the new bad influence?"

"Not yet,” Orion answered. “I’ve been waiting to catch him on a good day. I think he’d like Megatronus’ ideas… if he was in the right mood for them.."

He almost winced at his own optimism. Alpha Trion was more difficult to talk to nowadays. He was old enough to know that Cybertron was in no such thing as a ‘Golden Age’, yet at the same time he seemed to forget what year it actually was for everyone else. The Imperial Age was all he wanted to think about, yet he would never answer questions that weren’t already illustrated in the oldest of old records. Anytime Orion tried to press for more knowledge, Alpha Trion would simply forget what they were both talking about, and the rest of the day would pass in musty silence.

“Well.” Elita shrugged. “You might be right. Old mech like him needs some excitement in his life.”

“Not the kind that will get him into trouble, though,” Orion sighed.

“If he didn’t want trouble,” she said pointedly, “he wouldn’t have taken you in. And if you didn’t want trouble, you would have stopped talking to Megatronus a while ago.”

Now it was Orion’s turn to shrug. “I’m already on thin ice. If the Senate wanted me dead, they wouldn’t have bothered demoting me. They would have just done it, and no-one would ever have known what happened to me.”

That was a lie worthy of the Senate themselves– everyone knew what happened to those who suddenly vanished without a trace. Prisoners could be sent letters and rarely visited; empty bodies in the slums would eventually be found with their names printed in the next day’s obituaries; even Empurata victims eventually resurfaced no matter how they tried to hide themselves away. The Senate could easily make a death look accidental, so the vanishings were always reserved for those who they couldn’t risk making martyrs out of. 

It was worse not knowing what happened to them, and not knowing what would happen to you as well.

“So what does it matter,” Elita said, “what threats they throw at you?”

Orion couldn’t understand why she was smiling. She really was like Megatronus, utterly ignorant of what she really meant to those around her. 

“I don’t want anything happening to my friends,” he told her, struggling not to hiss. “Especially not to you.” 

Then her smile vanished, just as the rest of her one day could if he wasn’t careful, and her face bloomed bright blue with a rush of energon. On the stage she was a master of her emotions, only showing what she believed the audience wanted to see. Orion considered any successful attempt to fluster her a great victory for himself, though in this case he couldn’t be happy about it.

“Even saying that…” He dropped his gaze. “What kind of mech would I be if I just sat back and watched everyone else suffer?”

“You tell me.” Elita was able to regain at least some of her composure as she reached out for his hand. “You know yourself better than anyone else.”

He squeezed her fingers tight. “I wouldn’t be a mech who deserved you, for one thing.”

She blushed again, but chased it away with a shake of her head while her free hand swatted at the air. “Don’t say that. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Especially not to me.”

Elita sat back to finish her drink with a sigh. “I just wish you’d be happy with what we have. You’re lucky to even still be alive.”

Even though Orion agreed with her, his glossa lashed before he could stop it. “Are you saying I should have just done as I was told back then?”

“No!” Her body made no move, but her EM field shot out daggers of static. “For Solus’ sake, Orion, I begged Prowl to let me come to your disciplinary hearing. Hell, I had friends on the other side of the law you were in charge of enforcing. I watched them suffer too. Did you forget that?”  

Elita in righteous fury was a sight to behold, but only from a safe distance. When she was angry at you, it was only ever because you deserved it.

“No…” Orion folded his lonely hands together in front of him on the table, and he couldn’t meet her glare even if he tried. “I didn’t forget. I’m sorry, Elita.”

When she sighed in defeat, it only made him feel worse. “Just because I want you to be safe doesn’t mean I’m okay with what that takes.”

It was the only compromise she could offer, and Orion couldn’t ask any more of her. 

“Keeping ourselves safe won’t help anyone else, though,” he said, mostly to himself. His arms lay limp at his sides, motionless burdens, and Elita found no resistance when she reached over to lift his hands to the table where she could hold them.

“I trust you to be careful.” She formed a meagre fist over his digits. “Whatever you do with Megatronus, whatever records you smuggle out to him under Alpha’s nose… I know it’s all for a good cause. But you have to understand why it scares me.”

“It scares me too.” Orion still felt numb and shameful, though the waves of his EM field managed to tell her what his body could not. “But I believe I’m still alive for a reason. Cybertron can’t stay like this forever.”

"And you're going to be the one to change it?" Elita took his hand to her face, pressing her cheek into his palm as she closed her eyes. “You always were an ambitious one, Orion Pax."

She said that last part under the breath pressed against his fingertips– knowing he hated still being called ‘Pax’, only because of the trouble it stood to bring him if the wrong people overheard. He hadn’t been a Pax for a few centuries now, not since the title and all its power had been stripped from him by the regretful Ultra Magnus on the orders of the Senate. Yet still his friends, the locals he’d shielded and helped during his brief time as an officer of Iacon, they all still called him Pax; either as a sign of respect, or one of spite against the Senate. 

Either way, he really wished they wouldn’t. Only Elita could make it sound like something he didn’t hate to hear.

“It won’t just be me.” He shook his head to hide a smile. “But, if I’m lucky… maybe I’ll have some small part in helping everything get better.”

Elita breathed against his hand, filling her vents before allowing her eyes to open again. “If you’re lucky,” she muttered, “no-one will know, and you won’t get caught.”

“Um, e-excuse me…” 

Someone was standing at their table; his EM field was suppressed so deep that they hadn’t even noticed him approaching. At the sound of his stutter, the two of them snapped their limbs back to their frames– the instinct of being caught in the act taking over, even though they were only talking of things that would get them arrested and not actually doing them.

“Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but…” The mech, a stocky Seeker who was trembling despite his size advantage, rubbed at his hands as he addressed Elita. “A-Are you Elita One?”

The guilt evaporated from her face in seconds, replaced with a sheen of careful confidence that could only come from centuries of practice. “The one and only.”

She smiled only enough to set the mech at ease, not enough to give him false hope and turn him into a potential stalker. It was a precarious balancing act, from how she described it to Orion.

“Wow!” The Seeker’s wings flapped like a sparkling’s before he managed to reign them in. “Sorry, I-I’m a huge fan. I saw you last vorn at the Harmonic Pavilion, with the Cybertronic Spree? If it’s not too much trouble, could I–?”

He angled his datapad towards her, only the very edge of it where he wanted her autograph.

“Of course.” Elita already had her stylus out, one of three she always carried just in case of situations like this. “Who’s it for?”

“Needlenose, ma’am! Thank you, thank you so much, enjoy the rest of your day!” He scurried off with his datapad as soon as the deed was done– and in his excitement he must have forgotten to pay before he left, because the establishment’s manager swiftly went running after him down the street.

“You too!” Elita waved after him from the balcony, even though he wouldn’t be able to see her.

“Does it get exhausting,” Orion said with only minimal sarcasm, “being so beloved everywhere you go?”

Elita rolled her optics. “They’re only in love with my voice. Or at least, they think they are, and that’s bad enough.” 

She swiped her credit tab on the table’s paypoint, paying for both of them this time. “Now that everyone here knows who I am, we should get going before a mob forms.”

She was only half-joking; her fans had the uncanny ability to flock together without even knowing they were so close together, and they always wanted something from her before they could go on with their lives. 

But though she was standing to leave, Orion stayed seated. “I’ll stay here for a while longer.”

Elita blinked, tilting her head to one side. “Alpha Trion isn’t expecting you back?”

“No… not today.” Orion inhaled, wishing he’d told her what was going to happen sooner, but knowing he was too much of a coward to not leave it until it was too late for him to back out. 

“I’m meeting Megatronus. He’ll be addressing the Senate directly later today.”

“Oh.” Elita was good at making her surprise sound innocent. “You’re… going to help him with his petition?”

Orion nodded, though that was not the whole story. He could not hide the rest from her. “He’s asked me to join him.”

Elita said nothing for what felt like an era. There was nothing to say that she hadn’t already told him, after all.  

“I knew I’d never forgive myself if I missed the chance,” Orion eventually said, desperate to keep his voice clear. He didn’t need her to approve. He only needed her to understand.

“Well… good luck, Orion.” Her hand pressed onto his shoulder as she passed by him. “Promise you’ll come see me afterwards?”

And he nodded, not knowing he wouldn’t be able to; not knowing he’d soon become Cybertron’s one true Prime, that he’d lose Megatronus as a friend and gain Megatron as a lifelong enemy. Not knowing that this would only be the first time he had to break a promise to her.

Ratchet had hoped he would be the first one awake in the morning, if only so he would know the other Autobots had gotten the rest they needed. His old frame wasn’t as fuel-efficient as the others– he was Quintesson-forged, made to do heavy lifting in their shipyards until he inevitably fell apart, and then his spark could be moved into a different frame for a different job until it too burned down to cinders. Even after the Quintessons were chased away, he’d refused a new frame because of some foolish pride in his young self, keeping his original factory body as a reminder for everyone else– they could look at him as a survivor, as the evidence of what they’d managed to escape from. 

But then, as time went on, the only reason he didn’t get a new frame was because he couldn’t afford one. And then the War happened, and the only thing that mattered about anyone’s frame was how many bullets it could take. 

(Ratchet found out the hard way that he could take three slugs before he started feeling them, maybe more if they missed his major fuel lines).

As clunky and decrepit as he was, he was still not the first one awake in the outpost that morning. That honor went to Optimus; standing at his console in the single burning light of the outpost’s foyer, the other overhead LEDs still sleeping on their timers like the rest of the team. Orion had not been forged as an archivist, yet he’d been happier in the Hall of Records than he’d ever been as a police officer, and as Optimus Prime his accidental career still took as much of his attention nowadays as the Matrix itself did. 

Ratchet’s appearance did not startle Optimus, and at first they said nothing as the medic made his arrangements for the day ahead. He’d need to condense some of their fuel into medex; medical-grade energon for emergencies, super-concentrated and free of all impurities. He had some left over from the T-Cog transplant that never happened, but there was no such thing as too much when a war was going on. 

As he retrieved the rations from their fuel silo, he took a quick count of the stacked cubes and ore, refined and unrefined energon that was all the Autobots had to live on. Anything taken out was automatically monitored and deducted from their inventory– a clever network of motion and weight detection sensors stolen from some enterprising engineering student’s thesis back on Cybertron, when the Hall of Records was burning and they had to save whatever they could. 

Even so, mistakes were possible. Automated machines couldn’t be trusted to always be right, which was the whole reason some jobs (Ratchet’s included) existed at all back on Cybertron. Even with Rafael’s administration, the system could need recalibration. If Optimus really had taken rations out last evening, they should have found their way back to the store by now…

Ratchet counted again, and once more just to be sure. There was even less now than there was last night– once again, two cubes exactly were missing. Even a mech of Optimus’ size only needed one to keep him going for a day. Unless Bumblebee or Bulkhead (Arcee’s small tanks could hardly manage a full cube, so she wasn’t a suspect) had woken up in the night and wandered over to sneak some fuel for themselves, there was no reason for anything to be gone.

Not even Ratchet’s own stores were safe from the discrepancy; medex was kept in canisters for direct fuel-line injection, and one of them was gone. Only one person other than himself even had access to the med-bay’s storage.

“How long have you been awake for, Optimus?” Ratchet failed miserably at not making it sound like an accusation. Optimus did not turn away from his console, though his typing digits did skip on the keyboard.

“I awoke just before you did,” he answered. “But you know I rarely sleep.”

“You used to,” Ratchet half–agreed. “But you’ve been better since we arrived on Earth.”

Optimus seemed to freeze for a second, and his head bowed as if to look over his shoulder before he ultimately decided against it.  

“Bumblebee's recent run-in with MECH. has me concerned with threats outwidth the Decepticons,” he said. “You recall that he reported Starscream may be working with them.”

“That will be a short-lived alliance, in any case,” Ratchet scoffed– he’d be surprised if the Seeker was even still alive without the Decepticons to fly back to. “They tried the same thing with Airachnid, remember?”

“Indeed.” Optimus finally turned around, leaving his station on standby. “In any case, I’m going to investigate the area where Bumblebee last sighted them. With the time difference, I should still be afforded some cover of darkness.”

He knew how to activate the Ground Bridge on his own. Ratchet was about to offer to join him, but he was already on the move. Short of pulling the Bridge lever down, all he could do was call after the Prime with an interrogation. 

“You took energon from the stores again this morning. More than your usual ration.” He had to raise his voice over the noise from the portal, and it was awkward enough that he decided to not mention the missing medex canister. “If something’s wrong with your intake, Optimus–”

“It is not for me.”

Ratchet blinked as Prime pulled the lever, dropping a new Bridge into existence. “Then, who is it for?”

Optimus didn’t answer, as if he pretended not to hear the medic over the roar of the Bridge as he advanced towards it.

“Optimus.” Ratchet stepped forward, just short of barricading his path, stopping only because he was stunned at the magnetic flux of Prime’s EM field.

“I have business to attend to, old friend.” Optimus turned around just enough to see Ratchet’s face, and his field crackled with the movement. “I will tell you everything on my return.”

“Why not tell me now? Optimus, what happened yesterday?”

“There is someone in need of our help.”

Ratchet frowned– he’d never known Optimus to be so evasive, and for what? The Autobots existed to help people, anyone fleeing tyranny and injustice. Yet Optimus spoke with such difficulty that it was as if he was admitting to a crime. He had mentioned Starscream just a few minutes before…

“It’s not… don’t tell me it’s–”

“Not who you are thinking of,” Optimus interrupted, and Ratchet allowed himself a sigh of relief. “It is… not someone we ever would have expected. Do you trust me, Ratchet?”

In any other circumstance, it would have been a stupid question. Even if Optimus was not the standard bearer for Primus Himself, the last hope of their entire species… he was Ratchet’s friend. The medic never had reason not to trust him.

He heard doors opening elsewhere in the outpost– the others were waking up. They would only complicate things further. If Ratchet truly did trust Optimus, he had to let him go now.

“How long will you be gone?”

Optimus squeezed his optics, a minor sign of relief. “An hour. Perhaps two.”

“Fine.” Ratchet stepped aside, but did not move his eyes away from Optimus. “Then you’ll come right back, and we are going to talk about this. And you’re going to tell me the truth.”

Optimus said nothing as he walked into the portal.

“And next time you want to pinch from my stores,” Ratchet muttered, “you could at least ask me first.”

The Bridge disappeared just as Bumblebee stumbled into sight, stretching his cables as his gears clicked into motion. He didn’t even question why Ratchet wasn’t at his station. Arcee and Bulkhead soon followed– the rain hadn’t stopped at all last night, so they had to take the children home in the downpour. Water was hardly a serious threat to them, but getting covered in it wasn’t something any Cybertronian was fond of.

“Is Optimus awake?” Arcee asked. She was usually the first to notice Prime’s absence– if not her, then it would have been Bumblebee asking after him.

“Yes,” Ratchet answered, “but he’s out again.”

Arcee blinked. “Where to this time?”

Ratchet shrugged without looking away from his console. “He left before I could ask.”

Arcee lingered for another second, while Ratchet tried to anticipate what she’d ask next. But she moved on to her rations without another word and Ratchet silently opened his vents, exhaling in relief. Whatever Optimus was up to, he wasn’t going to let the others suspect anything before he knew what it was– not to defend his friend, but to keep everyone’s sparks intact, as fragile as they already were. 

So long as Optimus didn’t spend too long out helping this mystery person, no-one else would ask questions. So long as he told the truth to Ratchet… everything would end up fine. At that moment, on this morning, Ratchet was sure of that.

Not even five klicks passed before he was proven wrong. It started with the call from Agent Fowler.

“Dammit, Prime, you got a radio installed inside you, why’s it take so long to–?! Oh, Ratchet.”  

For some reason, the human was more reluctant to yell at the screen when the medic was standing in front of it rather than Optimus.

“If you would be so kind as to tell Prime and his soldiers to keep their hands and their guns to themselves, then maybe we can avoid a national incident before the 9am news!”

“Agent Fowler, just what is it you are referring to?” Ratchet really hated the human habit of making assumptions, which all came from their equally annoying habit of blaming the Autobots for everything. 

(Jack’s mother June had once shared an amusing turn of phrase about people who made assumptions, though Ratchet hadn’t understood it at first. Apparently calling someone an ‘ass’ was a grave insult on Earth.)

“I’m referring,” Fowler enunciated like he was talking to a child, “ to the laser show going on outside Omaha right now! See anything familiar?”

He finally provided context to the accusation through the video stream that appeared below his transmission. It was a scene of destruction from overhead– some kind of military outpost now in ruins, though there didn’t seem to be anything else around it. There was someone stalking through the smoke, their sheer size compared to the rubble clearly marking them as a Cybertronian. The other Autobots now gathered behind Ratchet to see for themselves.

“Not one of ours,” Arcee contested. “We’re all here, save for Optimus.”

“Doesn’t look like any Decepticons we know either,” Bulkhead added, squinting as he leaned into the screen. The silhouette seemed to have wings, but the frame was much bulkier than the average Seeker’s.

“Where is Optimus, anyway?” Arcee asked. “We should let him know–”

“I’ll handle that.” Ratchet tried not to stutter as he jumped in. “You can all go investigate the scene before our human friend has a pump explosion.”

“ I heard that ,” Fowler said. Bumblebee nodded, eager for any chance to use his alt-mode after so long spent without it, and Arcee waved him over to where the Ground Bridge would appear. But Bulkhead remained glued to the console, scanning his optics across every inch of the screen.

“Hold on a sec– Fowler, switch back to that other camera. Is that…”

There was someone else in the smoke, though they were smart enough to stay behind cover. They would pop out every few seconds to take shots at the Seeker; blue plasma bolts cut through the smog and just barely missed their mark, and through the path they carved the other mech’s face could be seen. 

‘ Please don’t be the Wrecker,’ Ratchet prayed, but he’d already used up his one wish to Primus on keeping Starscream away from the team.

“It is! It’s Wheeljack!” Bulkhead jumped back and almost caused a tremor from the force. “Hell yeah, Jackie! Ratchet, get the Bridge up, we gotta go help him!”

 Ratchet did as he was told, because the sooner they were gone the sooner he’d have the base to himself. That was the only mercy left to him that morning. He checked the signals of the Autobots on his console– sure enough, Wheeljack’s was within range of them. In a separate window he pulled up Optimus’ signal, finding him over a thousand miles away from the others. 

Ratchet could have opened another Bridge there. He could have seen the truth for himself and brought it back with him. But if he couldn’t trust Optimus Prime, then there was no point in even being an Autobot.

He let go of the Bridge controls with a sigh. 

“Dammit, Optimus. What have you dragged us into?”

☽ ✶ ☾

Optimus had only told one lie to Ratchet; after the first dream of Elita, he hadn’t slept at all. A Prime didn’t need much rest, but he was selfish and thought that he could hide from the Matrix for at least a single night. 

He was also foolish, if he really thought that he could hide anything from his oldest surviving friend for more than a single day. The medic was older than him– not quite a relic like Alpha Trion was, but old enough to have known the Quintessons first-hand. He’d seen Sentinel Prime’s false coronation with his own optics.

At least he’d only had to lie to one Autobot. It would have been far too easy to do so to the others.

 He marched into the cool air, crunching the twigs and leaf litter beneath him. Where it was still dark early morning in Nevada, Airachnid’s hideout on the other side of the country was experiencing sunrise. The forest was still speckled with shadow where the sun was struggling to shine, but his headlights showed the way until he reached the familiar outline of the cave opening ahead. It was just as well that the Ground Bridge coordinates were unchanged since his warp last night, otherwise he might never have found her.

Optimus was half-expecting it to be empty inside; it would be just like Airachnid to abscond with her sparkling in the middle of the night, if he’d even really seen either of them at all. It felt like a dream to him now– not like his dreams of long lost Elita, the memories that were as tangible as they were painful. Airachnid was more like a vivid hallucination, which was the only way he could make sense of her and her daughter.

It had been so long since he’d seen a sparkling, so how could he know for sure that Airachnid had been holding one? If she’d wanted him to believe she was truly vulnerable, there was no better way to trick him. He usually knew better than to trust his own senses nowadays. 

As he knelt down a light switched on in the dark, pink and watchful. She’d heard him coming. 

"Apologies if I awoke you, Airachnid," Optimus began, dimming his own headlights so he didn’t blind her with his approach. "Are you well?" 

He was unarmed, though his weapons could appear in less than a nanoklick. Her back was turned away from him, resting on a mound of rocks against the wall. Though her optics narrowed against the sharp glare of his headlights, he swore her lips bore a smile; a small and reluctant one, but a smile nonetheless. She must have thought he couldn't see it. 

"...I'm better now." Her answer was quiet, edged with caution. She still didn’t trust his kindness, unable to drop her guard just yet; even former Decepticons still suffered from the viral distrust of a Prime and all that he touched. Optimus nodded despite the ice in her answer, still kneeling at the cave opening.

"May I enter?"

His request drew out a look of confusion from Airachnid, as if she wasn’t sure why he was asking permission. She nodded before she could fully consider it, a seemingly automatic action. Optimus slowly lowered himself into the dip of the cave, which leveled out into a surprisingly spacious room in width, though the low ceiling forced him to remain bowed over. He approached her from the side, noting how she turned herself away from him as he came closer. Her servos were held against her body, fiercely shielding their cargo from prying optics.

"Took you long enough," she muttered, regaining some shadow of her lost impudence. Then she closed her eyes as if bracing herself for a cutting reply, but all that came was a patient explanation.

"I had to wait through the night. The others will be suspicious if they see me leaving."

They surely already were, but she didn’t need to know that. She looked away from him.

"They'll find out, you know," she warned. "Autobots don't know how to lie. And they sure as the Pit can't accept a lie. Especially not one from you, Prime. How will you stop them from hunting me down when that happens?"

She was too intelligent to not question everything that was given to her, and it was a question that was more than fair, not ungrateful or full of spite. There was a long moment before Optimus could answer it.

 "I know more of the art of deception than I'd care to ever admit, Airachnid. And I made my choice to aid you and your child. That will not change, whether or not my comrades accept my decision… but rest assured, Autobots do not leave orphans."

His optics wandered off as he realized how Airachnid's prediction was already coming true; he’d promised Ratchet the truth, and despite how long their friendship had lasted there was no guarantee it would stay a secret between the two of them. Countless friendships had already been ruined for the good of the Autobot cause, after all.

At the very most, Ratchet would understand why Optimus was doing this. Arcee wouldn't even give him the chance to explain. 

"You don’t seem very convinced of yourself,” Airachnid scoffed. “Or is there another reason you’re staring at me like that?"

Optimus hadn’t noticed his eyes drifting, not until they settled on the half-hidden mass in her servos. He averted them at her voice, but not before he caught a glimpse of her softer expression. Somewhere in his spark, he felt a need to see the child for himself. Just to be sure that she was real after all.

"If I may ask about your sparkling–"

"She's fine," Airachnid snapped back, her faceplates sharp as steel again when her scowl returned. "Just fine." 

Her optics flitted down to the child in question, turning her in her arms as Optimus contemplated how she reacted to his request. He’d expected it as well as a human would expect dark clouds overhead to bring rain with them– but this dark cloud had a spark that he’d promised to protect.

Reaching into his subspace compartment, he drew out another two cubes of energon and stretched his servo out towards her, trying to coax her own arms to unfurl only slightly. She snatched them up as if they might otherwise vanish into thin air. Optimus watched as she stared at the cubes in her hand, her helm hanging low. When she didn't drink the energon within them, he was reminded of one of the stranger things she’d revealed about herself the previous night.

“There is something else I’ve been curious about, Airachnid. You mentioned before that you can live without energon.”

She glanced over at him and growled, either at him being gullible or at herself for letting something like that slip. Dawn was reaching this part of the forest through the cave’s opening and finally he could see her ragged features fully; her armor scratched and dull, her paint chipped, her faceplate marred with contempt.

“It’s half true,” she admitted. “I still need it for optimal function, but it’s not my only source of energy. On Archa Seven, there was no energon. So I survived off organic nutrients instead.”

“Nutrients?” As much as he fought for organic lifeforms, Optimus admittedly knew very little about their bodies. He knew that the children ate food, and that certain unhealthy kinds made June Darby quite upset (she had threatened to keep Jack home not because of dangerous missions, but because he wasn’t getting enough ‘leafy vegetables’ in his diet without her supervision).

“I hunted creatures.” Airachnid made it sound like a boast on her part. “Even before I began my trophy collection, I hunted to keep myself fed. I can digest skin and musculature, to an extent. But my main diet was blood and bone marrow. I drank it from the carcasses. It kept me going until I was found.”

Optimus suppressed a shudder at the mental image of fuel tanks roiling with meat. “By the Decepticons?”

“By Lockdown,” she corrected. Optimus was familiar with him, though only by reputation. He was one of the many opportunists that popped up during the war, in league with other neutrals like Macaddam and, after most of the other Combaticons were killed in the Fall of Helex, Swindle. Neither Autobots or Decepticons, they didn’t care which side someone was on so long as they could make a profit from them.

“He was a hunter, like me,” Airachnid continued, “but he did it for credits rather than survival. He was as surprised to see me as I was him. But he was faster. I managed to scar his face before he caught me. And then he brought me back to Cybertron.”

Then she winced, as if the memory was a sour pill to swallow. 

“The next time I saw him, I had the Decepticon brand on my chest. And the last time I saw him, he was on the run from the DJD.”

Optimus froze, just as any Cybertronian did who heard those three letters out loud. The Decepticon Justice Division also cared little for what side you were on. Autobots they came across were simply killed. Decepticons who had betrayed the cause, or otherwise earned Megatron’s wrath, were tortured first.

“I thought that they didn’t involve themselves with non-combatants.” Optimus was speaking only of the rumors he’d heard before Earth, when news of the DJD’s operations were first spreading across the galaxy– and Airachnid laughed at him.

“They don’t. But they have a very loose definition of what a ‘non-combatant’ is. Lockdown co-operated with the Decepticons, therefore he became part of them. So, when he ran away during the exodus, he was added to The List.”

Airachnid was not at all trustworthy, but in this subject Optimus believed her wholly. She had allegedly worked with Tarn, the leader of the Division, before her own defection after all. She’d probably helped him create the first draft of The List, whether or not she knew she would be on it some day.

“Pray that they never find Earth, Prime.” She sighed, as if that brief burst of laughter had drained most of her energy. “For both of our sakes.”

She looked down at her daughter as she spoke, and Optimus couldn’t tell if she meant herself and him, or herself and the sparkling. He would pray for all of them regardless– just as he prayed for his Autobots alive and dead every night, never hearing or expecting an answer for them.

“I brought medex as well,” he said, eager to change the subject. “In case of injuries that won’t heal.”

Airachnid blinked, possibly in surprise. Medical-grade energon was more costly than fuel-grade, likely more than what she’d been expecting to receive. Even so, she shook her head.

“No need. Medex doesn’t play nice with my biology. I’ll heal on my own… for as long as it takes.”

Optimus was tempted to ask why medex didn’t work for her, but he’d learned enough about her technorganic systems for one day. Even so, he needed to know how long it would take for her to heal. She would be vulnerable for as long as her sparkling was dependent on her, even more so while she was injured. Even if he found a way to visit them every day, they would be spending most of that time on their own.

“Your weapons should be online by now, at least,” he ventured, hoping he was right. But then Airachnid glared, and that hope became stillborn.

“So now there’s nothing stopping me from attacking you,” she dared, “is there?" 

He recognised her probing question, not a threat so much as it was a subtle attempt at peeling open his mind. Decepticons were adept at the manipulation of words, a craft that Megatron himself mastered before he took on his final name. He wouldn’t want anyone to surpass him– but if anyone ever could, it would have been Airachnid.

"Nothing but your own morals," Optimus replied. “But in that case, there would also be nothing stopping me from retaliating." 

His optics,  burning like live rounds, went back to her hidden sparkling, and Airachnid’s own eyes widened with sudden realization.

"You wouldn't," she scoffed. “You of all people.” 

She played it off as if he was joking, but her grasp on the child betrayed her fear. Just because she was fully capable of doing something didn’t mean she wasn’t horrified to know that others would do the same.

"Autobots do not leave orphans, Airachnid," Optimus repeated, and his frown held all the warning he could give her. 

Their stand-off was tense and silent, sharp optics measuring every minute movement of the bot before them; until finally Airachnid's stiff shoulders fell in defeat under Optimus' intense stare, and her servos followed suit. He hated himself for having to resort to such diabolical tactics, but if it would sand her rough edge down enough that he could reach inside without risking his limbs, then it was more than necessary. When working with Decepticons, one had to act like one to survive the process.

"Your sparkling?" he asked again, expecting a proper answer this time. “How is she really?”

Airachnid gulped– she might have accidentally swallowed some of her own corrosive saliva from how she winced.

"Sleeping,” she relented. “Quiet. But... healthy. I think." 

Optimus noticed the venomous regret in her response; her previous attitude to motherhood so far hadn't changed. Or if it had, she wasn't going to let him know it. 

"May I see her?" 

Under any other circumstances, it would have been insane to hand something over to the very person that mere minutes ago had threatened to terminate it. But it wasn’t as if Airachnid really believed that he would do it now– it was the mere fact that he would make the threat at all that shocked her.

She didn't look up as she outstretched her servos, holding the sparkling in her talons. Optimus shifted himself closer to retrieve the bundle from her, his hands as still as the forest around them as he held her.

He didn't know what he’d been expecting– a miniature version of her father, most likely. But looking at her, taking in every developing detail with his whirring optics... if he didn't know it already, he would never have guessed that Megatron had anything to do with her. She was delicate; a soft faceplate with sweeping rather than striking crowns, and thin primary armor over her gray protoform. There was not a trace of Decepticon taint that he could yet see. 

Her optics were still closed over, graced with curving black lines that matched her mother's. A tiny servo was curled over her violet lips, twitching irregularly. There was always an innocent beauty within every sparkling, but to see it coming from a damned Decepticon union was a jolt to Optimus' systems. 

This was a sparkling, indeed. There was no way to fake the delicate weight of one in your arms, nor the gentle fizz of their newborn spark. She wriggled against his hands, knowing he was a stranger but not knowing how to get back to her mother.

"She's quite lovely," he said, content to simply watch her. Airachnid scoffed at his comment, letting her helm hit off the rock behind her as she slumped back. She didn’t want to accept typical Autobot sympathy, or perhaps she couldn’t yet see her child as anything other than a burden. Optimus’ next remark would catch her off-guard.

"I can already see the resemblance she’ll have to you." 

Her optics flashed open, trying to meet his own to see if he was serious. But she avoided meeting his gaze head-on, instead letting her eyes dance around the gloom of the cave.

"You can’t tell two lies one after the other, Prime. Either she’s lovely, or she looks like me. Pick one.”

Optimus decided to play dumb. “Why can’t both be true?” 

“You know I’m not an idiot,” Airachnid spat. “So don’t treat me like one. If you’re just going to mock me, then you can leave.”

She turned away in disgust, yet Optimus hadn’t been mocking her. He didn't see any ugliness in her; the kind that he always saw within Decepticons, the ugly face of evil. Even if she still thought herself as evil, it was not within her anymore. Megatron had carved it out of her and replaced it with his sparklings. Just as whatever goodness might have once been within her had long ago been gutted and filled in with rot. 

Whatever had happened to Airachnid on Archa Seven… it was the same thing that might have happened to Elita One, if she’d survived. Perhaps it was a blessing that she’d been allowed to simply die.

A sudden chirp from Optimus’ arms pulled him from the edge of that particular ravine of thought, and his optics flicked down again. Two were looking back at him, icy blue and curious. They took in the angles of metal and the pulse of the spark nearby. 

"Airachnid..." Optimus called to her, his eyes still locked with the sparkling's newborn gaze. The femme lazily swung her head towards Optimus, and her limp neck instantly went taut as she realised that there were two more lights in the darkness. She gasped, though it sounded more like she was choking on something as she snatched the child into her arms again. Optimus did not hold her back. 

She looked at her daughter as if she was some precious ore, shielding her from anyone’s eyes but her own. Whatever she saw, whatever she was hoping for in those new and innocent optics opened for the very first time, made her sigh with relief.

In the fleeting moment that Optimus had with the child, he saw that her eyes were blue. The color of a sparkling’s optics was dependent on their inner energon, which in turn was dependent on that of its parents. Apparently in Imperial times, it was a common belief that one's optic color correlated with their progenitor Prime– the Hall of Records held ancient charts for matching every known shade of color to one of the Thirteen. In the more ‘enlightened’ Golden Age, where sparkbond births had diluted most inner energon so much that its color was now meaningless, such things were nothing more than superstition. 

Even so, it was prophetic that Megatron was born with not only the Fallen’s name, but with his trademark energon color, and that Airachnid in turn had gained Solus Prime’s color of fuchsia from somewhere. Red and pink had somehow mixed to create pure Prima-blue.

“I thought the eyes took longer to open.” Optimus would have liked to see them again, just to be sure of what he saw, but he didn’t dare take the child from Airachnid this time. She held her daughter to her chest, almost smothering her.

“She spent a long time in my chamber,” the spider mused. “Perhaps she developed faster there.”

“Do you know much about how sparklings grow?” he asked– his own knowledge was severely lacking, simply because none of his Autobots had needed the knowledge. Trying to survive a war didn’t leave much time for such things. 

“I did my research.” Airachnid seemed to have heard an insult in the question from how she scoffed. “I’m sure I know more than you do.”

“I’m sure you do as well.” She wasn’t stupid– she would have prepared herself for the aftermath of giving birth even if it was the last thing she wanted to do. She must have been planning to leave the Nemesis either before or shortly after the ordeal was over with, so she would have scoured the databanks for anything to do with sparklings. 

(If what she’d claimed about Megatron’s plans to bolster his numbers was true, then the Nemesis was sure to have a wealth of information on hand…)

“Did Cybertron ever have technorganic children?” Airachnid asked. 

The question caught Optimus unawares, as well as how hesitant she was to ask it. Technorganics were not a uniform species– they were simply Cybertronians who were, in some way, also organic. Their origins were as disparate as their appearances; mutations and infections and experiments gone wrong. Just because someone could transform into something didn’t mean that they should. Most of them paid patronage to Onyx Prime, yet they’d never be welcomed in his temples as his children.

As for children of their own… Optimus would have assumed that most of them were sterile. If not from their circumstances, then they surely would have been swept up and made so by The Institute. 

(The Senate’s eugenics programme had only come to light after civil war was already unavoidable.)

“Not that I know of.” As always, Optimus found the most diplomatic answer. Airachnid hummed a croaky sound.

“I suppose this one is very special, then,” she said.

The Prime agreed, though this time he didn’t say so out loud. Usually a sparkling’s first look of the world was frantic and darting, eager to explore every inch of their home and the people who had brought them into it. But this one was not.

Her whole world so far was nothing but the embrace of her mother within a dark and damp cave. Perhaps that was why she stared so intently at Optimus. 

"Have you thought of a name for her?"

Optimus had so far remained silent since the sparkling's optics came to life, simply watching the blue orbs and occasionally letting his own flick upwards towards Airachnid. His question almost made her splutter with laughter. 

She took a slow sip of energon before answering, struggling not to guzzle the stuff in her starving state– even a desperate outcast had to have some dignity left to cling to.

“I didn’t expect her to live through the night… even if I did, a name isn’t exactly my priority right now.” 

She savored the last few drops of energon on her glossa as she set the empty cube down next to her, lying back on the rocks and pointing her weary eyes  to the ceiling. Nothing but granite darkness above. She missed the stars. She didn’t get a chance to look for them while she was running for her life.

On Archa Seven, on Cybertron, even on the Nemesis , they were never far away– through even the tiniest windows, she could see them burning their brand on the cosmos. Now they had abandoned her, just like everything else. 

Before she truly started feeling sorry for herself again, a sudden tug at her spark caught her attention, drawing it towards the Prime. He was mirroring her (if he was anyone else, she would have seen it as mockery)– lying back on the rocks as much as his frame would allow, sticking his legs outside the cave because they wouldn’t fit anywhere else. 

Though the sun was in the sky now, the only light that breached the cave came from his headlights and from her daughter’s new eyes. They burned even brighter now than when they first whirred to life, and they watched Optimus with the intent accuracy of a sniper rifle.

Airachnid, for once, had been telling the truth when she’d claimed she’d done her research into sparklings. Every database query was monitored on the Nemesis , of course, but Starscream had found a way to mask his searches– and when he’d defected, he’d forgotten to close his secret gateway. She’d stumbled across it by accident, only knowing it was Starscream’s work because he’d left off on an article that detailed how to poison an energon intake (and she later found his notes on how to best apply such methods to Megatron). This was some of what she’d learned about sparklings;

When one was born, their innate programming didn’t take long to activate. They quickly learned how to recognise danger even when they couldn’t see, guided by the anchor of their mother’s spark. The father, thankfully, did not have that same link to the child– that only came after the birth, requiring effort to build and nurture. And even then, he would only ever sense his offspring as an extant link to that of his sparkmate.

(Some sources theorized the lack of connection as a leftover survival trait from the Tribal Age, when the daughters of Solus Prime were the only source of new life on Cybertron. Their own daughters remained with their mothers’ tribe, while their sons were given over to the sires’. The mechs never knew which children were their own.) 

A sparkling could, however, form an ironclad bond with both parents so long as they both remained in close proximity. They knew their mother from the start, but they’d assume their father to be the first other person they saw with their own eyes.

When Airachnid’s daughter’s eyes had opened, the very first thing she’d seen was Optimus Prime. 

…This would complicate things. 

Even now, she could feel the sparkling's bond hook onto her spark and pull her into the network that was being crafted between the three of them. And then something gurgled in her arms– the sparkling’s mouth inched open in the shape of a frown, but her optics still didn’t leave Optimus. She’d only ingested half of her cube, so she must still have been hungry. 

She didn't move when her mother moved her servo to the remaining energon cube next to her, not until she lifted it up and brought it to the sparkling's mouth. Only now did her optics look away from the Prime and down to the energon being held to her lips. With a faint chirp she let the liquid slowly leak into her, and her growing systems whirred around her tiny spark.

Airachnid saw Optimus at the corner of her vision, and she knew he was smiling at the sight. She turned away so she didn’t have to see his face.

"Perhaps the child would benefit from a short venture beyond this cave,” Prime suggested behind her back. “We might find some inspiration for her designation out there."

"'We'?" Airachnid looked over her shoulder only so Optimus could see her skeptical expression. At the same time, she was suppressing her relief at the thought of getting out of the claustrophobic cave. 

“I made a promise to both of you. One that makes me responsible for her, if only partially.” Then he smiled; daring her to say no, daring her to turn away again.

Well, she had to name the child something eventually, though she doubted Earth would offer much for her to think on. And tolerating Optimus would, unfortunately, involve having to look at him on a regular basis. She might as well get used to it.

“Very well.” Airachnid tried to push herself to her peds, clawing onto the rock wall with her free arm for support. Once upright she quickly lost her balance, but then she felt a large hand on her shoulder and found Optimus' concerned expression hanging over her. 

She quickly collected herself before he could offer any more help, marching past him towards the cave opening. Optimus walked behind her, amongst the trees that lined the canyon– even if it was night, the branches would have blocked any view of the stars above. She kept close to the ravine walls, oblivious to everything except the path ahead and the child in her arms, slowly drifting along the cold dirt under her heels.

The forest was different in the daytime. She could almost pretend that she was on Archa Seven again, that the hive was not far away.

“What made you choose this place to escape to?” Optimus broke the spell with his voice, though Airachnid was somewhat grateful for it. Archa Seven wasn’t an especially good place to escape to.

“It wasn’t much of a choice,” she admitted. “My processor ran a simulation while I was running towards the Nemesis Ground Bridge– trying to find a random set of coordinates on Earth. Most of them would have dropped me in the middle of an ocean, or somewhere that I’d surely freeze to death. So… I settled on a place I was familiar with.” 

She heard the Prime’s footsteps pause behind her, though she didn’t stop moving.

“...This is the area your ship landed in,” he said. She turned around only to see if he was seriously as surprised as he sounded.

“You didn’t know that already?” she asked, feeling a little surprised herself. She’d assumed Primes were all-seeing and all-knowing (or at least that they were good at pretending to be).

“No,” Optimus admitted. “I hadn’t realised.”

He sounded sorry for it, but she couldn’t imagine why. It didn’t matter where she’d ended up, he likely still would have found her.

“I destroyed the Bridge behind me as I left,” she continued, “so the coordinate logs would be destroyed as well. It won’t be long until they fix it, but it gives me a head start at least.”

She went on walking, and Optimus kept pace behind her.

“Will Megatron search for you?” he asked. Airachnid wanted to say no, but she couldn’t predict anything about Megatron nowadays.

“For a while, he might,” she guessed. “But he gave up searching for Starscream after a decacycle. I doubt I’ll be a priority.”

“Starscream was not someone who carried his child.”

She hated the Prime for saying it because he was right. Megatron had been glad to finally be rid of that traitor– proof that he truly was mad was the fact that he hadn’t killed Starscream himself long ago. But he’d want to make an example of Airachnid, that much she could predict. 

“He thinks I only had one child,” she tried to argue, “one that’s already… been dealt with. As far as he’s concerned, there’s nothing to gain from hunting me.” 

If she kept telling herself that, then she might actually start believing it.

“Even so,” she added, “I’d like to leave here as soon as possible.”

“I could arrange a location for you,” Optimus offered. “Somewhere isolated, unoccupied.”

Airachnid laughed at how obvious the ploy was– he must have believed she was truly desperate. “You’d like to strand me somewhere that you can keep an eye on me. Forget it. I’ll accept your help, Prime, but I won’t be your prisoner.”

Motherhood was already her prison. She was almost tempted to ask him to take the child for himself, to do whatever he wished with. But that would be like handing him a key to her spark chamber… the only way she would truly be free was by keeping the burden by her side at all times.

“That is not what I was suggesting.” Optimus’ tone made her halt in her tracks. He didn’t sound angry, but the frustration was palpable, as if he thought she was being difficult on purpose. Her purpose was to be difficult, if nothing else.

“What else was I supposed to hear?” She turned on her heel, struggling with the urge to smirk. “Go on, enlighten me.”

She saw Prime’s fists clench tight at his sides, and she was glad that, despite everything, she still had that effect on people.

“If I had the choice,” Optimus told her, “I would not have you on Earth either. You don’t want to be here any more than any Cybertronian does. But we have nowhere else. You have nowhere else. You have freedom here in the open, yes, but how long will it last? How long until someone other than me comes across you?”

He reached out to her, but only for a second before his arm once again fell limp to his side. “I do not offer you a prison, Airachnid. I offer you safety .”

She kept glaring at him, despite how hard he was trying to help her. Really, it only made her hate him more– the fact that she needed that help at all, that no matter what the price of it was, she couldn’t afford to say no.

“Then I’ll consider it,” she conceded. “But good luck finding somewhere that someone else hasn’t found first.”

Her daughter gurgled in her arms, and she kept on walking with Optimus trailing behind her like a shadow. She had no direction in mind– even though this place was familiar to her, she wasn’t looking out for anything recognisable. All she cared to look at was the morning sky. She could see the Earth’s moon overhead, in the few gaps of the trees, but the sight gave her no comfort. 

Because she wasn’t paying attention to the path ahead she ended up tripping again, this time over a cluster of sturdy roots that reached out of the ground like talons. And, once again, Optimus was by her side to steady her. She didn’t waste effort shoving him aside. 

“I hate this planet,” Airachnid hissed. “The ground. The air. The atmosphere. Why hide the stars for half of every day? Are humans really so scared of what’s out there that they can’t bear to even look at it?”

Archa Seven had been the same, but at least there she could sleep through the day and hunt at night. By contrast, Cybertron’s atmosphere was near non-existent, offering a mirror into the black void of space that surrounded the planet and offered itself as the Universe. Even though the spacescrapers and fortresses that spiraled from the planet’s layered core split its sky apart into a scattered jigsaw, at least the stars were still always there. It was the only thing about Cybertron that had ever felt like home to her.

“I don’t think the humans have much choice in the matter,” Optimus wagered, even though that much was obvious to her. Couldn’t he just let her be hateful in peace? It was healthy for her.

“But if you wish to see the stars now,” he said after a moment. “I can make it so. If you are ready to return to the cave?”

Airachnid rolled her eyes. “Fine. But unless you can bring the sky down to meet me, I’ll be sorely disappointed.”

Truth be told, she didn’t like being out in the daylight– even with the cover of the forest she felt exposed and… as much as she hated the word, vulnerable . She couldn’t imagine how someone of Optimus’ size could tolerate sticking out so much (then again, a Prime didn’t have much to hide from).

At least he could be used as a shield, if it came to such things.

They arrived at the cave far too soon for Airachnid’s liking, only because she’d thought they’d wandered further out. Even her sense of direction was betraying her nowadays. She hesitated only for a second, just to check that nothing had decided to take up residence in her brief absence, but Optimus barrelled ahead of her. It was hard not to feel offended at him intruding her home, despite how she refused to label the cave as such.

“So.” She lowered her voice only to not disturb the child breathing soft against her neck. “Where’s this fabled night sky I’ve been promised?”

Before she could chide him further for, as she expected, disappointing her, Optimus’ headlights filled the cavern. Then she saw it was not just light but some kind of hologram projection, when it reached the roof and painted it with stars.

“Will this do for now?” he asked.

Airachnid blinked, and the fake sky blurred just for a moment. If she squinted, she could almost pretend it was the same sky she could find over Cybertron.

“They’re not the stars I recognise. But… they’ll do.” She sat down against the wall, letting her useless legs scrape the stone as she sank. She couldn't feel anything with them while they healed.

“You can see these ones for yourselves tonight.” Optimus remained crouching, unable to stand with the cave’s ceiling so low, but he was able to maintain the illusion of night by kneeling at a diagonal. “The humans once showed me… ah, there it is. Orion’s Belt.”

He pointed at some random cluster of stars plastered between the wall and the roof, and Airachnid squinted to be polite.

“I don’t see a ‘belt’ anywhere,” she scoffed. 

“The diagonal line of three stars on the corner. Up there.” He pointed again, this time touching the line with his digit. She could see the line now, but she only squinted harder trying to see what made them any different from the other hundred star reflections all around.

“So they are. What’s so special about them?”

“The constellation Orion is around them,” Optimus answered as he sat back down on his heels. “My own name, coincidentally.”

“ Your name?” 

“Before I became Prime.”

Airachnid, like many others, easily forgot that Primes were not born. Just as she had been made technorganic, Optimus had been made Prime. Neither of them had much choice in the matter.

“I remember now.” 

She’d briefly met Orion, as he used to be, onboard the Nemesis when he and Megatron had returned from their quest to confront Unicron. Megatron had never revealed what exactly happened down there; whatever it was that subdued Unicron had also removed all memory of being a Prime from Optimus’ mind. 

Airachnid, like most others, hadn’t been allowed near him while Megatron attempted to indoctrinate him. But the Nemesis was not a large ship, and running into him was inevitable. He’d asked for her name, and when he’d said it was nice to meet her he sounded as if he’d meant it. That was about all she remembered, yet she’d thought about it for a long while afterwards. 

And then she’d discovered she was carrying. 

“The humans named those stars after you?” She hurried to change the subject.

Optimus laughed, a humble sound that didn’t suit his frame. “No. As I said, that is just a coincidence. They’ve had many years to name their stars. Their Orion was a hunter from ancient mythology.” 

He paused, as if he knew her head would prick up at the mention of a hunter.

“Are you familiar with the zodiac?” he asked. 

“No. I’m sure you’ll tell me all about it.” She’d meant to sound weary of it, though she couldn’t fully deny her curiosity. He shifted his weight, causing the hologram around them to shudder.

“As Cybertronians are born under one of the Thirteen,” he explained, “some humans believe that they are born under certain constellations. Twelve of them form the zodiac. Being born under one is said to determine a given human’s personality.”

Airachnid rolled her optics. “And just like being born under the Thirteen, it’s a load of superstitious slag.”

“To most humans, yes. But they make interesting stories, at least.” 

A murmur erupted from Airachnid’s arms– the sparkling yawned, rolling over to now face outwards. She was as limp as a corpse in her slumber, but now she stiffened towards Optimus, only stopped from reaching out towards him by her mother pulling her back against her chest.

“Tell me one of those stories,” Airachnid said, attempting to distract herself from where she was, and who she was with, and what had happened to her. “Since you know so much about them.”

Optimus had been looking at the squirming sparkling, but now his eyes were once again on the mother, just for a second before he looked away with consideration.

“The one I’m most familiar with involves Orion, of course,” he told her after a moment. “I think it’s one you’ll appreciate as well. As I said, he was a great hunter. On Cybertron, he might have been called a son of Onyx Prime. But he made a mistake by claiming he would hunt every creature on Earth to extinction.”

Airachnid had to admit that Optimus was right– she appreciated a fellow hunter who knew how good he was. She enjoyed the competition.

“Could he not hunt them?” she asked, and Optimus shook his head with a twitch of a smile.

“We’ll never know for sure. Regardless of whether or not he could, his threat angered the goddess Gaia– the personification of Earth itself.”

“Did she know there was a chaos God living inside her?” Airachnid deadpanned, earning another smile that lasted for just a second longer.

“I don’t think she anticipated that, no. In her anger, she sent out a giant scorpion to slay Orion. After his death, he and the scorpion ascended to the heavens as constellations– Orion and Scorpius. They never share the night sky. One appears only as the other vanishes.” 

He pointed to the other side of the cave as he spoke, to what must have been the very edge of Scorpius– a trail of white dots ending in a triangle, with a single red star at the formation's heart. The scorpion’s tail. Airachnid was familiar with the creatures, just as she was with every potential trophy that lived on Earth. Despite their minuscule size, she admired them greatly (second only to spiders for the most obvious reasons.)

 “So Orion still flees the scorpion to this day.” She had to smile at it– humans, like most base organics, could be clever once every few million years. “Is there a metaphor in there, Prime?”

He was Orion, after all. Not a hunter like her, but someone running from his own scorpion named Megatron… another small thing they had in common with each other.

“If you can find one,” Optimus said, “then I’d be interested to know.”

Airachnid decided to keep it to herself. She’d enjoyed the story. She wouldn’t repay Prime with bitterness this time.

“Scorpia.” She said the word out loud as soon as it came to her, tasting it on her audios. With all their talk of names, it was only fitting to finally give one to her daughter. She liked scorpions, and she liked Scorpius… and one day, she might even tolerate Scorpia. It made enough sense.

“I like the sound of it. It will do.” She spoke mostly to herself, and though Optimus didn’t ask he must have been confused until he saw her looking down at the new-christened sparkling. He only nodded.

“If there is nothing else you need,” he started to rise as his headlights dimmed, “I will leave you both in peace. I’ll find you again tomorrow.”

Airachnid could think of nothing else to say, yet she couldn’t feel glad at being left alone again. Not because she was scared or lost, only because she didn’t know what to do except hide away and sleep. What else could she do, when the Nemesis only had to drift overhead to find her out in the open?

As Optimus stretched to his full height at the cave’s mouth, Scorpia started shrieking. A sparkling in distress could wail like a siren, and this one was making sounds like she was being murdered– Prime’s battle mask even slammed down as if in reaction to danger. 

“Is she hurt?” He crammed himself back into the cave, kneeling before Airachnid with frenzied panic in his eyes. The sight of him at height with her was more shocking than the sound of the sparkling’s anguish (not only because Airachnid knew nothing was wrong with Scorpia, she just didn’t want Optimus to go).

“She’ll be alright,” Airachnid assured, “as long as she doesn’t see you leave.”

Now that Optimus was close again, Scorpia was wriggling to reach out for him. Airachnid forced her still against her frame, holding her head in place so that Optimus could exit without drawing every Cybertronian left alive to their location. 

“I… see.” He wore his skepticism like a second mask, and it was still there when his mouthplate retracted. “Are you sure she’s alright?”

“Her spark is a part of mines’,” Airachnid reminded him. “I feel everything she does. I wouldn’t let her die, even if I wanted to.”

She didn’t have to say that last part, yet she felt like she did. A reminder to herself. Optimus was smart enough to not ask if she did want to.

“Until next time, then.” He turned to leave properly this time, without Scorpia’s eyes on him. Did he even know what he’d done, just by being near her? Did he understand the gravity of what he was to this child? 

The fact that he was still leaving was all the answer Airachnid needed.

“You know you’re truly stuck with us now, don’t you?” She always had to have the last word. She didn’t care about most other living things, so she didn’t care what they thought of her. No matter how much trouble that thinking got her into, she’d never change it. Not even being a mother would take that from her.

Optimus looked over his shoulder at her with the silent question.

“She’s imprinted on you,” she told him. “That’s another thing I learned about sparklings. When her eyes opened, you were the very first thing they saw.” 

She tried not to enjoy  revealing just how deep the hole they’d both fallen into was, but it was hard. She couldn’t stop her fangs from showing. For as long as she and Scorpia lived, the tether would never be broken. 

“For all she knows,” Airachnid sucked back a stream of venom that was soaking through her glossa,  savoring it along with the revelation, “ you are her sire."

She didn’t know how she could be so excited and disappointed at once. She studied Prime’s face, waiting for the first glimpse of true despair, knowing that he could now never abandon them.

It never came. Optimus only shrugged. 

“Better me than anyone else.”

If he was right about that, Airachnid would never admit it.  She would at least concede that anyone was better than who the sire really was.

“You’re… taking it very well,” she said.

“As are you,” Optimus noted, solid as the stone all around them.

So that was how it would be. Either they were both very good at hiding their emotions, or this was their true selves laid bare. Either they truly didn’t mind that they now shared a child, or the child was more important than whatever they felt for each other.

She didn’t know which one was better. She didn’t want to think that much about it.

“Goodbye, Prime.” 

Airachnid curled into herself to hold Scorpia still, not intending to watch him leave this time. She was sure he lingered at the cave from how Scorpia still struggled against her, but when she finally looked up again the sun was no longer streaming through the entrance, and he was no longer there.

"Does Prime often go off by himself for this long?" Wheeljack asked as Ratchet welded down a fresh scar over his shoulder, who scoffed every time the Wrecker flinched away from the flame. Wreckers were supposed to be the Autobots’ answer to Squadron X, the resident sadists of the Decepticons, yet they always whined about getting their wounds stitched up. No wonder they ended up with so many scars– they preferred to just let the nanites scab over if it meant avoiding a trip to the med-bay.

"It depends." Bumblebee was the one to answer Wheeljack, his servos crossed as he stood with the rest of Team Prime around the new arrival. " His only hobby, other than looking serious, is border patrols. "

"Less work for us, at least!" Bulkhead chuckled as Ratchet finished up with Wheeljack's repairs (much to the Wrecker’s dwindling complaints). "So what brings you back here? Not that I’m complaining, I just didn’t expect to see you again so soon."

“You could tell us about the tag-along as well,” Arcee suggested. “The one who almost turned us all to mortar sludge.”

Wheeljack’s lopsided mouth swiftly flipped around into a scowl.

“That... would be Dreadwing.” He spat around the name, though thankfully he didn’t actually spit something onto Ratchet’s nice sterile floor. "Tracked his sorry aft across millions'a light years when he finally touched down back here." 

Static clouded his vox, and he almost spat again. “He’s been picking us off, Bulk. One by one.” 

Bulkhead’s grin crumpled in on itself. “You mean… Wreckers?”

Wheeljack didn’t nod, but he turned away as much as he could while Ratchet was trying to finish up the patch. 

“He’s been hijacking our ships,” the Wrecker said, “using them to lure us in. Seaspray was his latest victim. I… I saw his ship blown to bits right in front of me. It was supposed to be a trap. Only managed to get away thanks to the Jackhammer’s shields.”

“Seaspray…?!” Bulkhead blinked and stammered in equal measure. “I… I thought he retired.”

“He did. But that didn’t save him.”

“So, why is Dreadwing here?” Arcee cut in with some hesitation. Wheeljack scoffed at her.

“Cause Megatron is here, of course. And now that they’re both on the same planet again, it's only gonna get worse. For all of us. Where the hell is Prime?”

Even as Wheeljack twisted around Ratchet couldn't stop his optics going towards the Ground Bridge controls and comm screens, asking himself the same question. His fingers were twitching, which was a habit he’d thought he’d suppressed for the sake of his patients a long time ago.

Whatever Optimus was up to, it involved charity with Decepticons. He believed him when he said it wasn’t Starscream, but the other possibilities were hardly better. What if he was involved with this Dreadwing character? The timing matched up far too well…

 Whether or not Optimus would honour the deal to explain on his return, Ratchet was sure he wouldn’t be happy with the answer. But he wasn't allowed to mull over the situation any further before he felt Wheeljack suddenly jerk his shoulder, all but toppling the unsuspecting medic as the Wrecker marched away with a grim determination.

"Look, Wheeljack, just wait 'til Optimus comes back–" Bulkhead was cut off by a snap from his friend’s vox.

"And how long'll that take? Two klicks or two more breems? Every second I waste here I could be spending pounding Dreadwing back into the ground where he came from!" 

His glare at Bulkhead was heavy with accusation, and all the Autobot could do was sigh.

"Jackie, I know you're upset– you don’t think I am too? Seaspray was a brother to me, like every other Wrecker still is. But you caused some serious damage out there–"

"I'll say!" A seething Agent Fowler blazed in from the outpost’s elevator– for someone so small, he somehow made his voice dwarf the rest of them. “Who the hell do you think you are, space cowboy?! I don’t know what it’s like over on Cybertron, but over here we have something called ‘collateral damage’ that we do our damnedest to avoid !”

Wheeljack didn’t seem phased by the arrival of the human, but it at least made him pause his tantrum for a second. “‘Space cowboy’? What’s that?”

“It’s what we call reckless idiots who ride spaceships instead of horses,” Fowler informed him, glaring up from the platform railing.

“Noted. So who the hell are you?” 

Ratchet took the initiative to step in before things got any more out of control. “This is Agent Fowler, our… liaison with the governing body of this area of Earth.”

“‘Governing body’?” Wheeljack shook his head. “Primus damn, it’s like I never left home.”

With Ratchet now in the firing line, Fowler turned his attention towards him. “Where in the blue blazes is Prime?! The Pentagon is already up in arms about another Decepticon running around, never mind how much the cover-up is gonna cost!”

“If he ain’t here,” Wheeljack said, “then no reason for me to be either.”

“Don’t you walk away just yet, cowboy!”  Fowler scurried over to the other side where Wheeljack was making towards to leave. “The Pentagon wants a word with you as well–!”

“I don’t wanna talk to a shape,” Wheeljack called back, “thanks but no thanks.”

He was gone by the time Fowler recovered from his shock (humans in his profession were notoriously vulnerable when anyone talked back to them).

"I'll talk to him," Bulkhead muttered to the other Autobots, following Wheeljack while Fowler was jolted from his stupor by an aggressive buzz from his cellphone.

“You tell me as soon as Prime shows up,” he ordered the remaining Autobots. “I’ve got more fires to put out in the meantime.”

Fowler retreated back to the elevator with his ear pressed close to his phone, and Arcee turned to Ratchet when he was gone.

“Did you get in touch with Optimus?” she asked. “Where is he?”

Ratchet had been computing possible excuses for Optimus the whole time, but he still didn’t know which one to use. With no more time left, he chose the first one that came to his vox.

“He is… investigating a potential lead with MECH, at their last known location.”

Arcee narrowed her optics, while Bumblebee chirped with concern.

“ Why didn’t he ask any of us to come along?”

“He’s been gone for two hours with no word,” Arcee added. “Is he in trouble?”

"If he was, he would have commed for help," Ratchet reassured, his optics still glued to the computer panels. "Whatever Optimus is doing out there, he can handle it."

Autobots who’d followed Optimus all the way to Earth didn’t need much convincing to believe that, but Arcee still shook her head.

“It’s still weird that he went by himself. If he does find MECH, what if they do to him what they did to Bee?”

Bumblebee let out a low whine– he didn’t like being reminded of the stupid decision that made him lose his T-Cog. Likewise, Ratchet didn’t like to think about the surgery he’d been willing to undergo for him. 

(He’d give up everything for the Autobots, even his own organs, but he couldn’t tell them that their Prime was keeping secrets, even if it was for their own good.)

“If we don’t hear from him in the next hour,” the medic pledged, “we can go through the Bridge and look for him ourselves.”

But just as he said it, a glow burned at his back. His helm snapped towards the Ground Bridge portal, which leaked green around Optimus as he emerged from the vortex.  

'About damn time.' The old mech approached Prime with impatience that was only veiled for Arcee and Bumblebee’s sakes.

“Welcome back,” Arcee greeted, and the catch in her voice betrayed her relief. “You just missed the excitement, as well as Fowler spitting tacks at us.”

“Good news: Wheeljack is back.” Bumblebee gave a thumbs up, then quickly flipped it upside down. “Bad news: he brought a Decepticon with him.”

Optimus blinked at the reveal, but otherwise was unphased. “Tell me everything.”

“How about you update us first?” Arcee countered, crossing her arms over her spark. “Were you really out looking for MECH?”

Optimus hardly faltered as he adjusted to the lie Ratchet had made for them both. “Yes… I was.”

“On your own ?” Arcee stood like a scholar giving a lecture, despite how the Prime dwarfed her. “Optimus, we’re supposed to be a team. If we lose you, then we’re done for.”

“You undersell yourself and your teammates, Arcee.” Optimus smiled with encouragement, but it wouldn’t work this time.

“I’m serious. It was bad enough Bee getting targeted, if they manage to get you …”

She trailed off with static in her vox. Bumblebee put a hand on her shoulder, and she didn’t push him away. Ratchet stayed out of it, looking out for the Optimus he recognised from a safe distance. 

“...You are right, Arcee.” Optimus bowed his head. “I apologise. Even a Prime can be brash and selfish sometimes. I simply did not expect the mission to carry much risk. We have to reserve our resources wherever we can.”

Arcee coughed the static away, shaking herself free of her worst fears for now. “Well. Did you find anything, at least?”

“No. But I suppose, in the circumstances, that is a good thing. Where is Bulkhead?” Optimus looked around him for signs of the remaining Autobot.

“Up top with Wheeljack,” Arcee answered, “trying to stop him from running off and getting himself killed. You should probably go talk to them now you’re here.”

“Fowler also wants to talk to you,” Bumblebee added, “but… maybe wait for him to cool off first.” 

Ratchet bristled to himself– if Optimus spoke with the Wreckers, he’d be dragged into dealing with Dreadwing immediately, and Ratchet would still be left in the dark, and who knew when Optimus would tell him the truth? If he truly intended to.

Then he recalled something Rafael had mentioned the prior night.

“Hold on, Optimus.” The medic pulled him back with a hand on his shoulder. “What happened to your chest? That scratch on the grill there.”

He pointed it out– the long dent that was so easy to overlook, until you managed to see it, and then it was all you could see. It was starting to heal, the nanites filling in the missing space around the grill, but the other Autobots didn’t know that.

“I’m not sure,” Optimus admitted. “I hadn’t noticed it until now.”

“Arcee, Bumblebee, why don’t you go pick up the children?” Ratchet suggested, already guiding Prime towards the med-bay. “ I’ll give Optimus a quick examination.”

He knew neither of them would argue, even if they didn’t like being given orders by anyone who wasn’t their Prime. It would buy him some time to speak frankly with Optimus, and for Optimus to do the same for him. His old friend said nothing as he was herded towards the med-bay. 

Ratchet lingered outside only until Bumblebee and Arcee were in their alt modes, and then the doors clamped shut. No-one would be getting in or out until Ratchet knew the truth. Optimus was already sitting on the examination slab when Ratchet turned to face him. 

"You asked me if I trusted you. I do. I lied to the team, just as you did. Now you’re going to tell me what we’re betraying their trust for." 

He barred the exit with his frame, standing with equal parts patience and stubbornness. Optimus wouldn't meet his eyes at first, not until his exhaust was sighed empty. 

“Yesterday… the Matrix told me something.” Prime flexed his hands on his knees, clawing into the armour seams. “It told me someone had just been born on Earth.”

Ratchet thought he’d misheard at first. He ran a diagnostic check, but nothing was wrong with his audio receptors. He ran another one, but his memory was clean. Finally he replayed the moment over his eyes, and he heard the same impossible thing over and over again. If he’d been hearing it from anyone else, he would have scolded them for such a ridiculous lie. 

“How… how can that be?” He couldn’t even pretend to still be angry. 

“It is not my place to say,” Optimus said. “But in that place I went to, there now lives two helpless people. Two victims of Megatron's atrocity that I cannot leave to fend for themselves." 

Ratchet was silent for a long while.

"Decepticons?" he finally asked.

"Former."

The medic shuttered his optics, lowering his helm and pressing a hand to the pounding metal. 'Primus, Optimus, you're too... good for your own good.'  

“So it’s a mother and her sparkling.” He didn’t need confirmation from Optimus to know it. “How did she end up on Earth? How do we know she’s really defected?”

Optimus flinched, a barely perceptible movement. “There are certain details I cannot share right now, Ratchet.”

And now the medic couldn’t pretend not to be angry.

“You can’t–?! Optimus, do you know who you’re talking to? You can’t keep secrets from the team. They deserve to know, I deserve to know!” 

 “You do.” Optimus still couldn’t look at him. He now gripped the side of the slab beneath him. “I will tell you, old friend. I… I just need time.”

Ratchet gritted his teeth. “That’s one of the many things we can’t spare right now.”

"I realise that more than anyone, Ratchet, but..."

For the first time since he entered the room, Optimus relaxed– bowed in half, doubled over in defeat. It was more apt to say that he gave up.

“I need to save them,” he said to his knees. “I need to believe that everyone, even our enemies, deserves a second chance.”

Ratchet struggled to maintain his mask. Optimus only ever hid his face when he was fighting back tears.

“I want to believe that too,” the medic said. “If there’s a sparkling involved, then I have to see it for myself.”

“You will. When the time is right.”

“Dammit, Optimus, this is a life we’re talking about! The first new life for our kind in centuries! You don’t know if it’s sick or injured, if it’s getting enough fuel–!”

Even with the clamp on the med-bay door, Ratchet was sure his voice would have been heard by anyone lingering outside. But even as he prayed that Arcee and Bumblebee were still far away, he couldn’t lower the volume. He crushed his face behind his fists, pushing down his anger for his own sake.

“I don’t care if its mother is a Decepticon,” he swore. “I truly don’t. I do care if it dies because you didn’t trust me enough to be allowed near it.  Me of all people…”

He didn’t mean for his voice to crack, but it crept up on him. At least the sound made Optimus finally raise his head.

“Her name is Scorpia,” he said. “And you will meet her… after I make the arrangements with her mother.”

Ratchet shook his head. “And just who is this mystery mother?”

The possible candidates among Decepticons were in the hundreds. He doubted any high-ranking femmes, the likes of Slipstream and Strika and Shatter, would abandon the Decepticons or find themselves on Earth with a living sparkling, but that still left a hefty list of likely defectors. He was silently sifting through it when Optimus blew it apart.

“She was already on Earth when her child was born.”

The list disintegrated, leaving only one name on it.

“…Not her.” Ratchet spoke with as much disbelief as despair.

“I found it hard to believe as well.” Optimus had had time to accept it, but he still looked pained to admit it out loud. Ratchet would have sat down if there was anywhere other than the floor available. He remained standing only thanks to the stubborn locking of his ancient gears.

“I don’t like this at all.” It was the understatement of the century, but it was all he could say in front of Optimus at that moment. “Of all the people to offer help to…”

“She needs it more than anyone else.” Optimus sought out the eyes of his friend, no longer intent on avoiding him now that the truth was laid bare as a newborn before him. “I have to believe that, if someone like her can change for the better… then the rest of the Decepticons will not be so forsaken.”

Ratchet wanted to believe him. Any Autobot would. But Autobots– those that were still alive, at least– were also too smart to do so. 

“I don’t know what else to say, Optimus.” Ratchet turned his head away from him. “You are Prime, and… above that, you are my friend. I’ll defer to you, as I always have. But I’ll say it again–” 

When he looked to Optimus now, it was only with great effort. 

“I don’t like this one bit. I don’t trust her. And even though she has a child, even if she does change… they'll never forgive her.”

There was no need to specify who 'they' referrred to. The list of names would take an eon to go over.

“She’s not Megatron," was all that Optimus could say.

“She’s capable of being far worse," Ratchet told him, "and you know it.”

Optimus closed his eyes. “I’ve said all I can, Ratchet… I am tired. May I be excused?”

Only two people who trusted each other as they did could end the conversation like that. Or, rather, two people who knew each other so well that they knew it was futile to discuss it any further. 

"I still want to examine you,” Ratchet said, “while you’re here."

"There’s no need. I’m perfectly healthy–” Optimus rose to his peds despite how Ratchet still blocked the only exit.

"No, you're not.” Ratchet all but pushed Prime back down onto the slab by his shoulder. “I know when something is wrong with you, and you're not leaving this med-bay until we get it fixed."

"There is nothing wrong with me, Ratchet–" A hidden edge crept into his voice when the medic’s scowl returned. 

“You’re not sleeping again. You’ve been running on fumes ever since last night, and it’s not just because of this big secret you’ve been keeping. Even now with nothing to hide, you’re still sitting there with a ten tonne weight on your shoulders.”

And then Ratchet rumbled another deep sigh.

"Optimus, I’ve seen you like this only once before. So I’m just going to come out and say it; if this is about Elita One–"

" Don't say her name. "

Ratchet’s EM field immediately collapsed, shrinking away from the jagged flare of Optimus’ own, and he winced from the buzzing in his audios. In all the time that he had known Optimus, the centuries before and after he’d lost his sparkmate, he'd never heard him snap like that.

At least, he’d never been witness to it. After they’d lost Elita, after Archa Seven… those who’d remained on Cybertron, like Ratchet, had been warned of the change in Optimus. The soldiers who’d been caught in the ambush, Bulkhead among them, wouldn’t even go near their Prime following the incident– his mourning was as devastating and violent to witness as it was to experience. By the time the ship returned to Cybertron, Optimus wasn’t much more than a hollow shell bled dry of any emotion. 

The worst part was that the journey to Archa Seven had been for nothing. The energon signal that had lured them there was just a Decepticon trap. The only solace was that the Decepticons who’d laid it were now as dead as Elita was.

It had taken months before Optimus would even talk to anyone outside of his inner command circle, and even then it was simple one-word growls. Another stellar cycle passed before he would even consider therapy. He didn't want aid because he refused to accept the crushing reality of Elita’s death, refused to burden himself or his Autobots with even further trauma; the list of reasons he eventually gave was endless. 

The most important and sacred reason of them all was the fact that he didn't want to forget her. The sting of her absence kept her eternally forefront in his mind, and Ratchet had theorised that her lingering memory was all that stopped Prime from going insane in those first few weeks without her.

At that stage of the war, Ratchet had the most experience in dealing with broken spark bonds– his colleagues thought he was best at convincing those still living on the other side of their shattered bonds to keep on living, but he knew it was nothing to do with him. They pulled through only because there was a war to fight, and people to be avenged. As soon as the war was won, or lost, they’d drop dead as well. They were all looking forward to the day.

It was only because Ratchet understood that fact that Optimus allowed him to try and piece him back together, and only because Optimus allowed himself to heal that they became friends.

“Please…” Optimus pleaded, as coolant silently fell down his face. “Don’t say it.”

Even after so long, he wasn’t ready to think about her. Or perhaps because it had been so long, he’d forgotten how it felt to miss her until now. Something about the sparkling and her mother– Airachnid , of all people— had thrown him back to square one.

"Very well.” Ratchet wouldn’t pack rust into the wound any more that evening. “But if it is the case… I’m here if you want to discuss it.”

Optimus didn’t move. "May I rest in here for a while?”

Ratchet would be glad for him to rest, though he doubted he truly would. “I’ll wake you when we need you.”

Not if they needed him, but when. The medic released the clamps on the bay doors– Arcee and Bumblebee might already be waiting outside with the children. He’d have to create another lie for why Optimus wouldn’t be available for the next few hours.

“Everything I do is for the Autobots, Ratchet. Not just for myself. You know that, don’t you?”

Ratchet didn’t turn around when he answered. “I do. I always have. But sometimes I wish you would be more selfish.”

He locked the med-bay behind him. Arcee and Bumblebee arrived a few minutes later with their humans. This time, at least, no-one asked where Optimus was.

☽ ✶ ☾

It was a good name, Airachnid reasoned with herself. She didn’t hate it, at least. Her newly christened child slept soundly in her servos, exhausted from frame to tiny spark from the excitement caused by the Prime. Airachnid herself was feeling much the same as she struggled to keep her optics open, despite the blazing high sun outside. 

She hadn’t slept much the prior night, of course. She doubted she’d ever be able to sleep well again. Even if the sparkling didn’t demand vigilance, she didn’t dare relax where a Decepticon could come across her. She’d die of shame before any attack would come to her. 

Scorpia's namesake constellation was still branded in her eyes, stolen from that shifting alien sky. Only now with Prime gone again, with another promise to return soon in his wake, could Airachnid let the memory lull her into something close to stupor.

If she could rest through the day, she could see the stars for herself that night– if it wasn’t pouring rain again. She’d covered the entrance to the cave with webbing, as much as she could safely make without running low on energon, and light from outside still leaked through the gaps. It was all she could do for herself. 

Maybe Prime’s offer of relocation was worth taking up. If she didn’t have to worry about being found, she could focus on leaving Earth instead. No-one wanted her to stay any more than she did, after all. 

And if Optimus didn’t let her leave… Scorpia would surely get over the loss. She’d lost a brother already, and it hadn’t done a thing to her. She had her mother’s strength, if not her eyes. For the rest of her life, she’d remain very hard to kill. Airachnid would be proud of her, if she lived that long. 

But for now she was just a squirming mass of metal veneer and protoform, and her spark was a distracting fistful of static, and she was likely going to get her mother killed if she didn’t have the decency to die first. 

Airachnid allowed her optics to shutter for a klick. If she turned her head away from her web barrier, leaving herself open to all kinds of attacks, she could fool herself that she was floating alone in a dark void. And if she switched her vision to the EM spectrum, she could pretend the tiny flickers of interference around her were companion stars.

Drifting in space, frozen and alone, wouldn’t be so bad. Though the starvation would get her before anything else. She hadn’t enjoyed those times before she learned how to hunt, and how to guard her kills from others. Her first true meal on Archa Seven had taken days to track down, and she’d devoured the carcass in less than an hour. 

She’d learned the hard way that she couldn’t eat the bones, so she collected them instead. The skulls were always her favorites. Her subspace, the private dimensional pocket innate to only Cybertronians, quickly became bloated with corpse-pickings. So she found caves to display them, holes buried deep in Archa’s surface that wouldn't attract attention, her own private galleries.

And then Lockdown came along, and she’d lost them all. The only things she’d kept were those few tiny trinkets still in her subspace, a meagre collection of shiny rocks and fossils she’d yet to find places for (she still had them to this day, though most had lost their lustre).

Thanks to Arcee’s pet human, this would be the third time she’d have to rebuild her gallery. Even if she lost it all over again, at least it was something for her to do. But that would come when she knew where she'd be living for the foreseeable future.

Ping!

A vibration caught Airachnid’s attention. She snapped away from the void, towards her mock defences. Something was caught in her web– she could see its shape through the criss-cross of fibres. It was struggling, its four limbs wriggling with an admirable fury, and its thick tail lashed against the sticky bindings. She snipped some of the web aside so she could see it better without leaving the cave– just as she’d researched sparklings, she’d also done her part to look up what kind of animals she could hunt on Earth. This one was a grey squirrel.

Humans were off limits… but there were no rules about the other creatures on Earth. The Autobots owed her a new collection, after all.

Airachnid released some more strands around the mammal, allowing her to seize the squirming thing in her claws.  It froze as soon as she touched it– like so many other prey animals across the galaxy, it thought it could play dead. 

Its quivering head, the blank black eyes and twitching whiskers, was a curious shape despite it being so small. She nicked her talon across its ear, and it folded aside with no damage done. Its instincts told it to remain still, yet its tail wouldn’t stop bristling from base to tip. It couldn’t even comprehend what she truly was– it only recognised a predator.

Airachnid’s claw was already against its neck when Scorpia woke up. The sparkling reached up with her tiny hand, trying to grasp the squirrel’s twitching tail for herself. And then the creature started trying to escape again, jolted back to life by Scorpia’s curiosity. Airachnid cursed as it scraped against her palm, biting her claws with impressive force. Even if it wasn’t struggling she would have released it, just to stop Scorpia reaching over and almost falling free of her harness. The squirrel darted blindly for the source of light through the webs, and it managed to burst free on the other side. 

‘You won’t be so lucky next time,’ Airachnid warned, though she wasn’t even looking for where her escaped prey was running to. She wasn’t hungry enough to eat its carcass, so it would mostly have been a waste to kill it anyway. She’d wait until energon was no longer an option, when Optimus would inevitably abandon her, to start hunting in earnest.

But if anything else was stupid enough to get trapped… they were worth removing from the gene pool. Even if they were human. Survival of the fittest was the universal law– no matter the species, planet, the galaxy, that was the single constant of them all. 

And Airachnid was the strongest creature on Earth. That was why Megatron reproduced with her. That was why, she theorised, he’d killed their son. He was scared of what they’d created together. 

If Scorpia lived, if her mother didn’t beat her to it, then she’d kill him one day. That was why Airachnid would keep her alive. 

No matter what happened to her, Megatron would still die, and the Decepticons would die with him.

He’d lost Ariel after graduation on Cybertron, when they were forced apart into their functions. When he found her again, he was no longer Orion Pax and she was no longer Ariel. 

It started, like most life-changing events, late at night somewhere in the depths of Praxus.

"Jazz, I really can’t stay out for much longer. I need to turn in for work tomorrow–"

"What you need, Pax, is a night on the town.” Jazz turned around to poke his friend with each word. “And like it or not, you’re gonna get one."

"Fine, fine, just… don’t call me that." 

Orion groaned as Jazz pulled him along by the servo, through the shuffling line of people bathed in neon light. It was a typical night in Praxus, which was anything but typical for Orion now that he was just a data clerk in the Hall of Records. He’d only been one for the last three vorns, but he’d spent every day of those vorns organising records older than himself, learning the ancient catalogue system, assessing security of the sacred relic vaults… 

Alpha Trion barely gave him a chance to rest. With Orion’s disciplinary hearing fast approaching, maybe Trion thought he was doing him a favor, keeping him busy so he wouldn’t think of what was still to come. He knew he was lucky to have a job at all– lucky enough that his alt-mode was versatile enough to even allow him to be reassigned, that someone like Trion took pity on him, and that he was apparently not dangerous enough to be worth snatching off the street to never be seen again.

He was grateful for all that, and for the fact that no-one in Praxus seemed to recognise him as a former Pax… he hadn’t been one for long, but people in Iacon still treated him like a folk hero. It was embarrassing.

Jazz had promised a night away from all that, away from Iacon and the Senate, which was the only reason Orion agreed to come along. He was rarely able to see his old Academy friends nowadays; Blaster, Dion and others had been stationed outside of the capital where Orion was confined to. And Ariel…

Even as a Pax, with all of Iacon intelligence at his digits, he hadn’t been able to track her down, and soon enough he was too scared to keep looking. Someone in her situation, someone without an alt mode on a place like Cybertron, would be just as lucky as unlucky to be alive. 

It was only with that same kind of luck that Orion found a friend in Jazz as a frequent visitor to the Hall of Records– despite his habit of always returning his datapads well after the due date. Prowl had been invited as well, but ever since Orion had been stripped of everything that had made him a Pax… understandably, he was hesitant to be seen in public with a disgraced officer. He had his own career to think of, and he knew Jazz only ever invited him along because he was less likely to get arrested if a Pax was there to vouch for him.

(Safe to say, Jazz enjoyed being a ‘cultural investigator’ a little too much.)

In Prowl’s place was another mech called Perceptor. Jazz’s job took him to many diverse circles on Cybertron, going undercover for hints of corruption and unrest among the people, and even when his cover was blown he always somehow managed to keep at least one new friend around. He’d met Perceptor when he’d accidentally stumbled across a red energon operation in Crystal City (though Prowl had taken most of the credit for uncovering it) run by Perceptor’s own colleagues. The scientist, with his niche microscope alt mode, had verified the evidence himself that put his friends away in cryostasis for a long time.

He didn’t seem very perturbed by it– or maybe he was, and that was why he hadn’t said anything to either Jazz or Orion, hardly nodding behind his datapad when one told the story to the other. He’d likely warm up after they all had some high-grade, at least that was the only way to explain someone like Jazz befriending him in the first place.

Then again, Orion didn’t even know when they’d get to the high-grade. Jazz never explained what he had planned for the evening and never answered when asked, not even when they’d been waiting in the line for over half an hour. He apparently knew the owner of the club, which was all Orion knew. Every time he tried to press Jazz for more details he was just shushed and told to be patient, which was impossible when every five klicks he was being pushed from behind by a boisterous red mech with cannons larger than Ultra Magnus' shoulder plates mounted on each servo. 

“Watch where you’re puttin’ those things, hardhead!” Someone had already been knocked over by the mech and wasn’t scared to push him back. 

“I’ll put ‘em up your tailpipe if I want! Get over here!”

Orion was already trying to find an escape route through the crowd. He'd spent too many late nights looking out over the neon-speckled streets of Iacon– the mechs too overcharged to even work their T-Cogs while stumbling out of bars and clubs, the aching music, the gangs cheering their sparks out for Primus knows what drunken reason– to have any desire to be a part of any other city’s nightlife. Even if he still had Pax authority, trying to arrest these two would have just kicked off a riot for everyone else.

“Watch your back, Orion!” Jazz pulled him against a wall just as the two mechs clashed on the ground– they’d each had the same idea of trying to run each other over with their alt modes, and now lay in a tangled heap of half-shifted wheels and axles. Everyone around them were taking pictures while security drones dragged them out of the line, and Perceptor barely blinked as he took their place ahead in the line. 

“Do you really need me along for this, Jazz?” Orion was still alert for any gaps in the crowd he could make a break for. “Not that I don’t appreciate the invitation, but… I also appreciate my frame being in one piece.”

Jazz rolled his optics as if it was an unreasonable concern. "Tell you what– we go in, we have a good time, you can leave if you’re not feeling it, and next week we'll check out those gladiator matches you won’t shut up about. Sound good?" 

Orion's helm perked up at Jazz's proposal. He’d been trying to plan a journey to Kaon for the last few decacycles, ever since he first heard of gladiators there speaking freely against the Senate. He wanted to hear it for himself before it got too loud and was inevitably stamped out. 

Then again, bringing someone like Jazz, someone whose job was to stop protests before they started, to an anti-Senate rally of angry fighters was only slightly less dangerous than a night out in Praxus with him. 

“It would sound good,” Orion said, “if I didn’t think you’d be writing up a dissension report while we’re there.”

“No no, I promise.” Jazz put his hand over his spark for emphasis. “Strictly off-the-record. If they get rounded up, it’s nothing to do with me. Who knows–” he nudged Orion with an elbow, “–you might even get a look at ol' Megatronus himself.”

“Megatronus?” Perceptor spoke for the first time, lowering his datapad a bare inch from his face. “I assume you’re not talking about the Fallen.”

His face didn’t change at all when he spoke the cursed name, which told Orion a lot about him in an instant. Even Jazz winced when the Fallen was mentioned, though it only lasted for a nanoklick before he chased the shudder away.

“You assume correct,” he answered, lowering his voice now. “This guy is a gladiator who stole his name.”

Perceptor scoffed and he rolled his eyes in a flash. “I suppose you can’t expect people in their situation to be anything more than derivative.”

“This one writes essays,” Orion added before he could stop himself. “I’ve read a few of them.”

Perceptor was planning to return to his reading, but his hands froze with his eyes on Orion. “What kind of essays?”

It was too late for Orion to stay silent, which he should have done in the first place. He knew Jazz, despite his place in the Senate’s investigation department, didn’t mind the odd heretical inclination. He’d even read the first of Megatronus’ works that Orion had come across– dozens of accounts from those around Kaon who had suffered from the Senate’s Functionist reforms, a diatribe against their deception. Even though Jazz joked that he was amazed someone from Kaon could write at all, he admitted that he made good points.

Orion had no idea what someone like Perceptor would make of them. He gulped before he gave the only safe answer. 

“The kind that would get me in trouble if I talked about them.”

Perceptor’s optics flashed, the only reaction he allowed to be visible. “I see.”

Orion gulped again– he often forgot how lucky he was to escape detention as a Pax (though with his official hearing a few decacycles away, that was still a possibility). Jazz pulled him forward with Perceptor before they could implicate themselves any further. They’d finally reached the front door of the nightclub where the final obstacle stood staring them down– the bouncer. He was a solid wall of a mech, ornamented with five red optics in a stern row across his face.

“Stay cool, I got this.” Jazz herded his companions back as he approached, brushing himself down with extravagance. The guard focused four optics on him while the fifth, the largest in the center of his helm, locked onto his datapad.

"State your designation.” He wasn’t a drone, but he sounded enough like one.

"Jazz is in the house, baby.” Jazz tapped his ped with a grin, turning around to give a premature thumbs-up to Orion and Perceptor. The large optic scanned the pad for less than a nanoklick.

"Designation is not documented on the guest list!" 

"Come again now?" Jazz’s face flat-lined as he suffered through the cloud of exhaust that the bouncer-bot expelled over him. 

“‘Jazz’ is not on the list! Leave the line immediately.”

"I thought you said you knew the owner, Jazz!" Orion hissed into his audio, feeling the rest of the line jostle with impatience behind him while Perceptor made a point of ignoring the whole scene. 

“I do! Look, man,” Jazz turned to plead with the bouncer, “just let me talk to Mirage and we can smooth this all over–”

‘Mirage?’ Orion was more stunned by the owner’s name– if it really was the Mirage he was thinking of– than by the bouncer retracting his hands into hooks that grabbed Jazz by his neck. 

“Those who are not on the guest list do not speak to Mirage!” He held Jazz at a distance, ready to throw him out into the road. Orion thought it was a new record in the making before him– least amount of high-grade ingested before being thrown out of a bar– when the bouncer suddenly froze. Jazz was still kicking his legs up in an attempt to dislodge himself from the mech’s grip when something shimmered over the mech's shoulder, a sharp white digit that suddenly formed out of nowhere to tap on the metal.

So it really was Mirage. Orion, who had braved riots and drug busts and hostage situations, was suddenly very scared of what he’d just been dragged into. 

"Stand down, Lugnut." The rest of the mech’s frame phased into existence, and he pushed past the much larger mech as if he was a door in his way. Yellow optics watched Jazz being dropped onto the red line of ground under him, not even sparing a glance to the bewildered Orion and nonplussed Perceptor. 

"You do know there's a VIP entrance at the side, Jazz?" Mirage asked as Jazz dusted himself off while muttering furiously. “And you never mentioned bringing friends along.” 

He bothered to acknowledge the other two mechs now, regarding them both as if they were oil stains on the street.

“Well. Here we all are!” Jazz didn’t seem bothered by the assault or the fact that he'd made both himself and his friends wait in line for two breems and no good reason. He was quick to escape Orion's pointed glare by looping a servo around Mirage's shoulders. The other mech flinched, but apparently didn’t think shrugging Jazz away was worth the effort. He just sighed as if something rancid was stuck in his throat. 

“Fine. Come in before the paparazzi sees you.” 

Perceptor was still emotionless as he followed behind Mirage and Jazz, and Orion had little choice but to follow suit. He could have guessed where he was from what he’d read about Mirage, but Perceptor was kind enough to lean over and inform him.

“Welcome to The Circle. Jazz insisted on keeping it a surprise for you.”

So he’d known all along where they were going, and Jazz wouldn’t even let him give any warning. 

“Consider me… surprised.” Orion made a note to call in all of Jazz’s overdue fines at once as soon as he arrived at work tomorrow. 

 'The Circle' was one of Praxus’ elite nightclubs, catering to only the highest profile of clientèle; politicians, entertainers, military personnel and every illustrious in-between. Of course neither Orion, Perceptor or Jazz qualified for any of that, but Jazz had friends who had other friends, and those friends knew people who knew Mirage, the owner of the club. At least, that was how Orion assumed they knew each other.  

It was hard to say what garnered Mirage the most respect– his wealth, passed down through his family from the Imperial Age, or his outlier ability. People like him were some of the Senate’s greatest weapons– the telepaths and prodigies and EM wizards, those born or forged able to do things that others simply never could. Their function was more than just their alt mode. They weren’t Point One Percenters, but they didn’t have to be. 

Mirage for instance could, for a certain amount of time, turn himself invisible (one had to wonder if he was named for his ability, or if it was just a coincidence). He was still detectable through temperature and EM maps, but not being able to see him right away was good enough in most situations, an interesting party trick. But someone of his status would have other uses for it. 

Orion tried not to think of what those would be as he surveyed his surroundings– what little he could see of them, at least. The interior of the club reminded him of the time he passed by one of Kaon's industrial smelting pools; on an Academy-mandated tour of the city, to see how the miners of Kaon worked and lived. To this day Orion could not recall anything he’d learnt on that trip without as well bringing forth the searing scent of singed metal, raw energon and gallons of oil, as well as a buffeting heat on his faceplate.

 The situation wasn't so different here. Mirage had led his guests past the crowded entrance– gliding across red tiles, passing under the shadows of ledges and balconies that broke out of the dark surrounding walls. It was the kind of place designed to be claustrophobic and disorienting even if you were sober. Orion struggled not to stare– at the protoform-bare waiters and attendants, the people hooked up to Simultronic, the other famous faces and frames– as he went through one long tunnel of darkness after the other. It was only with luck and some guidance from Perceptor that through the maze of spotlights he managed to keep Mirage and Jazz in sight ahead of him. 

He soon found himself boxed in at a table booth with Perceptor on one side, his hosts on the other, and a sea of other assorted mechs stretching out as far as the optic could see. In this case, Orion could see down to the catwalk and stage stationed at the front, or at least he caught some glimpses of it when someone was kind enough to move their helm out of the way.

So he was finally inside one of the most exclusive clubs on Cybertron. Now what? Jazz was talking a mile-a-klick to Mirage, and despite their host’s aloof expression he seemed to be listening intently. 

Over the thumping music and other deafening conversations around them, Orion couldn’t parse what they were actually talking about. He gave up trying after a klick, just before something nudged him in the abdomen– he turned to Perceptor, and he saw the other mech motioning towards the front of the chamber-like room, where stage and bar were in reach and the high-grade was circulating freely.

“You’ll find us at the bar,” the scientist announced as he stiffly rose from his seat. Jazz barely even nodded in his direction before he went right back to drowning Mirage with his vox. Orion hesitated before following suit, letting Perceptor part the crowd as he wasn’t afraid to just shove people out of his way.

Somehow Perceptor managed to secure a small table, the kind with equally tiny stools that forced you to perch on them. And though the music and other club-goers were still as loud as ever, when Orion sat down everything suddenly became muffled. The noise was still there, but someone had thrown a shield around him that it couldn’t get past.

“We’ll get some peace over here.” Perceptor optics fluttered in what must have been relief, and he pulled his hand back from a toggle on the side of the table. “Every table here has a noise canceling control,” he explained at Orion’s puzzled look, “but it was on Jazz’s side of the booth. At least here it’s in easy reach.”

Orion was still puzzled, only that Perceptor knew these things when he didn’t seem the kind of person to spend much time in clubs. But he was too grateful for the quiet to be suspicious.

“Before you ask,” he said as he leaned back, “yes, Jazz is like that all the time.”

Perceptor didn’t say anything for a few moments– when he did speak, it was nothing to do with Jazz. “Tell me more about those essays you’ve read.”

Orion almost fell back out of his seat. It wasn’t an accusation or demand, but his energon still went cold as it rushed below his faceplate.

“You’re not an undercover Pax, are you?” he asked. If Perceptor was, he wasn’t likely to admit it. But the other mech wasn’t even phased by the question.

“No.” Perceptor didn't seem to register silent Orion’s terror at all. “But you used to be.”

And despite that terror, Orion struggled not to roll his optics. “Jazz told you all about that?”

“No. There’s a discolored patch on your shoulder where your rank insignia would have been soldered. And I recognised you.”

Orion looked at his shoulder, and sure enough the shadow left by his rank still remained. They’d pried it off with a crowbar when he was fired.

“You’re… very observant.”

“It’s in the name.” Perceptor was motionless, even his EM field was barely detectable across the small space between the two of them. Orion knew almost nothing about him, had no reason to trust him, and yet… 

He’d been waiting for someone to talk to. Someone who’d actually listen to him.

“Why do you want to know?” he asked.

Perceptor opened his mouth, but his optics moved somewhere else. There was a sudden stab of sound from outside as someone new entered the noise-canceling bubble stretched around them.

“Percy, what have I told you about showing up when I’m working!” A mint-green femme marched up to Perceptor, her EM field like a fizzing mix of energon. The scientist gave the smallest smile Orion had ever seen on someone’s face before he nodded across the table.

“I brought a friend.” 

The femme froze, looking over her shoulder in a panic when she noticed Orion sitting in the other seat.

“Oh, slag! Since when have you had friends?! I mean– welcome to The Circle!” She composed herself in record time, straightening her frame and plastering an impeccable serving smile on her face. “I’m your host, Moonracer. Can I get you two anything to start your evening off with a bang?”

She had a datapad in hand, ready to take their orders, while Orion was still getting over the whiplash of her appearance.

“Um… what do you recommend?” he eventually asked.

“My personal favorite is the Quasarmix,” she answered. “It’s a hydrazine blend with liquid mercury on top.”

“She has very good taste,” Perceptor added, and Moonracer threw another scowl at him over her shoulder.

“I’ll give that a try, then,” Orion said, even though he didn’t even know what hydrazine was. Moonracer made a note of it before she narrowed her eyes at Perceptor.

“And your usual?”

Perceptor nodded, then pointed over at where Mirage and Jazz were still conspiring together. “Put it all on Jazz’s tab. He’s sitting next to the boss.”

“Anything else?”

“You look lovely under the lights.”

Moonracer made a noise that was somewhere between a tire squeal and an engine malfunction. “Don’t make me blush, Percy!” 

She stamped away from them as if she was furious, covering her face with one hand while the other fluttered her datapad around. 

“She’s very professional when I’m not around,” Perceptor assured, unable to hide a slightly larger smile as he watched her leave.

“So she’s your…?” Orion wasn’t sure how to phrase it.

“She’s the reason I took up Jazz’s invitation,” Perceptor answered. “I also like to surprise people.”

She must have disappeared into the crowd– the scientist was expressionless again, and he fixed Orion with an intense stare. He hadn’t forgotten the question he’d been asked.

“Censorship is a pet peeve of mine,” he began, “given my line of work. I believe knowledge should be free, and be given freely, to prevent our whole species from stagnating. As a result, I’m curious how and where one could safely receive documents that, if found, would get you sent to The Institute.”

“Well. Luckily The Institute doesn’t exist.” Orion wasn’t sure if Perceptor was just using hyperbole– he didn’t seem like the kind of mech to do so. The Institute was too horrible for even the Senate to have actually founded such a place– where dissidents and prisoners were sent to be experimented on, where Empurata was practiced and perfected.

“It does.” Perceptor didn’t even blink when he confirmed the worst fear of any Cybertronian. “I’ve been there once, as a consultant.”

Orion knew he wasn’t joking, yet he didn’t believe him at first. It was like someone sitting down next to you and claiming to be Alchemist Prime, or that they held the Matrix of Leadership in a briefcase by their side. It was so ridiculous that you could only laugh at it.

But Orion didn’t laugh.

“Understand this, Orion.” Perceptor folded his hands together in front of him, monopolizing most of the table space. “I’m a valuable asset to the Senate. I’m very aware of that. But they’re no friends of mine. I’m sure you’re familiar with that mindset.”

Orion was very familiar with it, though he’d never expected to find someone who stated it so plainly. Perceptor must have been smart to work in Crystal City, too smart to say such dangerous things. If he really was undercover, he was far too good at his job. 

“You’re not scared of getting caught?” Orion asked. 

“Not any more than you are.” Perceptor made it sound like an accusation as well as a compliment. 

How scared was Orion, really? In the Senate’s eyes, he’d already been dragged through the mud. He was a neutralized threat. If they were really going to do anything to him, it would be after his hearing. Which meant he had a limited amount of time to make a lasting impact on those around him. 

Megatronus and others like him would live on through their writing, because they were brave enough to share it. Sparks and bodies were fragile compared to words. If Orion died tomorrow, he’d be remembered by those he’d helped only for a short while, only while they were alive to remember him. He had to do more, and Perceptor was giving him the chance. 

“I work in the Hall of Records.” Orion resisted the urge to look over his shoulder as he essentially confessed to a crime. “We archive everything that appears on the global datanet, and sometimes we’re lucky enough to catch something before the Senate does. Even if we don’t catch it in time, if one file gets taken down then five more usually show up to replace it.”

Perceptor remained faceless, though his fingers tightened around each other. “I assume you keep private archives of these files.”

Orion nodded– Alpha Trion had shown him how to do it on his second day in the archives, and he’d never said Orion couldn’t keep copies for himself. “So long as they’re encrypted, no-one will ever know what they are.”

“That’s good.” Perceptor’s eyes flashed as if a diode went alight in his processor. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

A brief blare of noise behind them announced the arrival of someone else, though this femme wasn’t Moonracer.

“You need to stop teasing Moonie, Perceptor. You know what she’s like. Poor girl is still in the back trying to calm down.” She was a blur as she handed out their drinks, too fast for Orion to pick out details of her frame in the dim lighting.

“I only ever speak facts.” Perceptor made a face as he sipped from his glass. “Will she still be at the shooting range tomorrow?”

“You know she always is.” The server placed an elegant flute in front of Orion before she left the two mechs to themselves. Orion gingerly picked up the Quasarmix– it was hissing at him like some kind of acid, but the smell was undoubtedly of energon. He dripped some onto his glossa and the surface immediately went numb.

Perceptor examined his own glass as well, as if skeptical. “Did you know that it takes more energy for energon to be formed than it provides in return? It’s a paradox that I've taken the liberty of naming after myself.”

Orion shivered as the drink swirled around his mouth, coating it in what must have been mercury. It was much warmer than he’d been expecting. “Is that why the Well has been slowing down?” he asked.

And for the first time, Perceptor seemed to be caught unaware. He hid it well, just a nanoklick later.

“It could be.” He looked at Orion over the rim of his glass. “You’re the first person I’ve met outside of Crystal City who’s noticed that’s what’s happening.”

Orion shrugged– the majority of sparks on Cybertron always came from the Well of All Sparks. Yet there were fewer new faces every year, fewer workers compared to autonomous drones that didn’t need sparks at all. It was Megatronus who’d put it into words that the Senate would never say– the Well was, in some way, drying up. 

“I do a lot of reading.” Orion drained his drink before he stood up– after the conversation he’d just had, he needed something stronger. “I’ll leave you and Moonracer to catch up.”

“Those records, Orion.” Perceptor called after him before he left the noise bubble. “If they were encrypted, how would someone go about copying them?”

Orion was on the edge of the quiet zone– he could feel the noise against his EM field. He kept his voice low. “Someone on the inside would have to do it for them. It would have to be in person to leave no trace.”

Perceptor nodded, and he raised his half-empty glass in salute. “I’ll pay you a visit soon, then.”

Orion nodded back before the noise beyond consumed him. In a way he felt like he’d just signed his own death warrant, and he was smiling about it. He was in a daze until he reached the bar, motioning for something cheap and thick to drown his circuits. Here he was allowed a better look at the stage, since the bar was directly in front of the catwalk. There was still a crowd of shadows blocking a clear view, but at least he didn't need to break his neck cables just to see.

(Though what exactly he was supposed to see, he still didn’t know.) 

"First timer havin’ a rough night, huh?" a gruff voice asked to his right. 

Orion turned to face it, recognising the red cannon mech that almost decapitated him in the line outside now sitting next to him. He wondered how he was allowed in after getting dragged away by security, but knew better than to ask out loud.

“It’s… something like that.”

The red mech chuckled at his nervous answer, throwing back his high-grade and slamming the glass back down. The bartender appeared almost immediately to refill it as he continued.

"I reckon I know 'bout every bot in here, but I ain’t never seen you 'round, ya' see. So, what’s the sour face for?"

His accent sounded Hydraxian– the speed capital of Cybertron– but from the weight of his plating there was no way he was a racer. Probably a bodyguard or some security mech for a hotshot out to drown his pride and processor in high-grade.

"I'm accompanying a friend," Orion replied. “At least, I thought I was. He’s been over there the whole evening.” He motioned over to the two of them– Mirage and Jazz were still at their booth, now sitting across from each other. Orion put the second drink on Jazz’s bill as he drank it down, and his new companion found something new to laugh about.

"Ah, a central Iacon boy! Haven’t heard that accent in a while. What’s yer name?”

"Orion," he answered slowly, to an affirming grunt from the red mech.

"Ironhide." He stuck out his glass to hit it against Orion's, tipping it back and emptying the rest of the high-grade dregs down his throat. “I’m here just about every night when I’m not workin’. Keepin’ an eye on the missus. She don’t need it, of course. I just like to look at her.”

He nodded and raised his glass to someone on the other side of the bar– Orion quickly realized it was the blue femme standing with her arms crossed at the foot of one of the balconies. Even from the distance he could tell she was the same size as Ironhide, and he could see her rolling her optics before she turned away.

“Is she part of the security?”

“Sure is. Head of security, in fact. She always keeps an eye on the stage. That’s one thing to remember ‘round here, Orion.” Ironhide clamped a hand on his shoulder and almost knocked him over the bar. “You can look all you like, but you can’t touch.”

“Look at… what?” Orion was hoping for an answer, but Ironhide just laughed at him all over again.

“My oh my, you really are an Iacon boy.” 

Orion wasn't sure what to make of his disbelief, instead choosing to sip instead of speak. The Circle wasn’t a place of ill-repute– even Praxus had quarters that didn’t allow that kind of behavior– so he didn’t know what to expect. The stage was there for a reason, obviously. Knowing Jazz, he’d want to see some kind of music act. 

“Well, look after yoursel’, Orion.” Ironhide slapped his back and left a dent in his spinal strut from the force, then left a tall glass of something tar-like in front of him as some kind of compensation. “Have a drink on me, and enjoy the show.”

Ironhide was gone by the time Orion managed to straighten up. Then the lights suddenly dimmed around him, spotlights switching on to full glare, and a rally of whistles swept up from the mechs gathered around. The stage had been an empty raised platform before, but it now held aloft a single shadowed figure at the very back. 

Orion could discern that it was a Cybertronian shape– all dark curves blended together and topped with bulk that defined a helm. It tipped upwards, still shrouded in shadow even as it was surrounded by filtering purple light overhead.

“For your entertainment this evening,” a low voice announced from somewhere distant, “please give a warm welcome to the voice of The Circle, Elita One!”

And then, from hidden lips, came a sound that froze Orion to his seat. He couldn’t move even if he wanted to. It was a single sweet tone of song, obviously from a femme– plucked from the very pits of her vocaliser, polished to shine out of the darkness that cloaked her from the prying optics of her audience. 

Orion now realized they’d all gathered solely to hear and see her. Elita One.

All his other senses focused on the lingering note that still rang in his audios and blocked out the rousing applause. The note wavered ever so slightly, dipping down in a soft wave that washed over him and numbed his frame like Quasarmix all over his body. His optics fluttered above the smile that spread on his faceplate, and his upturned lips formed her name as hers weaved lilting words into her melody. 

When his optics refocused themselves, he saw that her veil of shadows was gone. She was dressed as a dancer, rose pink protoform and armor that demanded attention even from those who could not hear her voice. 

At the sight of her, Orion's shuttered optics snapped open, his smile faltered, and the spell offered by her song shattered in his audio receptors. The colors weren’t quite right. Her helm was a different shape. But other than that…

She looked just like Ariel. 

He’d never found out what caste had taken her in.

He looked Elita One over again as she sauntered along the catwalk– now accompanied by a backing band at the sides of the stage, still spilling out a harmony that still entranced the rest of the audience. She wasn’t watching them. She wouldn’t see him if he kept staring at her in silence.

“Ariel!” He stood up, trying to catch her attention by waving his arms, but there were too many people and too much noise. Her vox carried on her signature tune, drowning out his pleas.

“Ariel, it’s me! Orion!” He took a page from Perceptor’s book and started shoving people out of the way in an attempt to get closer to the stage. Surely she’d recognise him, just as he recognised her. He was causing a scene that would get him thrown out, but it would be worth it if he could catch her attention–

She finally looked over at him. Blue eyes met with familiar blue, when Orion had a chance to take in the graceful contours of her faceplate before it twisted into shock. He was almost at the front of the catwalk when someone grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Hey! Get back, creep! No touching!” 

He twisted around to see the blue femme Ironhide had pointed out now dragging him away. Elita One– Ariel– had stopped singing, and he saw her reaching out for him on the stage. It really was her .

“Wait, I know her!” Orion tried to extract himself from the guard’s grip, digging his peds into the floor. “Please, I’m her friend!”

“I said hands off !” The blue femme punched him– Ironhide could give him bruises with just a slap on the back, this person could have knocked his helm off his neck with her fist. Orion floundered, trying to keep his head up towards Ariel even as he fell over. His display was glowing with errors and stack traces and warnings of imminent shutdown.

“Chromia, wait! Let me see–!” It was her voice, speaking instead of singing. She sounded so close by… 

Then she was far away again, and so was everything else. 

Dreadwing wasn’t sure what to expect when, after so long, he finally returned to the cradle of the Nemesis . It had been millions of years since the Exodus, since he’d last laid eyes on his sovereign. He didn’t even know who else would be with him– Starscream and Soundwave were most obvious, but who else survived the journey from Cybertron? Who else had managed to find this planet Earth, and Lord Megatron upon it?

And the most pressing question of all, the one that had summoned him here in the first place, was his brother among them? Was the distance between the two of them playing cruel tricks on his spark? He hoped so.

Or perhaps that was Dreadwing’s punishment for being away from the rightful cause for so long. He’d been unable to board the Nemesis when it gave chase to the Ark , ordered to remain behind on Cybertron to prevent Autobots from reaching either ship.  And then, as Cybertron wasted away around him and the likes of Starscream and the scientist Shockwave picked at its corpse, he made the selfish choice to pursue his purpose elsewhere.

And yet he was always loyal to the Decepticons, to Lord Megatron. He’d been searching for them for centuries, joining mercenary companies to pay for his fuel and terminating Autobots wherever he found them. He’d always worn his badge with pride.

Lord Megatron must have known it, somehow. He greeted Dreadwing personally, and then assembled the others to greet him as well. After two hundred million years he somehow looked exactly as he did on Cybertron, only with more scars. 

“As some of you are already aware,” Megatron addressed his other soldiers, the paltry few of them now gathered on the control bridge, “Airachnid has made the very unwise decision to defect. Though we have managed to repair most of the damage she inflicted upon our Ground Bridge, we are unable to determine her location. Like Starscream, she is now a traitor to the cause and is to be terminated on sight.”

Dreadwing stood stoic as he absorbed the information, though it was difficult to do so– Starscream finally being recognized as a traitor? Truly it was the end of the world. But who was Airachnid? He tried not to let his gaze wander, floating it between the other three mechs that were apparently all the Decepticons had left in terms of officers. Soundwave and Breakdown (where was the rest of Menasor?) were the only ones he recognised, though he could tell the red one was a medic of some kind.

“It is with this news,” Megatron continued, “that we are fortunate to have someone worthy of replenishing our ranks. Dreadwing.”

He gestured towards him, leaving the floor open for the Seeker.

“Thank you, my lord.” Dreadwing stepped forward to address his new teammates, though he remained facing his commander. “I apologise for not finding you sooner. Though I must admit, it is not loyalty alone that summoned me to Earth.”

“Is that so?” Megatron’s curiosity was a dangerous thing in the best of hands, but Dreadwing had to tell the truth in order to receive it in turn. 

“I sensed the reawakening of my twin, Skyquake. And… shortly thereafter, I sensed his demise.” He knew his twitching wings would betray his true emotions, despite how he tried to reign them in. “Is it true, my lord?”

Skyquake had been a volunteer energon guardian, part of Megatron’s extensive planning for leaving Cybertron behind. Shockwave had managed to synthesise seeds that energon ore could apparently, over millions of years, grow from. Many planets were seeded, and each one had a guardian assigned to ensure that the ore would not be disturbed and, when it was ready for harvest, that the Autobots would not claim it. They would lie in stasis, entombed within the seeding chambers, until someone awoke them.

Skyquake shared Dreadwing’s distrust of Megatron’s so-called inner circle, and anyone who claimed to speak with their Lord’s voice. He took the position only because Megatron himself had offered it, knowing that he would only awaken if there was a threat to his mission or if Megatron had need of him. There was a silent agreement that his brother would retrieve him if the Decepticon cause was at risk of collapse.

In his travels, many times Dreadwing had considered finding his brother and releasing him, if only to speak to him again. But his location, like that of every other guardian’s, was a secret. He only knew where to find Skyquake, and where to find Megatron, in the brief window when he was awake and alive and when Dreadwing could feel the fury of his spark. 

Wheeljack as well, so predictably reckless for a Wrecker, had been very useful. He’d practically led Dreadwing right to Earth.

“I am afraid it is so.” Megatron folded his arms behind his back, his constitution fit for a funeral. “Though it was not under my command. It was Starscream who made the desperate move to release him from stasis, and it was the Autobots who ended his life.”

He now looked to Soundwave, whose face was now playing out the events for Dreadwing to see for himself. It was indeed Starscream who summoned him, foolishly thinking he could command Skyquake in Megatron’s absence. And it was an Autobot who dealt the killing blow. 

Dreadwing had had time to accept it, when he first felt the loss from light years away; time that he’d wasted on denial. But the truth on Soundwave’s screen could not be denied. Just from watching the scene, he could pinpoint the moment that Skyquake’s death ripped through him. And he could feel an echo of it now in his own spark, radiant and permanent. A stain that would never fade.

“Then I will purge them all from this planet.” Dreadwing’s palms stung from his claws cutting into them.

“A noble ambition. One that we can all work towards in due time.” Megatron’s face betrayed a smirk before he turned away, now addressing the other assembled officers. “Soundwave can appraise you of the current situation with the Autobots. Knockout will conduct a standard physical assessment, and you will be given Starscream’s former quarters. It has all the appropriate accommodations for a Seeker.”

Dreadwing tried to hide his distaste at the assignment, forced to room in the former home of a traitor. People like Starscream, even when Cybertron was still their home, made him ashamed to even call himself a Seeker. But he couldn’t deny that his frametype demanded specific adaptations over most others– a berth with space for his wings, a view of the sky outside. He had nothing to argue against.

There must have been some cue for Breakdown and the red medic, now named Knockout, to take their leave. Soundwave, of course, remained exactly where he was, and Dreadwing also remained still. His brother’s fate was finally answered, but now he had more questions; distractions for his grief to cling to, if only for a moment.

“My liege,” he began, “you mentioned that Starscream is no longer a Decepticon. Is he still present on this planet?”

Megatron waited until the other two were gone to answer. His silence was a heavy weight– Dreadwing had acclimated to bearing it as he rose through the Decepticon ranks, but after his long absence he now felt what so many others did when they stood pleading before their lord and master.

“We believe so.” Megatron lowered his voice by some minute decibels, a change that was only noteworthy because it was done by him. “Starscream would not get far from this solar system without substantial energon. Furthermore, the other traitor Airachnid’s alternate mode confines her to the atmosphere. We will root them both out, sooner or later.“

Dreadwing had no doubt of it. He would deal with Starscream personally, after the debt with the Autobots was settled. He was the one who awoke Skyquake, foolishly thinking he was worthy of commanding him. He was just as responsible for his demise as any Autobot was. 

Airachnid, however, was still a mystery.

“May I ask as to the circumstances of their defection? Starscream’s betrayal is no surprise to me, but I am unfamiliar with Airachnid.”

Megatron remained silent again for some nanoklicks, though it wasn’t clear what he was waiting on this time.

“Soundwave.” He broke the quiet when he turned to his spy. “Show us her file.”

The bridge was soon alight with projections, showing everything that was known about the former Decepticon. Dreadwing absorbed them one at a time, taking in her ID and service record. He thought he faintly recognised her… though perhaps only because of her resemblance to another Decepticon, one of Shockwave’s assistants.

“She was an interrogator,” Megatron said, “recruited in the latter half of the war on Cybertron. An admittedly useful asset, while we had her. She was also involved in Shockwave’s experiments with controlling Insecticons.”

“A technorganic?” Dreadwing struggled not to bite his glossa on the word. So Shockwave had two technorganics in his employ? Though to his knowledge the one he recalled, the mech, wasn’t involved with Insecticons.

“She was recovered from Archa Seven by Lockdown.” Megatron let that fact answer the question. “We assume that she was one of our own, subjected to a mutation somehow caused by the native spiders of the planet. Her old name, whatever it may have been, is long gone. She shed her allegiance during the Exodus, and by chance her ship crashed on this planet some time ago. Breakdown was able to capture her, though her return was short-lived. Once a traitor, always a traitor.”

Megatron was not looking at Dreadwing or Soundwave. He seemed to be reading Airachnid’s file for himself, or at least part of it. His claws were balled tight against his palms– Dreadwing recognised the tension, expecting to see energon leak through his master’s fingers.

Then he gestured to Soundwave, and the bridge was once again dull and empty.

“Any more questions, Dreadwing?” Megatron was growing impatient. Dreadwing could only tell because he’d seen many a lowly officer make the mistake of misjudging their lord’s temper, unable to recognise the calm before the storm. 

“Only one, my liege.” Dreadwing bowed his head with humility. “Where will I find my brother’s grave?”

Soundwave provided the answer on his screen, the coordinates pulsing red. It would take Dreadwing some hours to fly there from the Nemesis .

“If I may be excused, I will go to pay my respects.” He flexed his claws by his side, readying them for what would come next. “And then I will attend to some unfinished business with the Wrecker known as Wheeljack.”

“I would advise against that.” Megatron spoke just as Dreadwing turned around. “The Autobots treat Wreckers as their own soldiers. If you pursue action against one, the others will retaliate.”

“That is precisely what I am counting on, my lord.” He’d thought that Megatron would appreciate the confidence, the assurance that the Autobots would be so swiftly dealt with. 

He was mistaken.

“I will not have you throw your spark away in pursuit of a petty feud, Dreadwing.” Megatron seized his shoulder; turning him around, forcing him to face his leader’s snarl head-on. “You are under my command now, and I am ordering you to stand down. Is that clear?”

Dreadwing wasn’t going to argue. How could he? It did not matter if he could end the war in a single strike– if Megatron did not wish it, then it would not be so. 

Even so, Dreadwing did not bow to him.

“The death of my brother is no petty matter, Lord Megatron…” He exhaled slowly so as not to betray his anger. “But I will heed your warning.”

Megatron did not stop him from leaving this time. Outside the bridge, away from his liege and Soundwave and the need to remain silent, Dreadwing realised he was truly alone. 

His brother was gone. Thrown away. Wasted. 

He knew he might lose Skyquake some day, a worthy sacrifice for the cause. But not like this. Not because of Starscream of all people.

Something leaked between his claws. Turning his palm over, he saw fresh gouges left by the claws digging in deep. Then his frame rang with a sudden impact, a deep indent left in the wall to his right. His fist left energon smeared across the depression.

Of the two of them, Skyquake was always the one who couldn’t control his emotions. This was an outburst typical of him, a sliver of his spark still living in Dreadwing’s own. His hand ached, yet he wanted to hit it again. The Nemesis was in no state to retaliate.

“Uh, Dreadwing?”

A voice down the corridor held him back. Dreadwing turned his head towards it, finding Breakdown watching him from afar. 

“Um… hi.” The mech raised his hand as if to wave, but then thought better of it. “I’m Breakdown. It’s been a while.”

“Indeed.” Dreadwing wasn’t sure what Breakdown was referring to, and didn’t have the patience to ask. He flexed his claws, letting them air-dry as they throbbed.

“I’m here to escort you to the med-bay, if you’re ready.” Breakdown was at least tactful in not acknowledging the hole in the wall, though Dreadwing still scoffed.

“That’s work for a drone.” The Nemesis had plenty of them; the same mass-produced frames forged in the thousands from Darkmount’s smelting pools, the same designs drafted by Straxus. He had to guess that the only reason more Decepticon officers weren’t on Earth was because the Vehicons did all the work for half the energon cost.

“Well,” Breakdown said, “someone of your reputation deserves the proper tour. Not that the place has changed much since Cybertron…” 

Dreadwing would have preferred not being herded along like a sparkling, but he wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to familiarise himself with the new status quo. As he followed Breakdown he quickly assessed what little he knew of him– he used to be a Wrecker, back when there was a difference between them and Autobots. As a Decepticon, it hadn’t been long before Shockwave found a use for him and many others. 

“I’m sorry about Skyquake, by the way.” Breakdown kept walking as he turned his head towards Dreadwing– from this angle and distance, he now realised that Breakdown’s left optic was in fact a thick mesh patch. He must have lost it recently if he was still waiting for a replacement. “It all happened while I was on the other side of the planet, but I know what the pain feels like. I’ve lost brothers too.”

Dreadwing realised now that there was another glaring omission from the ranks currently on Earth– the rest of Breakdown’s team.

“You’re a combiner, aren’t you?” That was one of the names for them– combiners, gestalts, children of Nexus. The true combiners perished long ago in the Age of Wrath, but Shockwave had somehow managed to bring them back. Or at least, some shadow of them. 

“I was. Part of the Stunticons. I was Menasor’s left leg.” Breakdown tried to smile, proud of his role as any gestalt was, but the expression didn’t reach his one remaining optic.

“May I ask what happened to the rest of them?”

As expected, Breakdown’s stride faltered.

“Most of us… we got separated in the Exodus. Not sure where they are now. Since then I’ve felt pain out of nowhere, now and again. I tell myself it’s from them, letting me know they’re still kicking. Better than the alternative, at least.”

Dreadwing didn’t know the intricacies of how combiner teams were linked together (and truthfully, wherever Shockwave was involved, he didn’t want to know), but if what Breakdown was describing was true, then they really were like brothers. He wondered if Shockwave had done it intentionally.

“A shame,” Dreadwing said, turning his mind to a more cynical side to curb his emotions. “A gestalt would help turn the tide against the Autobots, I’m sure.”

“Truth be told, we didn’t work very well together,” Breakdown admitted. “They brought out the worst in me. But they’re still my brothers. Can’t live with them… well, you know how it goes.”

‘Can’t live without them.’ Dreadwing would have to learn how to, for the sake of the Decepticons.

"I am curious as to why there are so few of us currently on Earth," he said. "What happened to the others who left in the Exodus?"

Breakdown hesitated for a moment, as if the question was taboo. He even looked around him, confirming that no-one would overhear them both, before he answered.

"Megatron lost the Ark's trail at some point, so he sent out several teams of officers and soldiers to try and find it again. It wasn't until we cracked a transmission from Optimus himself that we learned the Autobots were here. It was time-sensitive, so Megatron had to set off with whoever happened to be close to the Nemesis. He sent out a summons to the rest of the army, of course, but obviously we're still waiting on a lot of them to show up."

Breakdown shrugged, as if it was just a logistical hiccup rather than a mass dereliction of duty. "So how did you know to come to Earth?"

"Rumors of our lord are still abound throughout the galaxy. I followed the most sensible one here." Dreadwing kept the intimate details to himself. He was eager to torment Wheeljack with them when the time came.

“Well... fair enough. Oh, I should warn you.” Breakdown paused as they passed a branch in the corridor, pointing down it towards a wide hollow chamber. Dreadwing recognised the outline of a Ground Bridge frame within it, currently being analysed and repaired by Vehicon drones. 

“Like Megatron said,” Breakdown continued, “our Ground Bridge is out of action, so we can’t zap down wherever we like. We’re stuck to local ops only until it’s fixed. ‘Course you’re luckier, being able to fly everywhere.”

Dreadwing took it as a compliment only because Breakdown knew of his reputation, and therefore knew that he was born a Seeker. One of the many adaptations to war was that T-Cogs were modified and transplanted, allowing former grounders to change their function and take flight. It was one that Dreadwing, like others who survived the fall of Vos, was appalled by. 

Starscream hadn’t cared at all, of course. Some even said the whole process was his idea, and that was hardly the worst of his rumors.

“What happened to the Bridge?” Dreadwing remembered hearing Megatron briefly mention it during his speech, but his mind had been occupied by Skyquake. Breakdown continued walking as he answered.

“Airachnid took it out when she… well, when she left.” He shrugged. “I don’t even know how, but she did a real number on it.”

Dreadwing’s engines hummed. “She didn’t want to be followed. You’re the one who brought her back to the fold.”

That was another thing he remembered from Megatron. For all her short time on Earth, Airachnid certainly seemed to have made an impact.

“Yeah. Long story.” Breakdown suddenly seemed sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck as he held it down. “Should’ve known she’d manage to wriggle out again, but… she seemed alright to me. She wasn’t a prisoner here. She could have left us any time, so I don’t know what pushed her over the edge.”

Dreadwing had been beginning to form some meagre kinship with Breakdown in his head, but it was shattered when he heard the apology in his vox. Breakdown was sorry to see Airachnid gone, despite what she’d done. He couldn’t fathom that loyalty was not bought, that just because the Decepticons provided for her did not mean she would stake her spark for them. 

“Once a traitor,” Dreadwing growled, “always a traitor.”

Airachnid never should have been allowed back in the first place. He could only assume that Megatron had done so out of desperation– his liege was not a foolish mech. Or perhaps he had planned to keep her prisoner after all. Such things would not happen again under Dreadwing's watch.

“Suppose so.” Breakdown stopped before a door marked by a distinctive red outline. “Anyway, this is the med-bay. Knockout should already be inside. Shouldn’t take long to get it over with.”

He raised his hand again, briefly hovering it near Dreadwing’s shoulder in some kind of half-thought farewell. Then he turned and walked back the same way he’d come. Dreadwing waited for his EM field to disappear before he continued on in the opposite direction.

Knockout could wait. He would see his brother before anything else. Vehicons passed him by as he navigated his way towards the roof of the Nemesis, barely acknowledging him. Even the most primitive of drones were programmed to recognise authority without question.

It had been dark when Dreadwing had been retrieved, and now Earth’s sole star was cresting the horizon. The coordinates provided by Soundwave would take him towards it. After so long spent in the relentless cold of outer space, the heat from the star almost outweighed the chill of wind streaming past him. 

It wasn’t long before the landscape below him became recognisable– still desert sands and rocky ravines. Dreadwing descended slowly as he neared the coordinates, and when his peds touched the dirt his massive frame barely made a sound.

At the end of the ravine, Skyquake’s grave was clearly marked by the pile of haphazard boulders. Even if a ground burial was not ideal for a Seeker, it was a dignity that Dreadwing could take some modicum of comfort in. When the war was over, he could bring his body back to Cybertron and scatter his ashes to the stars, as he deserved.

‘I was too late, brother. Far too late. Forgive me.’ 

Dreadwing knelt before him in the dirt, embedding himself alongside the blade of his sword. He was vulnerable with his head bowed, but he dared any Autobot to attack him. He wanted them to come now, to give him an excuse. Let him prove Lord Megatron wrong. Let them pay for leaving him alone in the universe.

But Skyquake wouldn’t want to be avenged against their master’s orders. So Dreadwing would find Starscream first. Megatron hadn’t ordered him against that. The Autobots would come later, naturally. 

Before that, though, there was still one loose end to deal with. Wheeljack was, for the second time, on Earth as well. He was on his own quest for revenge. So Dreadwing, compassionate and merciful as he was, would do him the courtesy of ending it. He said a final farewell to Skyquake’s grave before taking flight again.

The Wrecker, as arrogant as he was dense, had spent all his effort on his ship’s exterior defences and weaponry. Dreadwing doubted Wheeljack even knew how to shield his comms, or what a network firewall was.  It had been so easy to infiltrate his systems from afar using Seaspray’s credentials, finding the location of Earth within the mess of stolen coordinates. 

Even though he’d been forced to abandon his own ship, Dreadwing still had a lock on the Jackhammer’s frequency. It wasn’t even encrypted. He formed the plan in his head as he flew, until the ground below became green and he found the ideal place to put the Wrecker out of his misery.

“Wheeljack.” Dreadwing wasted no ceremony on him as he dialled the commlink frequency. “I know you’re listening. Meet me at these coordinates, if you have the spark.”

Wheeljack could not respond back, but Dreadwing knew he’d appear. For all that Wreckers prided themselves on unpredictability, they could always be expected to be stupid.

“Optimus.” 

He awoke immediately, with regret and longing, to the sound of Ratchet’s voice. The slab beneath him was searing from the conduction of his overheating frame, his processor sparking with static. 

There were very few memories of Elita that could have such an effect on Optimus as their first reunion did.

‘ That wasn’t where it ended. Let me see the rest… please.’

But the Matrix said nothing. All he heard was the frantic whirring of his cooling fans as he pushed himself up, trying to ignore the pixelated artifacts at the corners of his vision. 

Perhaps the Primes were still angry at their descendant, and this was their way of tormenting him– reminders of the one he couldn’t save, as punishment for binding himself to someone who shouldn’t be saved.

“How long has it been?” From Optimus’ perspective, the flashes of his memories lasted for as long as they needed to. But he was still as weary as ever, as if he hadn’t slept at all.

“Two hours, more or less.” Ratchet hovered an energon cube under the Prime’s chin, not allowing him to ignore it. “I would have left you for longer, but… there’s a situation. Bulkhead and Wheeljack are missing.”

Optimus imbibed the cube in one swift gulp, forcing himself onto his peds. “Where were they last seen?”

“Up top. I checked in on them after I locked the med-bay, and at some point they both vanished with Wheeljack’s ship. Arcee and Bumblebee have been trying to get in touch with Bulkhead… with no success.” 

Ratchet held the door open for Optimus, allowing him to walk ahead. The Prime regretted not speaking with Wheeljack and Bulkhead as soon as he returned to the base; admitting the truth to Ratchet had drained everything from him, but he still had a duty to appraise himself of every situation concerning his Autobots. It had been the wrong kind of selfishness to indulge in.

“They think you’ve been undergoing system scans,” Ratchet muttered, nodding towards where Bumblebee and Arcee were standing before the navigation console. The human children were in their usual places– with June Darby among them– and they too were looking intently at the screen. Arcee greeted Optimus with a terse update.

“Bulkhead isn’t answering our comm pings. We’ve tracked his signal going east– he’s moving quickly, so he must be on the Jackhammer with Wheeljack.”

“Or... the ‘Cons got Wheeljack again.” Bumblebee suggested with halting chirps. “And Bulkhead too.”

His doors twitched forlornly at his shoulders, but Rafael didn’t let him stay anxious for long.

“No way, Bee.” The human leaned over from his laptop to look up at his friend. “You know neither of them would go without a fight.”

“Raf’s right,” Arcee added. “If the Cons had them, we likely wouldn’t even still have Bulkhead’s signal.”

“Why can’t you track Wheeljack as well?” June wasn’t dressed for work for once, but still radiated authority when she crossed her arms over her chest.

“We can only track other Autobots cause we all have navigation chips installed,” Arcee explained. “Wreckers don’t like being spied on, though. If you tried to put a chip in one of them, they’d just dig it back out.” She made a face as if she’d witnessed the injuries of Wrecker self-surgery herself. Even Ultra Magnus had given up on trying to keep tabs on his soldiers that way.

“Well, when Wheeljack returns,” Ratchet pledged, “I’ll put one in a place he won’t be able to reach.”

Optimus watched the screen the whole while, planning his next move. “If they are indeed onboard Wheeljack’s ship, we will have to wait for them to land before we can Bridge.” 

It was the only option they had, given Bulkhead’s comm silence.

“I wanna come with!” Miko jumped up from the couch, running over to the platform that brought her eye-level with the Autobots. “Jackie promised he’d show me how to build grenades if he ever came back!”

“He what ?!” Ratchet had yet to become desensitized to Miko’s proclivities, and Miko took full advantage of that fact.

“For my science project.” She shrugged as if it was obvious, though Ratchet was still spluttering.

“I already did a project for you. And it was far better than anything he could come up with!”

“That was last year,” Miko scoffed. “I gotta do another one for this year. Get with the times, old man!”

Jack and Rafael both made a sound of muffled laughter, though Ms Darby remained unamused.

“Miko,” she said, “it’s good that you’re so interested in the subject, but you’re not going to get a good grade if your school has to call the bomb squad in for your project.”

Miko scowled, mimicking June’s crossed arms as she turned on her heels and marched away. “Fine. I’ll just look it up online, and if I get cops at my door for Googling ‘how to make napalm’ then it’s your fault!”

The two boys watched her leave over the edge of the couch.

“Raf…” Jack turned to Rafael while the other furiously typed something into his laptop.

“Already jamming her cell signal,” Rafael reassured. “She’ll forget all about it when she gets home.”

“At least you two are sensible.” June sighed with relief as she watched after Miko, who planted herself on the floor some distance away with her face buried in her phone. “I worry about that girl. Who are her parents?”

“Mom,” Jack warned. “Don’t.”

“What? I’m just saying, if someone said something at the next PTA meeting…”

“Mom, no !”

Ratchet shook his head, as he announced what Optimus had already noticed on the screen. “Bulkhead’s location seems stable now.”

“Lock onto his coordinates,” Optimus ordered. “I will investigate.”

As Ratchet set up the Ground Bridge, Prime watched Bumblebee and Arcee at the corner of his vision. They were understandably anxious without Bulkhead around, the same feeling they held when Cliffjumper had been captured. 

They’d all spent three years in relative safety together, simply surviving, and suddenly one of them was dead. With Megatron restored as their figurehead the Decepticons were only getting worse, and the arrival of the new Decepticon Bumblebee had mentioned would be a hammer to their morale.

And then there was Airachnid, which was all Optimus’ fault. But it was far too late to change anything about that. He could only try and soften the blow when it inevitably came. 

“Arcee.” His guilt pointed him towards her, while Bumblebee was talking excitedly with Rafael. “Do you wish to accompany me?”

He remembered what she’d said about him going alone, how hurt she’d been when she believed he was in danger by himself. And he still hated himself for betraying her with Airachnid, despite how he convinced himself that it was the right thing to do. 

But Arcee shook her head, still thankfully oblivious. “I trust you, Optimus. Besides, someone has to keep an eye on Miko while Bulk isn’t here.”

She motioned over her shoulder to where the young human was standing on the tips of her boots with her cellphone, trying to get a signal by standing up higher.

“Very true.” It felt wrong to smile at her with what he knew and what he was doing, but Optimus couldn’t stop himself. “Remain on standby. I may require backup.”

The Bridge vortex whirled to life behind him in a flash of swirling light and humming diodes. He forged on ahead, finding himself dropped into a sparse and humid evening forest. He detected only one life signal in range, and it was buried under what must have been a recent rockslide. He managed to shift a few of the granite boulders aside before the person underneath managed to dig themselves out the rest of the way.

“What took you so long, Bulk? Don't tell me riding with Prime’s made you… soft?” Wheeljack's chuckle halted at the sight of Optimus standing over him. He allowed the Prime to haul him up.

“Well, well.” He dusted off his shoulder plates, trying to hide his panic. “Nice of you to show up at last, chief.”

“What happened here, Wheeljack? Where is Bulkhead?”

Wheeljack looked around him, as if only now noticing the avalanche of stones. “He’s here somewhere. He has to be. Just… need to dig around some more.”

He swiftly got to work, trying to clear the rest of the rubble with his back to Optimus.

“The only spark signal in this area is yours ,” Prime insisted. “I’ll ask you again, Wheeljack, what happened ?”

Wheeljack sighed, still trying to shove boulders larger than himself aside. “Dreadwing got in touch. Told us to meet him here to settle things, so we did. I… got caught off guard.”

Dreadwing must have been the Decepticon. It was a name that Optimus recognised. He’d been recruited after the fall of Vos, and had quickly made a name for himself among Megatron’s new Seeker squads. 

He’d turn Earth into a bloodbath.

“Not only have you brought a Decepticon to Earth, you placed one of my Autobots in danger–” Optimus spoke to Wheeljack’s back before he grabbed the Wrecker’s shoulder. Wheeljack snapped to attention, grabbing Prime’s wrist in a reflexive vice– only for a second before he let go. Even a Wrecker knew the consequences of laying hands on a Prime.

“With all due respect, sir ,” Wheeljack spat out the honorific as he took a step back, “Bulkhead knew the risks. Every Wrecker does. And I didn’t bring Dreadwing here. I was following him. Now if you spent less time giving me the dress down and more time looking for Bulk, maybe we could get the hell out of here before nightfall.”

Prime's glare hardened further as Wheeljack turned back to the stones. His dealings with Airachnid had already stretched his patience to the limit. Someone like Wheeljack wouldn’t earn much else from him. He was not Ultra Magnus or Springer or Kup, the three eldest commanders of the Wreckers, and even they had struggled to control their soldiers. He could not force Wheeljack to respect him, not even if he was an Autobot, but he didn’t need his respect. He just needed him to be an asset rather than a very loud, very inconvenient liability.

Thankfully, before Optimus could do something either mech might regret, Ratchet chimed in his comm link. 

" Optimus, Bulkhead's signal has moved from your current position!"

"Where is he now?" Optimus turned away from Wheeljack to try and force himself to calm down.

" Still mobile. Can’t get a lock on it."

“Dammit…” Wheeljack must have overheard– he quickly gave up on his digging and marched past Optimus. “Dreadwing has him.”

“Are you sure?” Optimus closed the comm link temporarily, in case Ratchet let anything else leak through.

“Bulk wouldn’t leave me behind,” Wheeljack insisted, as Optimus watched him pull a handheld device from his subspace. “Only good news is I managed to get a tracker on Dreadwing before I got knocked out.”

The small console revealed another fast-moving target. Wheeljack’s digits tightened around it.

“I’m going after him. Feel free to tag along.”  He was already moving without waiting for an answer.

“We should bring the others for backup,” Optimus suggested, jogging to catch up with the Wrecker. 

“Thought you didn’t want your Autobots getting into danger ‘cause of me?” Wheeljack mocked. “Besides, the Jackhammer can’t fit that many people. Hell, I don’t know if it’ll even fit you .”

Optimus chose not to take offense to that. “A Bridge will get us there faster.”

Wheeljack scoffed. “Yeah, and it’s exactly what Dreadwing will be expecting. He knows as much about explosives as I do. Wherever he’s taking Bulk could be rigged to blow. With the Jackhammer , at least we can scope the place out before getting close.”

It was surprisingly sensible, though Optimus still didn’t like it. Even in a starship, an atmosphere-bound journey could take at least an hour, likely even longer. That was time spent away from the Autobots, and away from Airachnid and Scorpia. Anything could happen, anyone could find them, and there would be nothing he could do.

But, like Bulkhead, he’d known the risks from the start. And it hadn’t changed what had happened.

“Very well.” Optimus tried not to grit his teeth around the words as he yielded to Wheeljack. “Lead the way.” 

He’d wait until they were on the Jackhammer to tell Ratchet what was happening. That way, he couldn’t be talked out of it.

☽ ✶ ☾

The update Ratchet received was as brief as it was dismaying. He didn’t even know if he should pass it on to the others, not when his head already weighed heavy with bad news, but Arcee didn’t give him much choice– she was already standing behind him when Optimus ended the transmission.

“Well? Any sign of Bulkhead?” She was tapping her peds, the same way she always did when she was impatient. With what he now knew, Ratchet couldn’t bring himself to look at her. He knew she was standing like June with her arms across her chest, her optics bright under tall eyebrows.  

“Optimus managed to find Wheeljack, but it seems Bulkhead was taken by Dreadwing. They’re going after them as we speak.”

He heard her sigh, and her peds scuffed against the floor.

“Dreadwing really is on a vendetta against Wreckers,” she said. “When they reach Bulk, we should Bridge over and–”

“It’s a delicate situation, Arcee,” Ratchet had to interrupt. “I think we just need to sit back and see what happens.”

“But we can't just stay here and do nothing ! Dammit, I should have gone when Optimus offered...”

She wasn’t angry– Ratchet had seen her angry before, and this wasn’t close. Even her diffused fury was something to run away from; losing Tailgate had dulled her edge for some years, and losing Cliffjumper had started the sorry process all over again. It was only when she found Jack, the most fragile partner of all of them, that she became herself again.

When she found out about Airachnid, if Optimus didn’t come to his senses or Airachnid didn’t do the expected before then, Ratchet firmly believed that they’d lose her forever. He should be making the most of her presence, while she was allowed to remain ignorant. 

“Optimus told you to be on standby.” Ratchet turned around this time, finding Arcee standing exactly as he pictured her. “That’s not doing nothing.”

Arcee looked away, letting her tight shoulders go loose. “You’re right. I just… I hate feeling helpless. And I’m worried about Optimus. What’s been up with him lately?”

Ratchet almost swore. He could finally answer that question now– except that he couldn’t. And he was almost as bad a liar as Optimus himself was.

“Nothing. Nothing I’ve noticed, at least.” He turned away from Arcee far too quickly, but it was all he could do. 

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?” Ratchet didn’t recognise the word, though the tone it was steeped in  told him all he really needed to know.

“Human phrase that Jack taught me,” Arcee explained. “It means I don’t believe you. You know he’s been acting weird, that’s why you sent me and Bee away before you took him into the med-bay. So what’s going on? You of all people should know.” 

Ratchet just wanted a second of silence to think with. He’d had just under two hours to process the news that they were harboring a Decepticon and a newborn, let alone to think of what to say to Arcee. Bulkhead and Bumblebee would know as well, of course, but Arcee was the one who would react with the most violence. 

(He didn’t even want to think of what the humans would do.)

“I just want to know if he’s okay.” Arcee’s hands were on her hips now, her eyes pointed far away. “He looks after us, so… we should be looking after him as well.”

Ratchet sighed. Jack must have mentioned the previous day’s conversation to her about the duty of a Prime; to remain steadfast and to forget that, despite the power of the Matrix, they were still only mortal like their soldiers. Primes weren’t allowed to be people. Optimus himself had confessed that; long ago, during the most difficult therapy session for both himself and Ratchet. Even those who’d known him as Orion, the most loyal Autobots, had no illusions that the librarian and the Prime were the same person anymore.

Only Elita had been the exception. Only she had been allowed to still see Orion, and know him.

“It’s… not something I can share, Arcee.” Ratchet would finally concede, because he too was only mortal. “Patient confidentiality.”

“Is it anything we can help with?”

“No. It’s…”

He could tell her half of the truth, at least. She deserved to know that much for now.

“He misses Elita.”

“Oh.” Arcee’s face flashed through a hundred different expressions, hundreds of years worth of familiar grief. “Yeah... that would explain it.”

“Who’s Elita?”

The question came from the floor, just behind Arcee, and it was asked in Miko’s voice. 

“How long were you standing there for?!” Ratchet hid his surprise as far as stopping himself from jumping away from her.

“I followed Arcee over. Now you gotta answer my question!” Miko looked up expectedly at both of them, while Ratchet shook his head.

“It’s nothing you need to be concerned with, Miko.”

But Arcee, still immersed in her own memories of Elita, wasn’t so dismissive. “We might as well explain, Ratch. Otherwise she’ll keep asking. Better to do it while Optimus is away.”

Ratchet would have rather just wiped the human’s memory, but alas that wasn’t as easy with organics as it was with Cybertronians (and in any case, he wasn’t a qualified mnemosurgeon. Almost all of them were dead now). 

Arcee was right though– the worst thing Miko could do was ask about Elita when Optimus was around. Better to get it over with, so she could be warned against it.

“Fine. You do it.” He went right back to his console, monitoring Optimus’ journey and making sure he was on track towards Bulkhead’s. They were both mobile, but Dreadwing was able to move slightly faster with whatever vessel he was in. Watching the meager progress of both signals helped keep his mind off everything else. Though, of course, he couldn’t ignore what Arcee was saying to Miko.

“Elita One was…” Arcee struggled to say her name for a second. “She was Optimus’ partner. His Sanctum Amora.”

“His sanca-whata?”

“I guess the English word would be ‘spouse’.”

Even from afar, Ratchet could see Miko’s eyes glittering. “ Ohhh . Wait, you guys can get married?!”

“We spark-bond. If someone finds someone else they connect with, and they know they want them to remain in their lives, they… merge their sparks together. It creates a permanent link so they can always sense each other, no matter how far apart they are.” Arcee spoke from a distance, as someone who knew how dangerous such a link could be. Not that Miko seemed to notice.

“Wow. So you guys can fall in love and stay together forever? It’s like a real-life red thread of fate!”

“It’s a little more complicated than that.” Ratchet couldn’t stop himself from interjecting; even though he wasn’t familiar with the ‘red thread’ Miko mentioned, how Cybertronians forged bonds was far more selective than simply being in love, and the very process of a spark-bond itself was nothing short of a miracle, from both a medical and technological standpoint. The union of two sparks created enough energy in a single flash to rival the output of most stars, resulting in them becoming permanently entangled on the quantum level. Injuries sustained by one partner would inexplicably affect the other across light years, and there was no such thing as secrets within a bond.

When the war began, the bonded pairs were easy targets for both sides. If you secured one half of the bond, the other half was under your control. When it came to interrogations, the best strategy for getting results was torturing the partner of whoever had the information you were after.

(Tailgate and Arcee never had the chance to bond. That was the only mercy allowed when Airachnid interrogated them both.)

“What’s a red thread of fate?” Arcee leaned down so she was almost sitting on the floor– though she made the question sound skeptical, she must have been genuinely curious if she was lowering herself to Miko’s level. Ratchet too admittedly wanted to know, so he kept watching them both from the corner of his optic.

“It’s a folklore thing. Originally from China, but it’s a big thing in Japan as well. It’s an invisible string around your little finger,” Miko held up her own in example, “and it’s connected to whoever your soulmate is. No matter how far apart you both are, it can never be severed.”

“Ah.” Arcee smiled for the same reason that Ratchet almost did. “That sounds more like a Sanctum Eterna.”

“That sounds a lot fancier,” Miko said, “whatever that is.”

“It’s one of those things that some like to believe exist, but it’s never been proven.” Arcee rearranged herself so she was sitting comfortably. “When we die, we return to the Allspark, and our energy is recycled by the Well to create something new. So, a long time ago someone came up with the theory that some sparks remain bonded even in death. No matter where or when you’re born or what body you end up in, if your bond with someone in your previous life was strong enough then you’ll always find them again. They’re your Sanctum Eterna.”

Miko gasped, then stared at her smallest finger. “Eternal red thread…”

Ratchet didn’t interrupt this time. Mythology wasn’t something he was well-versed in, but he wouldn’t deny that he was one of the fools who liked to believe it was true. Energy could not be created from nothing nor destroyed– only changed from one form to another. It was a simple fact of the universe. And what were sparks if not energy in a machine? 

Even though Elita was gone, she would be reborn one day. Just as every Cybertronian would. And even if Ratchet or Arcee or any other Autobot never found her again, Optimus surely would. He was the only person who needed to.

“What happened to Elita?”

It wasn’t Miko speaking this time– June Darby had approached at some point, and they’d all been so engrossed in waxing poetic about sparks that they hadn’t noticed her. 

“Sorry, I was eavesdropping…” June suddenly became sheepish when everyone stared at her. “Just making sure Miko isn’t getting in trouble.”

Miko scowled in silent protest, but then right back to watching Arcee for her answer. The femme opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Ratchet considered jumping in again for her sake, but just as he moved from the console her vox finally burst into static.

“She got caught in a Decepticon ambush. We were outnumbered. She sacrificed herself.”

It was a blunt recollection, but no less heartbreaking than it had been when it happened. Arcee looked away from the humans, so only Ratchet could see the coolant film over her eyes.

“Oh…” June’s hand went over her mouth. “And because they were bonded… he would have felt it?”

Arcee nodded, still hiding her face. She’d never cry in front of others, no matter how much Ratchet told her it was worse to hold it back.

“So that’s why he’s so distant,” Miko said. “I mean, compared to the rest of you guys.”

“Ratchet’s known him longer than I have.” It was a non-answer, just to buy Arcee some time to clear her face. Miko, in a rare display of tact, didn’t stare at her.

“He smiled more when she was around,” Ratchet confirmed. 

“How long has it been since she died?” June asked.

“Thirty million years.” 

“What did she look like?” Miko directed it to Ratchet, but Arcee was the one who sent the projection out. It was a still frame of the very first Autobots, all gathered together in the Iacon plaza, just a few days after Optimus and Elita became bonded. Ironhide, Chromia, Jazz, Hound, Trailbreaker, Prowl, Greenlight, Brawl, Firestar, Inferno and Beachcomber and Grapple and Hoist all pressed around Ratchet and First Aid… and so many others. Half of them had died before they even left Cybertron.

“That’s her there.” Arcee pointed Elita out beside Optimus, as if she didn’t stick like a beacon in the night. Even when dressed for battle and wielding a plasma pistol, you could tell she belonged under a spotlight. 

Miko seemed entranced– she pressed her face against the hologram as if it was a physical wall. “She’s so tall! And pink ! Good taste in color, if I do say so myself.”

“She was… beautiful.” June stayed where she was, admiring Elita from a distance. Even humans, so different in aesthetics from Cybertonians, knew that Elita had been stunning to behold. She and Optimus were the only ones not looking at the lens of the captura device. With their sparks newly linked, they could only look at each other.

“Woah, who’s that guy?” Miko only now noticed Ironhide, even though his bulk easily took up a quarter of the frame. “He looks like a tank!”

“That’s Ironhide. Standing next to him is his Amora Chromia.”

“And her? Is that fire coming out of her head?!”

“That’s Firestar. She was always a show-off.” 

“What about these two? Why’re they so small?”

“We’ll be here all day if we go through all of them,” Ratchet snapped to save Arcee from Miko’s endless curiosity. “Maybe some other time.”

He also had feelings too, despite what others believed. They were his friends, and most of them were dead or missing or worse. He didn’t like having to remember them without being prepared for it. He especially didn’t like being reminded while an Autobot was currently under Decepticon duress. That should have been the end of it. 

Optimus and Wheeljack were still moving slowly towards Bulkhead. The whole conversation with the humans had barely taken up five klicks. Good grief. 

“Hey, Arcee?” Miko's boots echoed on the floor as she ran up to her. “Since you guys can get married, can you also… you know… can make more of yourselves? By bonding? Or is there some other secret way–?”

Then she yelped as something cut her off. 

“That is not an appropriate conversation for someone of your age, Miko,” June insisted– when Ratchet looked over his shoulder, he saw her trying to pull Miko away.

“Ms. Darby, I’m fifteen!” Miko rolled her eyes as she pulled free from June’s grip. “I know where babies come from!”

“Fifteen? I… thought you were younger.” June blinked as if she was stunned. “Well. Never mind, then. But it’s still inappropriate to ask.”

“I’m confused,” Arcee’s optics flicked between the two of them as she frowned, “what’s inappropriate?”

“Do you guys have babies?!” Miko practically exploded, throwing her arms out wildly. June groaned as she held her head in her hands, and Arcee continued to look confused. Ratchet knew exactly how she felt, even though he understood what Miko was asking about. When one discussed spark bonding, sparklings were almost always involved. 

(Of course there were other ways to create them, but fission via the spark was the most reliable and accepted method.)

“Are you talking about… sparklings?” Arcee ventured. Even after thirty years on Earth and access to almost all knowledge of the history of humanity, the Autobots had yet to learn the Cybertronian equivalent of many English words.

“ Sparklings?! ” Miko made a sound that could have shattered glass (Ratchet had to make sure the panes of his own optics hadn’t somehow cracked). “That’s even cuter, OMG! Tell me all about them right now ! Do you have pictures? How small are they?”

Arcee looked down at Miko with what could only be described as regret. “I think you better take the reins on this one, Ratchet.”

“What?! I–!” Ratchet turned around to see Arcee already walking away, and Miko’s obsessive gaze now landed on him.

“Spill the beans, old man! I wanna know everything!”

“I have to admit, I’m a little curious too.” Even June had fallen victim to Miko’s infectious mania. “Purely as a medical professional, of course. And as a mother myself.” 

“What’s going on over here?” The last remaining three, Jack and Rafael and Bumblebee, finally took notice of the commotion on the other side of the base.

“We’re gonna learn about baby robots!” Miko announced.

“Cybertronians can have babies ?” Rafael’s eyes went so wide that he had to re-adjust his glasses. “Since when?!”

Before anyone could answer him, June was already turning him away. “Bumblebee, could you take Raf aside somewhere? He’s definitely too young to be hearing about this.”

“Ms. Darby, no offense,” Miko said, “but how old were you when you got taught the birds and the bees?”

June blinked, unable to answer right away. “Well, I… was rather young myself. My own mom had a lot of romance novels she should have hidden away. But I know now that I shouldn’t have been reading that stuff, so I’m doing you kids a favor!”

Bumblebee started herding Rafael away, though he leaned down and told him something that June wouldn’t have been able to understand. “ Don’t worry, buddy, I can tell you all about it. We can just pretend like I’m talking about something else.”

“Cool!” Rafael whispered so June wouldn’t hear his anticipation.  And so Ratchet was left with an audience of three humans all staring up at him, waiting for an impromptu Cybertronian biology lesson.

“I don’t get what all this excitement is about,” the medic groaned. “You weren’t nearly this interested in energon refining, or interstellar quantum mechanics, the real interesting stuff!”

“We wanna know about the robot babies!” Miko sat cross-legged on the floor and pounded her fists on her knees.

“Yeah, what she said!” Jack added, though he chose to remain standing. And June was waiting patiently behind her son, the only one of them that Ratchet would be willing to actually sit down and talk to if she really wanted to know something.

“I did not graduate Protihex Medical Mechanical with a chemical synthesis doctorate for this…” He checked the console for the third time, but there was still nothing significant to show. Optimus would get in touch when he found Bulkhead, or if there was a problem. Really, the only reason he had not to share his knowledge was because he plain didn’t want to.

But Arcee was also watching from afar, clearly looking forward to the lecture. Or rather, she was looking forward to Ratchet making a fool of himself. It was far better than her grieving. And he’d need to go over his old books about sparklings again anyway, if he was going to be meeting one very soon… 

Dammit. 

“Alright, alright, calm down!” Ratchet pulled out his most reliable datapad and projected its display for all to see. “Pay attention, because I will not be repeating myself.”

…

“Hold up. The babies grow in their boobs ?!”

Ratchet paused only because he was concerned that Miko’s eyes were going to leave her skull (and human eyes couldn't be replaced like optics, so it really was a concern). He understood ‘boobs’ as slang for ‘breasts’, the abbreviation for ‘breastplate’, which was another word for the protective underlayer over the spark chamber.

“The new spark buds off of its mother’s, yes,” he said, pointing again to the illustrated diagram of a typical carrier spark in the middle of fission.  “Where else is it supposed to go?” 

“This is really weird…” Jack had been curling into himself as if he was allergic to the discussion, and now he resembled a human pretzel on the floor.

“And that’s why Arcee’s chest is like that?” Miko pointed to Arcee behind her.

“What do you mean ‘like that’?” The femme curled her lip as she looked down at her chest. “There’s nothing wrong with my–”

June interrupted with a very red face. “I think she means that’s why it looks slightly… like a human female’s. Coincidentally.”

“Can we please not talk about my motorcycle’s chest in front of me?” Jack groaned, now hiding his face. “Pretty please?”

“God, Jack,” Miko rolled her eyes, “you're such a boy .”

And Ratchet carried on only because he was actually enjoying himself. He didn’t understand why the humans were so uncomfortable, especially after they’d begged to know everything about sparklings, but he didn’t have to understand to find it very amusing. He knew he wouldn’t have much to laugh about in the coming days.

Scorpia was sleeping now. Airachnid was too hungry to do the same. 

Her fuel tanks were sated, her mutated self-repair systems were working as well as they possibly could, and yet the hunger was still there. It always would be.

She couldn’t say still, just waiting to be found and slaughtered by those who hated her– Autobots and Decepticons alike. Even the pathetic humans were a threat to her now that she had a child to guard. 

She needed to move. 

She needed to hunt .

The webbings around the cave were no more than a pitiful shield and warning system. Nothing that was worth hunting, nothing other than rodents with their needle bones and scraps of meat, would be foolish enough to come straight to her. She couldn’t afford to relax or leave her skills to rust. Just because Prime was willing to help her now didn’t mean that he would stay an idiot forever. If he was truly so stupid, he would have perished millions of years ago.

No matter what the future held– whether or not Prime would give her sanctuary and somehow convince his Autobots not to slaughter her, no matter how Megatron would inevitably perish– she had to know that she could still rely on herself.

The last time Airachnid had hunted on this planet was out of desperation. When she’d made the deal with those despicable humans– those who had somehow managed to capture Breakdown and relieve him of an optic– she was running on the last of her fuel reserves. She didn’t know if the animals on Earth could keep her going or how to best harvest them, so she’d hoped to take energon directly from someone’s tanks. Arcee, even if she hadn’t made an enemy of herself, was the most obvious choice for a donor.

(And if her pet human decided to involve himself again, she could have made his skull the first of her latest collection.)

That never happened, of course. She was on the verge of shutdown when she managed to escape with her new alt-mode, and it was only with sheer luck that she fell upon a burrow of creatures. Too starved to even identify them before she started feasting, or to even count how many she devoured. The humiliation of being defeated by Arcee again was secondary to the shame of lying cold amidst the carnage. 

At the time, Airachnid had thought that was her punishment for being too greedy, for denying her instincts. She may have been Cybertronian once, may have joined the war on either side before she woke up on Archa Seven, but to pretend that she was anything like them now was nothing but stupidity. She was a spider, a hunter and scavenger, a poisoner and predator… 

And now a mother. That was her true punishment all along.

She considered leaving the child behind in the cave– if she was properly secured to the wall and hidden behind layers of web, she could slumber on in peace. A newborn’s senses were only alight when they were awake; while they slept, they were utterly defenceless. Scorpia wouldn’t even know that her mother was far away, and she wouldn’t yet need to know what a corpse looked like…

Airachnid changed her mind. It was too risky to be away from her. And the sooner she was introduced to what the world was really like for people like them, the better. She left Scorpia strapped to her back, just between what remained of her legs there; the child didn’t stir at all as Airachnid carved a way through her own defences. 

(If anyone did manage to find her hideout in her absence, they’d see it was empty and hopefully move on… or lie in wait for her return. She was ready for either outcome.)

The sun above was well past its peak, though evening was still a while away. Night was often best for hunting– the cover of darkness, the swarms of other nocturnal beasts to shield your scent, but Airachnid was impatient. There was only a mild wind, and she was careful to move against it as she picked her way through the trees. She favoured her auxiliary legs for stealth, but she only had two of them left. The rest were still left severed on the Nemesis . She had no choice but to stay light on her heels, kicking aside the forest’s litter when she couldn’t risk the sound of stepping on it.

She’d chosen this place on Earth because it was supposed to be familiar, though truth be told she’d hardly had time to properly assess it before she was forced to move on. The forest’s roots ran for miles, and most humans were smart enough to not venture too deep. That was all she knew.

She also knew that animals were abundant on this part of the planet, at least. For every predator in an ecosystem, there had to be at least four times as much prey to support them. She’d learned that through practice on Archa Seven– the spiders were not the apex of the food chain, but they were close enough.

Someone else had taught her what the food chain was, the ecology of her existence. Someone like her, both Cybertronian and not. He’d named himself Tarantulas, and had named her Airachnid to match. He’d treated their names like some kind of private joke, though she'd never asked him to explain and she doubted she would have found it funny anyway.

She'd never asked him how he ended up like her either; if he was born that way, or mutated. He’d come up with some theories for her– how she ended up on Archa Seven in the first place, how she became a part of it– but she hadn't wanted to hear them. Whatever her past was, she didn’t want to waste time on chasing it.

Besides, she owed him too much of a debt already for being her mentor. He was the only Decepticon, perhaps the only Cybertronian in existence, she considered to be a friend. In another life, where the word 'Decepticon' didn't exist, she might have called him a father.

What would he think of her now?

She didn’t even know if he was still alive. Did it really matter?

It must have, somewhat, because thinking of such things almost completely took her away from her surroundings. She stumbled, reflexively relying on her non-existent legs to keep her balance, and almost went tumbling head-first into a steep grove. She managed to right herself only because the thought of waking Scorpia with the fall allowed her to recover so quickly; her claws sank deep into the bark of an ancient tree. She winced, bracing herself for the child to start wailing, but she must have done something right– Scorpia didn’t even shift in her cocoon.

Once she opened her eyes again, adjusting to the glare of the sun through the sparse canopy, Airachnid suddenly found herself to be very lucky. Grazing below her, blissfully unaware, was a small herd of white-tail deer. Quadrupedal herbivores, as skittish as they were stupid– and these ones must have been especially stupid to have not heard her nearby. Every planet had more than a few, and they all followed a basic behavioural pattern. 

The male of the group was obvious– the largest, with a proud crown of horns held aloft as he surveyed his herd. The head would have looked magnificent mounted on a wall, but despite her size advantage Airachnid knew better than to start a fight with him in her current state. A herbivore only ever evolved weapons if they were very very effective.

The more obvious target was one of the females; someone weak, someone who wouldn’t be missed. One of them was limping. She tried to hide it, but she shifted her weight too often as she grazed. Airachnid could smell the faintest tinge of organic blood, some invisible wound on the wind.

 When the herd bolted, the injured one would inevitably lag behind. Infection in the wound was just as inevitable. Either way, she would die.

At least Airachnid would make it quick.

She assailed her target with her webs first, holding her down for precious seconds while the others around her panicked– kicking up grass and dirt in their frenzy, leaving the doomed one far behind as she bellowed after them.

Despite her injury, the doe had managed to break through most of the web ties before Airachnid reached her. She was failing in the dust, trying to tug free of the last few sticky strands, but it was all for nothing. Airachnid went for the throat, as she always did– her claws split through hide and skin, severing vessels like scissors through ribbons. Blood drained from the head in a torrent, warm and wet on her hands, and the creature’s eyes became glass like hers. It was over in seconds.

Airachnid wrapped the corpse in webs and dragged it to the edge of the trees, careful not to leave a bloodtrail. She'd done this so many times before that she didn't even need to think about the weight of the body and the mess it left behind.

Then she put her teeth to work.

The hide would do nothing for her, but the meat and muscle beneath were full of nutrients and organic compounds that her body could break down and recombine– her webs and venom relied on them, as well as countless other technorganic systems that continued to baffle the likes of Knockout.

(If only he was here now to see her in her natural element, to witness the mysterious organic harmony of life and death at work. The blood would match his armor perfectly. He'd be horrified. It would be hilarious.)

The blood didn’t nourish Airachnid like energon, but it did slake a thirst that energon never could. It brought her peace and clarity– on Archa Seven, it was the assurance that she would live another day without starvation. Here, so far away, she could only assume the relief she felt now was thanks to old habits still looking out for her. She could do nothing else about her current situation, but at least she could always feed herself. 

Then something forced her feeding to pause– a mewl behind her back. Something had roused Scorpia. Before the child’s sounds became siren wails, Airachnid quickly retrieved her from the cocoon strapped to her back. The sparkling wriggled, but immediately went quiet when she saw her mother’s face. It must have been a gruesome sight, streaked with blood and viscera, yet Scorpia hardly flinched. Of course she didn’t know what such things were yet. She didn’t know that all creatures looked the same on the inside– dripping and ugly. 

Scorpia rolled her head, still fighting against her cocoon. Her face nudged against her mother’s hand and the bloodstained claws, and then something strange happened. Her tiny glossa peeked out between imperceptible fangs, tasting the air around the mess but unable to reach the blood itself. 

There was no way for Airachnid to tell if it was curiosity or genuine, familiar hunger. No way to tell what she really wanted without offering it to her. She held one blunted talon in front of her daughter, waiting to see what she did with it. Scorpia stared at it, blinking with no clear thoughts, before her mouth latched onto the plating with a vacuum pull. 

She sucked at the blood like energon from a cube; as if there was no difference between the two, as if to prove that she truly was Airachnid’s spawn, because who else could have created something like her? 

Airachnid didn’t know if she was proud, or terrified.

There was another mewl close-by, but this one was not from Scorpia’s clasped mouth. The sombre sound came from the empty grove. Airachnid lifted her eyes without moving, and found what must have been a baby deer on the other side of the trees. It was unsteady, questing its head and wailing for its mother. There was no knowing whether she was among the others who fled, or if she was the same doe Airachnid had just killed.

This doe, now just broken blood vessels and stripped bones, had once been a child as well. She had been nurtured, loved, reared into an adult against all the odds of nature, all so that she would do the same to another like her. Just as Airachnid was now beholden to her daughter.

Airachnid, as far as she knew, had never been a sparkling herself. Her spark was the unfiltered stock of Solus Prime, her frame factory-built beneath all the mutations. But on Archa Seven, when she first awoke, she might as well have been as helpless as a newborn. She’d known nothing about her world. She’d learned quickly because the only other option was death. 

In this, at least, she empathised with her prey. Empathy as a concept was another thing she’d had to teach herself.

Then the lone child in the grove turned and fled, following the trail of dirt left by the rest of the herd. Either it was following its instincts, knowing there was nothing to be gained from staying, or something had startled it.

Even Scorpia was alert– her jaw went slack, the talon falling out as the rest of her mother’s frame froze. Someone was coming. Not cautious scavengers or other beasts. Someone like her . 

Airachnid was already dragging the carcass into the undergrowth, in no mood for a lecture from the likes of Optimus about preserving all life on Earth. 

But it wasn’t Optimus– the footsteps were far too light. The EM field was a familiar frequency, but not one she immediately recognised. They were approaching from the opposite side of the trees– possibly attracted by the herd’s stampede in that direction. Only nanoklicks remained before they were in sight, and if Airachnid could see them then they could surely see her. 

With how few friends she knew, she had to assume everyone else was a foe. 

Her escape options were limited. If her legs were in better shape, she could have drilled through the forest floor and hid underground. She could run, but only after waiting for the stranger to pass by.

The ground below would not save her. But what about above it? The trees here were sturdy, and if she remained still she could blend into the branches. She just needed to climb high enough…

She had no worry about the strength of the webbing holding Scorpia to her frame, but there was no guarantee the branches could hold her weight. They would have to, because she was out of time to make any other decision.

She left the kill where it was and launched herself as far from it as her strength would allow, digging her claws and heels into the trunk of the nearest tree and pulling herself up towards the canopy. Scorpia was hastily glued to her chassis, hopefully too stunned to cry out from the sudden lurching around her. 

Airachnid panted amidst the leaves, vibrating and anxious. The figure was in sight now; like her, his spindly frame almost became one with the trees before he emerged. 

Starscream. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to be walking, so close to the ground at all. Airachnid was as surprised to see him here as she was to see him even still alive. Up until a few days ago (only a few days… Scorpia hadn't even been born then), Megatron had bragged that Starscream was likely dead in a ditch, picked apart by humans and animals alike. He had a bad habit of underestimating his worst enemies. 

“Ergh. Organics are even more disgusting on the inside…”

Starscream had spotted the half-eaten carcass and wrinkled his face towards it. His voice sounded hoarse, an underpowered vox that was deliberately dampened. Did he sense her nearby, somehow?  If Megatron had put out the bounty on her already, it was unlikely someone cut off like Starscream would be aware of it so soon. 

But that was the only reason someone like him would be getting his frame dirty. Seekers despised being away from the wind. And Seekers like Starscream especially despised being away from safety. Even though he was a defector like her, if he saw a chance to win Megatron’s favour then he’d take it by the throat. And if he knew someone was close, someone he could plead for help or stab in the back with equal ease, he wouldn’t move on until he found them.

Killing him now, tempting as it was, wasn’t an option. Airachnid’s hunger was no longer on her side now that it was sated– she could go days between hunting depending on the size of her prey, and now her body was expecting her to scurry back to her den and stay safe with her prize. Worst of all was knowing that her spark wasn’t the only one at risk now.

If Airachnid ambushed Starscream and failed to kill him within seconds, and he saw Scorpia as a result, then they’d both be doomed. It didn’t matter that he wouldn’t know who the sire was, he’d still fly back to Megatron to sell them out in return for immunity. 

She couldn’t risk it. She was high up enough that her EM field was not immediately obvious, but her field was not the only thing that could give her away. Flattening herself against the tree’s spire, she covered Scorpia’s head with her hand– the blood on it was mostly a dry crust now, and the sparkling’s mouth was muffled by her mother’s palm. She was chirping, a tentative cry that was supposed to tell her caretakers that she was concerned.

It would get much louder if Starscream didn’t move on soon. Scorpia knew they were in danger because Airachnid knew they were in danger. Airachnid could feel her own panic as it reflected her daughter’s, creating a feedback loop that was as inescapable as the situation below them. If Scorpia gave into the panic and sounded the alarm, there was nothing Airachnid could do to silence her. Nothing she was yet willing to do. 

She had to break the loop, replace the fear with something else, something wholly opposite…

Only Optimus could help them. The one Scorpia thought was her sire. Could she trick her into thinking he was nearby? Airachnid filled her processor with the few good memories of him, replaying them for Scorpia; her namesake constellation on the cave walls, her cocoon cradled against his spark. Even before her eyes opened, she would have known when he was near. She would have known how relieved her mother really was when he offered his help. 

Scorpia was the only one who would ever know. And she’d hopefully forget it all before she learned how to talk. For now, it seemed to be working. She wasn’t crying out because she was now busy mouthing against Airachnid’s palm, still intent on licking at the blood.

And Starscream had apparently given up on looking for them, or had simply grown bored of the entrails at his feet. He looked around, as if he knew he was being watched and didn’t appreciate it, before performing some calculations out-loud through his processor.

“Right. The Harbinger … current location is far east. Compensating for Earth’s magnetic field, trajectory should be in this direction… a three week journey ?!”

His shriek caused a flock of nesting birds to take flight, and Scorpia almost bit down on her mother’s hand out of fright. Airachnid didn’t care where he went or what he did, so long as he went away . The Harbinger was too far to be of any use to her, and Megatron would have picked it clean by now. He was welcome to whatever it had left.

“Get a grip, Starscream.” He scratched his claws against his head, and he calmed himself down just before the fizzling edge of his EM field could graze Airachnid’s. “Don’t waste fuel on panicking. Science is on our side…”

And then he started walking. Not into the grove, where he could get a clear line of ascent into the sky, but further away from it. Still choosing not to fly. It meant he wouldn’t spot Airachnid from above, but that only made her more suspicious. The only assurance that the danger had truly passed was that Scorpia, somehow, had managed to fall back asleep.

Even so, Airachnid waited a full hour before she descended from the tree. Her appetite had long gone before that. She returned to the deer carcass only to retrieve the head, the skull within still intact and tempting. 

Only the vultures circled overhead, ensuring the rest wouldn’t go to waste.

☽ ✶ ☾

Megatron didn’t like visiting the med-bay. He’d spent more than enough time in it when his mind was trapped within his body. But it was a place of privacy– the only tenet of his profession that Knockout chose to honour. Not even Soundwave would dare look in when the door was closed.

Though, of course, Soundwave was never someone Megatron had to worry about. 

“Lord Megatron! How may I be of service?” Knockout did his best to look busy when he heard the door open, despite the aerosol stench of paint still hanging in the air and the obvious sheen of his new finish. Megatron assessed the walls first, then the corners of the room, then finally the table he’d spent so long lying dead upon. No one was hiding, and nothing was watching him. 

“Has Dreadwing been seen to?” Megatron hadn’t seen the Seeker since he’d left the command bridge, and hadn’t seen reason to have Soundwave monitor him. If Dreadwing was still as loyal as Megatron needed him to be, he wouldn’t need to know where he was.

“Not yet.” Knockout shrugged while examining the arm plate that he must have been touching up before Megatron’s arrival. “I suppose he’s getting settled into his quarters first.”

Megatron locked the door while the medic was distracted. There was only one way in and out of the med-bay, a dead end for the most vulnerable people on the Nemesis . When the ship was new and empty, one could easily have mistaken it for a prison instead.

(And perhaps that was what the ship intended it to be all along.)

“I have a question for you, Knockout.” Megatron blocked the only exit with his frame as he folded his talons neatly at his back. “The nature of the question and its answer is not to leave this room. Is that understood?”

The medic, to his credit, didn’t seem phased. “I appreciate the importance of discretion more than anyone else, my liege.”

Megatron wasn’t sure if he believed him. He didn’t believe much of anything that came from his officer’s voxes nowadays. He was better off listening to himself most of the time.

Knockout’s placidness would be useful, though. Megatron would have the truth within seconds.

“Were you aware that Airachnid was carrying?” he asked.

Knockout must not have heard him at first, or he was good at pretending so. There was a delay between his processor and the frame around it– his optics bulged first, and then the rest of him froze.

“I… she what ?”

Megatron stepped closer to monitor his reaction better, but also because he was very aware of what his presence could do to someone lesser. “Were you aware that she was carrying a sparkling ?”

His anger slipped away from him for a moment. He managed to hold back his claws before they shredded through Knockout’s chest.

“No, my lord. N-not at all.” The medic dared to step back, though he was already almost against the wall. 

“Are you lying to me, Knockout?” Megatron granted some clemency by forming his talons into a fist, no longer threatening Knockout with them. Yet the medic flinched as if he’d just been slapped.

“I am a terrible liar, Lord Megatron, you know that!”

Megatron’s frown deepened. No Decepticon who’d managed to survive this long was bad at lying.

“Then how,” he asked, “as this ship’s chief physician, were you not aware of her state?”

“I… sh-she…” Knockout slinked along the wall, clearly trying to reach the cluttered stack of datapads that might hold some magic answer to sate Megatron’s fury.

“She has a very unique biology, my lord. Even for a technorganic.” The medic rambled as he frantically scrolled through his records, likely searching for Airachnid’s profile– the more intimate details of each soldier were kept away from the Nemesis’ central database (though Megatron was sure Soundwave could easily infiltrate them if needed). 

“I admit, I am not… well-versed in dealing with expecting carriers in a medical sense. I certainly never noticed any obvious signs of pregnancy. Perhaps… she was able to hide them? Or perhaps she was not sparked when I last examined her. Or–”

Megatron snatched the datapad from Knockout’s hand. So he was left dangling, trying to dig through his mental medical archives for anything that would save him, while Megatron read the spider’s records for himself. 

There wasn’t much else that Dreadwing hadn’t been shown. Her last examination had been some months after her return to the Decepticons… the window of time meant she was likely carrying. 

“So many excuses, Knockout.” Megatron let the datapad fall to the floor. “Almost as if they were prepared in advance.”

“Sire… please.” Knockout’s plating rattled, fresh paint now being scraped off so carelessly in his uncontrollable panic. “I’m not like Starscream. I have no reason to lie! No reason to keep such a secret from you, if I even knew it at all!”

Megatron found the defence amusing. As if any Decepticon needed a reason to be a traitor nowadays. But though Knockout was never his most loyal soldier, he was appropriately selfish– he would never do anything that would endanger himself without something obvious to gain from it. 

The only question that remained was whether or not Megatron chose to believe him. The paint was the deciding factor– someone like Knockout wouldn’t allow his hard work to go to waste by simply pretending to be scared.

“Very well.” Megatron relinquished his glare, allowing the medic to feel relieved. “You are correct, that her biology is unique. And she would hide any vulnerability from us, at any cost.”

His claws began to cut into his palm as he clenched them, yet he did not have the power to loosen his grip. Thinking too much about Airachnid– her manipulation, her betrayal that should have been so obvious– was unhealthy for him. 

"If I may ask, my liege..." Knockout’s optics went dim as they flitted from left to right, desperate to avoid Megatron's direct gaze again. “If we are the only two who know of this… how do we know now that she was with spark?" 

Megatron considered ignoring the question– he’d already let slip too much because he so needed to know who else on the Nemesis would betray him. But he knew that would only cause more unnecessary suspicion. 

"It was that child's birth which prompted her defection in the first place.” Megatron kept his face averted, now unlocking the med-bay door.  “I witnessed it, before she escaped." 

"What became of it?" the medic pressed, despite the obvious danger. Perhaps he felt safe now that the only escape route was no longer barred. 

"It has been dealt with." Megatron's lips twitched ever so slightly. "Return to your usual duties." 

Just as Knockout was smart enough to not hide secrets from his leader, he was also smart enough to not press his luck. He didn’t even watch Megatron leave–

But then the sound of the mech’s knees hitting the floor summoned him, as Megatron suddenly keeled over.

“My lord?! Are you alright?”

There was a thud against his chest– a tapping pressure, as if something was trapped inside his spark chamber. It was as unusual as it was unpleasant. He couldn’t control his hands, his legs. He couldn’t even swat Knockout away as the pain became apparent, and then became agony. 

It was not the ache that made Megatron hiss, but the confusion. The panic of having broken some invisible rule. It had been so long since he’d felt such pain…

The one who caused it was supposed to be dormant. Chased back to the Pit by the light of the Matrix.

“Release me!” Megatron found control of himself again, shoving Knockout off of him. He’d never been brought so low as this, not in front of his own soldiers. This could only be the work of the Chaos Bringer.

And yet…

“Hand me that glass.” He pointed to the array of Knockout’s favourite surgical tools, singling out the magnifying lens. He took it from the medic with barely restrained force, only to not crack the glass as he brought it to his face. Then he pulled the protoform away from his optics, searching for any trace of glowing purple…

There was none. Unicron had not sent him a warning from beyond the veil. The traces of him that remained rooted within Megatron had not yet grown minds of their own. 

But what other explanation was there?

“Lord Megatron? Are you well?” Knockout continued to pester him like a festering wound. “Is there something I should be aware of?”

“You are already aware of too much, Knockout.” Megatron threw the lens towards him, leaving before he could be humbled again. Even the drones knew not to come near as he blazed through the Nemesis’ corridors.

He would not be made a fool of in his own ship, on the planet that would be his, not even by Unicron himself . Whatever madness had briefly taken him did not matter. He would put an end to it. He would forge the Decepticons anew, and Cybertron anew with them.

Finding Starscream and Airachnid would only be the start– he would make examples of them both, make them beg before he tore their sparks out. Starscream’s would finally reunite with those of Skywarp and Thundercracker, sealed deep within the depths of the ship. Airachnid’s would be a fine ornament on the command bridge, or perhaps the crown jewel of Megatron’s own private quarters where she deigned to spend so much time. 

Even that was not enough punishment for hiding the child from him. For tricking him into killing it.

But first… he had to find Dreadwing.

Orion saw red lights when he woke up. He thought they were hazard sigils blinking across his display, the same ones that had warned him of imminent shutdown, but those were long gone. 

The damage was still there of course, but not significant enough to override his optics. He could feel where a dent had been left in his face, and his gyroscope must have been completely broken when he fell– it told him he was still lying down, but the floor beneath him was far too soft.

“See, I told you he’d be fine.” Someone was speaking, though he couldn’t see who it was. All sounds were still muffled while his audio receptors ran their diagnostics. 

“I just wish you’d given him a chance to speak before you floored him!” Someone different now, someone he recognised. He’d been calling out to her, before… 

“Just doing my job.” The femme, the one who had floored him, sounded close by– as if she was hovering over him.

“I can take it from here.”

“Fine. But any sign of trouble and I’ll be right back.”

Orion’s vision finally adjusted, and his receptors returned to full power. A burst of energy along his spinal strut forced him upright– his gyroscope hadn’t been lying, he really had been prone on some kind of lounge chair. He didn’t recognise his surroundings, but he did at least recognise the person standing before him.

“Ariel…”

Her frame was covered by thin sheets of silver aluminum, a decorative robe for those who swapped their armour plates often enough that their protoform needed the temporary coverage in between changes. Orion could see his warped reflection in the mirror-folds, but he wasn’t interested in seeing his own face.

“Orion, what the hell are you doing here?” Ariel’s robe made a scraping sound as she folded her arms across her chest, and her eyes burned in the low light. 

“I don’t know,” he answered, still disoriented and confused and disbelieving that she was really standing in front of him. “Where is ‘here’?”

“It’s my dressing room.”

Orion should have guessed as much from the sparse furnishings; the mirror Ariel was sitting before, the rails of various costumes and accessories against the wall. But there wasn’t anything he could see that was obviously her– no shelf for her crystal collection or stacks of borrowed datapads. In her Academy dorm she’d had an entire wall dedicated to posters of the Atmospears, the most prestigious team of professional Vosian flyers (‘When they eventually figure out how to fix T-Cogs’, she’d always said, ‘I’m gonna ask them to make me a Seeker!’). But here, every wall he could see was bare.

“Well. You brought me here.” Orion must have still been recovering from the shutdown– he didn’t quite understand the question. “You’d know better than me–”

“I mean what are you doing here at this club!” Ariel’s outburst almost made Orion fall over. Her features were twisted in outrage, her optics burning ozone, and he couldn’t even pretend to not know why. 

As happy as he’d been to see her, she’d just been humiliated on stage in front of a packed audience, embarrassed beyond system recognition. She might even get in trouble for it, for leaving her post to drag him backstage and make sure he was alright. All because he couldn’t be patient, couldn’t stop himself calling out to her…

But then she laughed. Her blue glare, her gritted denta behind pursed lips, all dissolved in the bubbles of laughter that burst past her mouth. 

Her laugh was much like her singing– brimming with stray strands of music and melody that only needed threaded with sweet words to make a spark melt. Orion had never heard her sing before tonight, but he recalled days spent in the Academy library listening to her hum under her breath while he pretended to be studying.

“It really is you… you haven’t changed. I’m glad.” Her arms were around his shoulders before he even registered her EM field entering his own. It was only when he hugged her back, feeling her slight frame squeezed against his, that he finally believed that he wasn’t dreaming.

“I’m glad too. To see you.” It was an understatement, but he didn’t need to say much else when how he held her told so much more. He only let go when she pulled away first.

“I just wish you’d waited til the end of the show to try and storm the stage.” Ariel was still laughing as she pulled a hand across her face, as if to hide a lingering blush. “Chromia takes her job very seriously.”

“I wasn’t… I mean…” Orion objected to ‘storming’ the stage, though that was surely what it looked like to everyone around him. “I… was a little overexcited, I suppose.”

“You’re not the first person who’s tried to steal my spotlight,” Ariel teased. “And I’d rather you than anyone else.”

She stood up, turning her back on Orion as she moved to the other side of the room. The dimmer switch must have been near the door– the overhead lights slowly came to life, eliminating the shadows and bringing clarity to the surroundings. In the restored lighting, Ariel looked a lot more like herself when she turned back around.

“This is what you do now, Ariel?” Orion asked. “You’re a… singer?”

He didn’t know why he was so hesitant to state the obvious. Someone with her voice didn’t just sing in front of a crowd for fun.

“I’m not Ariel anymore.” She sat in front of her mirror, examining a section of plate beneath her optics. “I’m Elita One. It’s my stage name. She’s a singer, dancer, magician– anything that’ll catch their eyes.”

So that was why Orion couldn’t find her for so long. He’d been searching for the wrong name. He preferred Ariel, of course, but her stage name was elegant. It suited her.

The table before her held dozens of containers and vials– she picked one out and sprinkled the contents over her cheeks. When she turned back to Orion, there was a trail of tiny stars glittering on her face.

“But you’re still Orion,” she said, with such relief that Orion didn’t know if he should be worried. Had she heard of his scandal with the Iacon police force, and actually believed it for a while? It had been a headline in Iacon, of course, but thankfully the other city-states had their own problems to advertise– his case had only been a footnote outside of the capital. 

But there was still a chance that Ariel– Elita? – had heard about it. Maybe she was waiting to ask, or trying to come to her own conclusion first. Regardless, she deserved to know the truth from his own mouth.

“I was Orion Pax for a while,” he confessed, and though her optics widened she didn’t seem to anticipate anything sordid to come next.

“That sounds like an interesting story. Only for a while?”

“Less than a century.”

“Did they get jealous of you and throw you out?”

So she hadn’t heard the story. For some reason, that made this much more difficult for Orion. 

“Close. They…” 

He looked away from her, a herculean task that he only accomplished because he couldn't face her and remember what happened at the same time. His life before and after graduation, before losing sight of her, were split cleanly into two separate parts– good and bad, innocent and guilty. Bringing them together risked tainting the good forever. 

“It’s not a nice story.” Orion was making understatements again. “I don’t want to ruin the evening, not when I’ve finally found you again, and–”

There was a hand on his knee. Elita was sitting on the lounge with him.

“You won’t ruin it,” she said. “Tell me, please. I want to know.”

It was still difficult to speak. But Orion could never deny her. He fought the urge to hold her hand only because, with what he had to tell her, he didn’t feel worthy to. 

“They wanted me to round up workers in Helex.” Orion and the small team he was with hadn’t been told that was their task until they were already standing outside the factories. It was the first time he’d ever been to the city, and the last. “Most of them had hauler alt modes, for carrying materials to the smelting pools. They were being replaced with conveyor drones, so they… weren’t needed anymore. Some of them didn’t have anywhere else to go. They weren’t willing to go quietly.”

Orion was glad now that he wasn’t holding Elita’s hand– he could feel his digits cracking as his palms became tight fists. He was sure she could hear them too.

He didn’t want to tell her about this, the worst of what he’d seen. He wanted to tell her about the reasons he became a Pax, the hope he’d given those around him; missing families reunited, riots pacified, thieves and kidnappers stopped before they could hurt anyone. He wished they wouldn’t treat him like a saint only because he wished he wasn’t the only one doing all that he could to help them.

“So what happened?” Elita asked. Surely she already knew. She was always smarter than him. But she wanted to hear it in his own words.

“If anyone got in the way…” Orion sighed as he looked away. “We were told to push them into the pools. To recycle them. It was supposed to look like an accident.”

Officially, if a workplace had no use for their workers anymore, they were obligated to line up another job for them or pay for the cost of retrofitting them for a different purpose (which was likely the only reason Orion was given a new role at the Hall of Records; because the Senate had to give him something, and it was an easy way to keep an eye on him). In reality, very few employers outside of Iacon abided by the rule. Someone in Helex, someone well-paid and good at calculations, had deduced that compensating the families of the deceased would be cheaper than converting the workers and keeping them alive.

That was all it came down to. Cost versus profit. It was an easy decision to make for those who only ever saw the numbers go up and down.

“That’s… that’s murder.” Elita’s hand wasn’t on Orion any more, and his knee felt cold without her.

“It was.” 

“Don’t tell me you went along with it.”

“I didn’t. But I couldn’t stop it, either. When I tried to tell other officers, no-one believed me. When I tried to go to the press, no-one would touch the story. Then, when I went to resign, they told me I was under investigation for spreading dissent. So I was fired.”

Orion exhaled with his cooling fans, spinning fast to vent the excess heat that bloomed in his frame. He wasn’t the only one who’d refused the order, but the others were wise enough to stay quiet. He was the only one who thought he could make a difference, the only one who believed the other officers didn’t already know what was going on behind their backs. 

The fact that Paxes had been asked to clear out inconvenient workers at all should have been clue enough. The Senate was only in charge of half of Cybertron– the other half belonged to its factories and corporations. The Paxes of any city worked for both.

“In Iacon, my arrest was a bigger story than the factory workers being killed off.” Orion wasn’t sure if the victims were even known anywhere outside of the obituaries. “Even though I willingly gave up my title, I still have a hearing scheduled a few months from now. They’ll decide then if my insubordination was criminal, and how long I’ll be in a stasis pod for.”

Even if he escaped becoming a criminal, he was sure they’d find some other way to punish him. He was only lucky that he was liked just enough that they couldn’t risk making a martyr out of him. Again, it was cost versus profit.

Elita sat silent beside him. He was prepared for her to move away, to just leave him there and not look back. He wished he could do the same to himself, sometimes. It was in those times that he understood why body tourism, shutting down your mind and letting others have your body for a time and a price, had become so popular recently.

“I’m sorry, Orion.” Elita was still with him. She’d actually moved closer to him, slipping her arm around his. Her EM field was a faint sizzle against his. He couldn’t sense any disgust or scorn buried beneath her frequency– only sadness. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t do more to try and stop it,” Orion said. It was all he could think of in the vorns after the incident. If he’d asked others to join him, if he’d managed to convince a journalist to talk about it before going around and letting everyone else know he was a liability. 

It probably wouldn’t have changed anything. The corruption had been sown deep long before Orion was even sparked. At least he knew better now.

“There’s not much you can do,” Elita said, reassuring his own defeat. “Not with people like that… I’ve met a few of them myself. Before I came here.”

Orion waited for her to elaborate, only if she wanted to. She sat with him for some more klicks, leaning into him, and he had no intention of moving away from her. But something eventually caused her to stand up.

“When the Academy turned us out,” she said, “the art caste was the only one that would give me a chance. You don’t need an alt mode to entertain people. I had to be twice as good at it as anyone else, because unlike them I have no backup. It’s this, or bust.”

She returned to her mirror, wiping her faceplate clean in preparation for some practiced ritual. She kept speaking as she applied various pigments and decoras.

“I worked my way up. Started in Tarn, just trying to not get snatched off the street. Eventually I got… lucky. The Syndicate noticed me.”

“The Syndicate…?” Orion recognised the name. He’d heard it plenty of times in Iacon, mostly in regards to Praxus and its infamous pleasure hubs (even The Circle, despite its more respectable reputation, was a pleasure hub onto itself). They were advertised as a talent agency, officially managing hundreds of artists and models and, unofficially, operating almost every illegal fraghouse and defrag den on the planet. It was an open secret, the kind that everyone knew but no-one could find enough concrete evidence of to prove. They knew how to cover their tracks.

“Even in your brief time as a Pax,” Elita sighed, “I’m sure you heard all about them. It was all above aboard. They were publicly sponsoring me, so I didn’t expect to get whisked off to a defragging den and never seen again. Even so…”

She was dusting her chin with something when the brush fell from her limp fingers.

“I know why they took a chance on me. Because they knew I had no other option. If I wasn’t good enough, or if I was more trouble than I was worth… they could just send me to a fraghouse. And it wouldn’t be illegal. I could leave whenever I wanted. But they knew I wouldn't, because I couldn’t.”

She looked away from the mirror, now facing the floor. 

“Do you know what they do to people who leave them without permission? Blacklisted. Shunned. One bad word from a Syndicate boss is all it takes… Mirage is alright, at least. That’s the only thing I can count on.” 

When she lifted her head into the light, Orion could see where tears had smeared the pigments. The work on her face went to waste as she rubbed it all away. 

“Typical,” she laughed at herself. “You said you didn’t want to ruin the evening and here I am, making it awful for both of us.”

Orion wanted to tell her that nothing could be awful for him, so long as he was with her. But what she described, what she’d gone through, certainly was. He was glad that she told him, though. He was honored that, after so long spent apart, she still trusted him. 

“Have you ever…” Orion fought off a clump of static clinging to his vox. “Did they ever… make you…?”

He didn’t need to finish the question, though he wished he hadn’t started it even before Elita shot him through with a freezing glare.

“ That’s what you’re concerned about?” She was angry again, but there was no laughter to chase it away this time. “No. They didn’t. But even if they did, what would it matter? I’m just trying to survive like everyone else. It wouldn’t make it better or worse for me.” 

She moved away from Orion towards the corner, where she disappeared behind a screen. He could hear the folds of her robe only faintly under her voice, which was still spitting barbs towards him.

“It’s my job to entertain . What makes me worse than the people who work themselves into shutdown in the mines, or the ones who sell circuit boosters in the slums? One sells their body the same way, the other profits off of people slowly killing themselves. At least I make people happy!”

She threw something over the top edge screen, but her anger added more force to it than expected. It caused the whole screen to fall forwards, leaving her standing half-dressed before Orion. She was more protoform than armor– more than Orion had ever expected to see of her– but she made no moves to cover herself. At that moment, he was just another audience member to her, another mech come to ogle and stare. She had nothing to hide.

“I’m fortunate to have someone like Mirage looking out for me.” Elita’s voice flat and tired and shaking only slightly. “But some of my friends… the people I trained with, they don’t have that kind of protection. They have to do what they’re told. That includes what you and everyone else is thinking of… and worse.”

Seeing her so defeated was worse than seeing her angry.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Orion said. He didn’t know exactly what he had meant by the stupid tone-deaf question, but it certainly wasn’t that. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She was right, after all. Regardless of what she had to do to stay alive, no-one could judge her. Her only choice was to obey, or starve and die. Orion at least had been given the choice between committing murder and keeping his job. If it had been his spark on the line instead, his choice would have been very different.

Elita sighed, physically forcing her anger out through her vents. It all came to her at once, and it would go out the same way.

“I know. I’m sorry too.” She picked the screen up and set it back in place. “I shouldn’t have snapped. I’m used to everyone thinking that way. But I know you’re not like that.”

“I only asked because I don’t trust places like this,” Orion told her. It was a lame excuse, but it was the only one he could muster. Elita looked at him over her shoulder, smiling without laughter.

“You shouldn’t. You’re supposed to be smart, aren’t you?”

“You were always the smart one,” he corrected, and he couldn’t help but smile back. And they remained like that, smiling at each other with almost nothing to smile about, for several silent klicks before the door opened just enough to allow someone to poke through.

“Elita.” Chromia, after giving a side-eye to Orion, didn’t even look twice at the singer’s state of dress. “Mirage is asking where you are.”

Elita sighed again, and with practiced efficiency she managed to make herself decent in less than a klick. The costume was similar to the one she wore before, only in a slightly different shade of pink.

“I better head back out,” she said to Orion. “You can keep watching from the bar, if you want.”

Orion nodded, eager to follow her out, but Chromia once again blocked his path when he tried to.

“Hold up. This guy one of yours?” She kicked open the door fully now, revealing that she was holding someone’s neck tight in the crook of her elbow.

“Orio-o-o!” Jazz, who must have been struggling in vain the whole time, went limp in Chromia’s chokehold when he saw Orion. “The hell have you been! I been looking any… everywhere for you!”

Orion had seen plenty of drunks before. Jazz, still rambling and glitching through his vox, was utterly intoxicated.

“He broke a spotlight and an expensive bottle of maccouth,” Chromia revealed, strengthening the hold and making Jazz choke when he tried to start singing something. “In light of his position in the Senate, management has offered not to press charges if he leaves and never comes back.”

Orion sighed. He should have seen it coming– people like Jazz didn’t invite people like Orion out unless they expected them to be free sparklingsitters for the whole night.

“I’ll take care of him,” he said. What other choice did he have? Chromia released Jazz from the hold only to shift her grip to his collar, only fully letting him go when Orion had Jazz’s arm secure over his shoulder.

“Woooow, you’re stronger than you look!” Jazz slurred as Orion pulled him along, fighting against the other mech’s peds dragging against the floor. “ Good job! Hey, let’s have a drink to celebrate!”

“You’ve had more than enough for one night, Jazz.” Orion was overheating from the exertion, and he wasn’t even out of the backstage area. He followed the signs, and found Elita waiting for him. A spotlight hit her eyes before she saw Jazz weighing him down.

“I’m sorry, Elita. My friend…” Orion didn’t have to say much else as Jazz pointed at her.

“Primus damn, did a supernova just hit?! That lady’s stunning !” He wasn’t even trying to whisper before he started yelling at her. “Hey, a-are you single?! D’you like dancing?! I’m a real good dancer, you should see me!”

Elita rolled her eyes, masking a gentle laugh behind her hand. “I understand. Good luck, Orion. It was really nice seeing you again. I mean it.” 

She touched his arm in farewell, once again leaving him cold without her.

“I want to see you again.” He had to call after her to make her stop. “Away from here, I mean. If you want to.”

He knew the answer should be no. Why would she want to spend time with someone like him– a disgraced Pax as well as a gawking mech, the kind she was happy to be away from at the end of the night? Even though she accepted his apology, what he’d said wouldn’t be easily forgotten. 

But even thinking all this, he knew that if he didn’t tell her, he would regret it for centuries.

Elita looked over her shoulder at him, beautiful even without her glitter and paint, and smiled. “I’d like that.”

And then the stage called her out of sight.

“So she’s not single?” Jazz groaned as he hung onto Orion’s shoulder. “Damn…”

“Help me out a little here, Jazz.” Orion, though his spark was burning like a star, still had to get Jazz out of The Circle the same way they’d all come in. And then he had to get him home in one piece.  

In Orion’s absence, the club’s population seemed to have doubled. Frames of all sizes pressed in around him, and Jazz still couldn’t keep his hands to himself. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Perceptor had somehow tracked them down through the mass, likely thanks to Jazz’s vox trying to match the volume of the dancefloor speakers. At least they were on the other side of the club, too far away from Elita for him to butcher her vocals.

“Too much high-grade,” Orion huffed. “What else?”

One of Perceptor’s optics changed as he examined Jazz’s face, turning it left and right with little care for the mech’s comfort. “This looks different to me. Get him outside.”

The scientist took hold of Jazz’s other arm, and with his surprising strength the two of them got their burden into open air in less than a klick. They carried him away from the street, over to a deserted side of the building, while he kicked and screamed.

“I ain’t a Minicon, let me go! You wanna start a fight? Me and you, one on one–!” Jazz collapsed against a wall as soon as they released him, and then his tanks emptied out through his mouth. The retching sound was like an engine failing to start, and even with how much high-grade he must have ingested, the color of what was coming out was concerning– like pale oil, thin and dull. Even though nothing else was coming up, Jazz kept retching.

“Has he been poisoned ?” Orion asked. Perceptor didn’t even flinch as he knelt down in the mess, and his optic shifted again as he analyzed the puddle of purged fuel.

“Not quite. He’s been contaminated. Fuel readings are coming back over eighty-percent alcohol. High-grade alone doesn’t do that.”

Jazz wasn’t making any more sounds. He fell on his side, sweating and delirious, as Orion’s frame flashed cold.

“You think someone laced him?” he asked Perceptor. Jazz wasn’t the kind of person who should have been scared of assassination, even as an agent of the Senate. He had too many friends for that to ever happen. But someone sabotaging him, especially if they thought he was undercover, wasn’t hard to imagine.

“Most likely. Stay here.” Perceptor straightened up, only taking the time to wash his legs down before he disappeared back inside the club.

“Orio… why’s it so cold?” Jazz was mumbling, his head pressed against the hard ground. “Where’d Percy go?”

“He’ll be back, Jazz. He’s going to get something to help you.” Orion knelt beside him, making sure he could be seen. He didn’t actually know what Perceptor was up to, but it had to be something useful.

Jazz groaned, wheezing through empty vents. “That singer… was real pretty.”

“She was, wasn’t she?” Despite his friend’s condition, Orion couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

“You’re real lucky, y’know.”

Perceptor returned before Orion could correct any ideas that Jazz might have had. He held three vials of liquid and mixed them all together in a shot glass.

“I’m not a chemist,” he warned. “This will either clear him up or knock him out cold.”

Orion was expecting a syringe to come out next, but Perceptor just pulled Jazz’s head up and dumped the glass right down his throat.

“Son of a–!” Jazz jolted, knocking back against the wall as he scrambled to his feet. He gasped as his EM field threw out seizures of static, and then slumped back to the ground.

Orion thought that– as Perceptor predicted– he really was offline, before he covered his face with his hands.

“I thought I had him.” Jazz’s voice was muffled behind his digits. “He just sat there, acting like he was listening to me, then he spilled it all out! Every single secret, everything we suspected the Syndicate was involved in!”

He threw his arms out as he hissed, only stopping because whatever Perceptor had given him was making him cough.

“Who’s ‘he’?” Orion asked, still trying to parse his outburst. “You mean Mirage?”

Jazz groaned at the mention of his name. “He must have known the Senate was closing in. That’s why he invited me tonight. I should’ve seen it coming…”

“Jazz, slow down.” Orion brought his frame down to his level. “You said he’s involved with The Syndicate?”

How coincidental, that they were giving Jazz trouble as much as Elita.

“We thought as much.” Jazz sighed, holding his head in his hands. “People in Iacon, I mean. The Circle has been big for a few centuries now, and it’s had a few scandals– narcotics under the tables, tax dodging. For Praxus, that’s to be expected. The only thing The Circle hasn’t been caught doing is selling interface. But almost all its neighbors end up being fraghouses. That’s suspicious as hell.”

Perceptor handed him another shot glass, this one full of plain coolant. Jazz downed it with silent thanks.

“Mirage has always had eyes on him,” he went on. “But how do you spy on someone who can turn invisible? That was my assignment. I had to gain his trust. That’s what tonight was supposed to lead up to. But he knew what I was there for all along.”

“So he laced all your drinks,” Orion said.

“Don’t know what the hell he gave me, but it made me act like a lunatic.” Jazz winced from the memory– he must have been somewhat aware of his actions, but unable to control them. “When it kicked in, he just told me everything. He’s part of the Syndicate. He must be. He told me how much they make a stellar, how many bodies they keep off the books… Primus, he even talked about sparkling farms. I didn’t even know they were real. I hoped they weren’t.”

Orion gulped. He’d never heard of anything like that, but the name alone made him shiver.

“So he gave you what you wanted to know,” Perceptor said slowly, deliberating over it, “but made sure no-one would believe you if you tried to spread the word.”

“How do you know he wasn’t lying?” Orion asked. “If he knew you were undercover, he could be feeding you false information on purpose.”

“Maybe. But…” Jazz shook his head. “Why make it up? Thanks to the scene I caused, it doesn’t matter what I say. Everyone’ll just think I was drunk and delusional.”

He cursed himself, punching the wall at his back. Orion wished he’d known what Jazz was really up to– even if it went against the whole point of being undercover, even if he couldn’t help, he could have at least known to keep an eye on him. But then he probably wouldn’t have found Ariel again…

She’d vouched for Mirage, even when she was being so brutally honest about the rest of her caste.  If he really was a pawn of the Syndicate, she would have said so. She had no reason to protect him.

“I think there’s more to it, Jazz.” Even though he was sure of it, Orion was hesitant to speak. “Mirage isn’t a bad person like that.”

Jazz scoffed. “And suddenly you know him so well? What, did he sneak you a few free drinks as well? Are we gonna have to carry you back to Iacon on our backs?”

“Elita… Ariel said so.”

Jazz’s face went from dismissive to curious in the blink of an eye. “Who’s that?”

“One of his singers. Someone I knew very well. You met her tonight, Jazz.”

Jazz went silent, suddenly looking very embarrassed.

“If you want an honest opinion of someone,” Perceptor offered, “always trust someone who works for them. Do you trust her?”

The scientist turned to Orion as he asked, and he nodded.

“Mirage could have just not told you anything,” Orion pressed. “He wanted you to know, but couldn’t risk getting himself in trouble.”

Jazz considered it– you could tell he was thinking from how his faceplates crunched together.

“You think he wants the Senate to take this place down?” he asked.

“I think he wants the Syndicate to go down, at least,” Orion answered. “If he works for them, it may not be by choice. They have a lot of powerful people around.”

Jazz nodded, but he didn’t look happy. “So he just wanted me to know we were right to be suspicious. That still sets me back to square one.”

Then he pressed his head between his knees,looking like a deactivated drone waiting to be harvested for parts. “I wanna go home…”

“The next pod to Iacon is in an hour,” Perceptor informed him. “You’ll sober up on the walk to the station.”

He offered his arm to Jazz, though the other mech only took it when he failed to pull himself up.

“If I was supposed to walk,” Jazz muttered, “then Primus wouldn’t have given me wheels.”

Orion was just as eager to get home as well. His shift at the Hall of Records was due to start in less than four hours. He’d be lucky if he got any sleep by the time he returned to Iacon.

But it was worth it, just to have seen Ariel. To know why she was so hard to track down, to know that she was alive.

“You’re still here.” Someone else had found them at the side of the club– Chromia was looking at them all with just as much surprise as Orion was feeling. 

“Hey, hey, I’m going!” Jazz stumbled away from her as he put his fists up as a shield. “Don’t tackle me again! I’m friends with Paxes, you know!”

Chromia didn’t even glance twice at him. Her attention was only on Orion– she marched up to him and held out her palm. “Our mutual friend wants you to have this.” 

Orion saw a tiny chit in her hand, and took it with some confusion. There was a comm frequency etched into it.

“You seem like a nice guy,” Chromia said. “So don’t blow it.”

She let out the faintest of smiles before she turned away, getting back to work. Jazz kept his fists up in front of him until she was gone.

Luna-1 was up high when Orion touched down in Iacon. Alpha Trion would be expecting him in less than an hour. But he had time to call the frequency on the chit, the one he’d kept safe at the top of his subspace.

She’d be asleep by now– at least, he hoped she would be. But he had to know it was her.

“You’ve reached Ariel! ” her transmission chimed. “I’m probably working right now, but leave a message and I’ll get right back to you!”

He didn’t leave a message. He couldn’t think of what else to say. He was tired, and dazed, and relieved and happy. After so long apart, now he could talk to her whenever he liked. He could hear her voice, again and again, as if nothing had changed.

He was still Orion, without the Pax. And, despite what she claimed, she was still Ariel after all.

“...Prime? Hey, Prime!”

Optimus heard Wheeljack’s voice, but it took the other mech snapping something loud in front of his face to drag him back online.

“Geez, didn’t think I was that boring.” Wheeljack sat at the controls of his ship, only watching Optimus out of the corner of his optic. Prime remembered ducking into the passenger seat and watching the ship take off, but after that…

He only remembered Elita. The rest of the dream. He wished he could go back to it.

“Apologies, Wheeljack.” Optimus fought the urge to cover his weary eyes with his hand. “Recharge has not come easy to me as of late. My systems take their rest as they see fit.”

Even now the only thing keeping him from falling into recharge again was the Jackhammer 's turbulence, as it crossed counties in pursuit of Dreadwing and their lost Autobot.

Wheeljack scoffed, though not because he was unsympathetic. “With how things have been around here, I can see why. I sure as hell couldn’t sleep on the same planet as Megatron.”

“How long was I offline for?”

“I’d say about twenty klicks. I only noticed cause I was talking away and you weren’t saying anything. And I was saying some real crazy slag just to wind your gears, so I knew something was–”

“Did I miss anything important?”

Wheeljack frowned at being interrupted, though he kept most of it hidden. 

“Thought you’d like to know a little about who we’re up against. He’s been busy since the Exodus, mostly working with mercenaries. But he never stopped being a ‘Con. For whatever reason, he started targeting Wreckers. That’s how he got on my radar. And it’s how I know Bulkhead is still alive. He knows I’ll come after him, so he’ll try and kill us both at the same time.”

There was only one thing Wheeljack had missed out, intentionally or not, that Optimus knew of. Dreadwing was a split-spark. Skyquake, his twin, was currently shambling between life and death in the Shadowzone. Dreadwing would have sensed when he died.

Twins weren’t necessarily identical to each other, either in appearance or personality. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, the only pair on Cybertron that had chosen to become Autobots, were proof of that. But if Dreadwing was anything like Skyquake, he would be difficult to negotiate with. 

“He’ll have arranged an ambush for us,” Optimus said, though Wheeljack shook his head.

“Not quite. He’ll have an ambush for me . He won’t expect you to tag along.”

Then he grinned, obviously proud of his plan. Optimus was just grateful he had a plan at all. When it came to Wreckers, Ultra Magnus, Springer and Kup were often the only ones who thought things through from beginning to end.

“So I’m to be your wildcard.” Optimus was skeptical, and he didn’t try to hide it. “You sound so sure this will work.”

“Cause I’ve done this before,” Wheeljack assured. “Only difference is usually I’m the wildcard.”

It was only when he said it out loud that Optimus realised how true that was, if Wheeljack chose to remain on Earth for any length of time.  The Prime doubted he would formally join the Autobots, but as a Wrecker his goals would overlap with theirs. He would want to explore Earth for himself, become familiar with where he was likely to find Decepticons. 

The chances of him stumbling across Airachnid were unlikely… but not impossible. Optimus didn’t even want to imagine what Wheeljack would do if he found her– but he had to, because it was the only way he could plan for it. Airachnid’s crimes weren’t known only to Autobots and Decepticons, and it made no difference what she called herself. Even with her insistence that she had completely defected from the Decepticons; if it wasn't for what Megatron had done, Optimus was sure that she would still be on the Nemesis right now. 

“What happens after we retrieve Bulkhead, Wheeljack?” he asked. “What are you planning to do?”

“Then I kill Dreadwing and be on my way again.” Again, he sounded so sure. Optimus didn’t doubt that he was capable of killing the Decepticon– the question was whether he could do it without getting others hurt in the process. He was the kind who would sacrifice himself if it let him send at least one enemy to the Pit.

“And if you don’t succeed?” Optimus asked. Wheeljack shrugged before he answered.

“Then I’ll stick around until I do.”

They flew in silence for the remaining hour.  Optimus observed how the landscape changed from desert to forest, and then to bare metal floating on water. It was here that Wheeljack started to lower the Jackhammer ’s trajectory, and that Optimus started getting very nervous.

“Dreadwing is here?” he asked.

“According to the tracker.” Wheeljack nodded to the pulsing radar on his console, which showed a detailed view of his surroundings. There was only one marker, showing Dreadwing waiting somewhere below them.

“This is a place for humans.” Optimus recognised it as a dock, similar to the Cybertronian kind that his friend Dion had worked at… until he’d gotten caught up in some manner of red energon smuggling operation and killed for it.

“From what I know of Dreadwing, he tries to avoid civilian casualties,” Wheeljack said. “But most ‘Cons don’t count organics as civilians… or even sentient.”

While Wheeljack wondered out loud, Optimus made an important call.

“Agent Fowler, I need an evacuation ordered at the facility found at these coordinates.”

“Don’t call that guy!” Wheeljack groaned. “I hate that guy!”

“ Well hello to you too, Prime! Where the hell have you been? You know there’s another lot of your buddies running loose around Earth right now–?!”

“I am aware.” Optimus had quickly learned how to handle people like Fowler, only thanks to his experiences dealing with members of the old Senate– bureaucrats were the same across any galaxy. “The Decepticon is currently waiting to ambush us amidst humans. Order the evacuation.”

Fowler spluttered on the other line for a few seconds. “ Fine. But I want a full debrief after you’re done doing… whatever it is you’re doing.”

Optimus watched the facility for signs of the workers retreating.

“Still don’t like that guy,” Wheeljack muttered.

“If you plan on staying here,” Optimus advised, “you will have to get used to him.”

“Not if I take out Dreadwing right here and now.” 

Optimus didn’t acknowledge the threat. As the Jackhammer descended he saw groups of humans starting to evacuate, piling into their vehicles with such panic that he had to wonder what Fowler had told them to make them leave. He could sense Wheeljack’s impatience, the prickling of his EM field, but Optimus waited some minutes– until he was sure no-one was left behind– before he rose from his seat. In such cramped conditions, he had to take care not to hit his head against the ceiling.

“Ratchet. Do you still have Bulkhead’s signal?” Optimus hoped his old friend hadn’t been worrying while he’d been off dreaming of better days.

“It’s very close by, Optimus. Be careful.”

 Wheeljack was already outside his ship, checking his own scanner for Dreadwing’s coordinates. 

“I’ll lure the ‘Con out,” he said. “Stay here and watch my back. If he doesn’t see you, you might be able to catch him off-guard.”

He didn’t wait for Optimus’ response as he marched towards the dock, where massive shipping containers were laid out in a maze. There had been no sign of anyone within the maze from above, but now that both mechs were grounded anyone could be lurking behind towering cover. Wheeljack had landed the Jackhammer on a raised hill at the edge of the dock, which at least gave Optimus some vantage point as he watched from afar.

Despite the danger ahead, Wheeljack didn’t slow down.

“Dreadwing! I’m here for Bulkhead. And to flatten that ugly face of yours.”

“You’re as eloquent as every other Wrecker I’ve met, Wheeljack.” Dreadwing’s voice echoed through the stacked metal walls. Optimus recognised his Vosian accent– not as refined as Starscream’s, which likely meant he was of a lower caste among Seekers, back when such things had importance to anyone.

“Every other Wrecker you’ve murdered .” Wheeljack spat against the taunt, swinging his head around to search for any sign of plate or wing to shoot at. “Where’s Bulkhead?”

Optimus moved to the other side of the Jackhammer , casting his optics on a new perspective. He found Bulkhead just as Wheeljack did a second later– magnetized to the side of a container, each limb trapped with a shackle. 

“He’s been waiting right here.” Dreadwing now appeared on top of the container; from the distance, other than his colors, Optimus saw that he was identical to his twin. “But I wouldn’t get too close, if I were you.”

“Hey, Jackie…” Bulkhead sounded exhausted, defeat lining his vox like lead. Optimus fought the urge to run to him– not only because he would give away his only advantage, but because he was now aware of the device fixed to Bulkhead’s chest.

“The hell did you do to him!” Wheeljack had no reason to resist such urges– he tried to pull against the shackles, but they were stuck tight to the metal as if glued there. And then, when he finally noticed the true threat ticking away, he sprang back with fear.

“You should know an armed mine when you see one, Wheeljack,” Dreadwing scolded, and even from afar Optimus could see his smirk. “We are both experts in explosives, after all.”

Wheeljack aimed his weapon at Dreadwing, only for a few seconds before he thought better of it. Even he knew that he couldn’t risk taking out the only one who could easily defuse the bomb.

“I’m gonna get you outta this, Bulk.” Wheeljack approached Bulkhead again without fear, shifting out his guns for his hands.

“How much time is left?” Bulkhead asked. “I can’t see…”

“Don’t worry about that. I just need to concentrate....” Wheeljack was focusing on trying to defuse it himself– which is exactly what Dreadwing would have planned for him to do. He knew how to make it difficult, maybe impossible, even for a fellow ‘expert’. 

Now that the Decepticon was out in the open and he knew how dire the stakes were, Optimus had a plan for his attack.

“Take your time, Wheeljack,” Dreadwing mocked, oblivious to Optimus making his approach. “Though not too long, of course. One wrong move will take you both out… quite spectacularly. Rest assured, I will be watching from a safe distance.”

He shifted into his alt-mode as Optimus ducked behind the nearest stack of containers. The Prime couldn’t predict where Dreadwing was heading, so he could only try to anticipate his landing by listening for the idle of his jet engine.

“Try to remain calm, Bulkhead.” Optimus sent out the comm to his soldier’s receiver. “I am following Dreadwing.”

Bulkhead’s sigh of relief over the network was still full of static. “I’ll try… but can’t make any promises right now.”

For now, all either of them could do was trust Wheeljack. Dreadwing would be distracted by watching him trying to save Bulkhead, at least. Optimus leaned out of cover to try and see where the Decepticon had landed– thankfully, Dreadwing’s confidence outweighed his caution this time. He’d chosen an abandoned crane tower as his vantage point, making himself visible for miles around. 

If this was Cybertron, Optimus could have ordered someone like Perceptor to take him out. But this was not Cybertron, and Perceptor– like Moonracer, and so many other Wreckers– was still lost somewhere in the stars.

The night Optimus had found Ariel again was the same night he’d met Perceptor, and Ironhide and Chromia. Before they became their own legends. Back then, Orion had no idea how vital every ally would be to him just a few hundred years later– when the Senate decided they had a use for him, when they sent him on a doomed quest to find the Matrix… and, by some fluke of luck or esoteric will of Primus, he’d actually found it.

If it hadn’t been him, then it might have been Megatron instead. The Fallen reborn, not just in name but in spark as well. Optimus had to tell himself that fact again and again, because it was often the only thing that stopped him from regretting it all. 

But true Primes were not allowed the luxury of doubting themselves, and this wasn’t the time to consider such things. Optimus ensured that Dreadwing’s attention was solely on Wheeljack and Bulkhead before he moved. He would approach the tower from behind– once he was in range he could surprise Dreadwing and hopefully lure him onto solid ground.

If Wheeljack couldn’t defuse the bomb or safely remove it from Bulkhead, then Dreadwing was the only one who could stop it. But how could they force him to do so? Optimus would find a way. 

He was almost below Dreadwing now, and the other mech was still oblivious, although his attention was no longer solely on the Wreckers. Optimus could hear him speaking into a comm unit.

“I assure you, my lord, soon you will have two less Autobots to worry about. And taking Prime’s spark will be all the more gratifying for it.”

Optimus moved into position, shifting his guns and calculating the best range for impact, while he listened out for the response. 

“I will allow it, Dreadwing… only this once. Do not make a habit of acting without my knowledge and permission.”

Even though Optimus had anticipated Megatron’s voice, he still shuddered at the sound. What once was the voice of his friend was now that of a rapist and a child killer, as well as a murderer and tyrant. Hearing it now was like being betrayed a second time over…

And so he lost control. His guns fired on impulse, two volleys that struck Dreadwing on either side of his spinal strut. Then another two just as the Decepticon turned around; one caught him in the shoulder, the other missed completely.

“Prime!” Dreadwing snarled as he fled his vantage point, ducking into the lower struts of the tower. Optimus threw himself sideways into cover just as the Seeker returned fire– red plasma bolts tore through the air where he’d been standing moments before.

 The advantage was gone. Optimus didn’t bother cursing himself for not making a better shot while he had the chance. He’d caught the wings, at least. Dreadwing would be less likely to take flight again. 

“Megatron has not granted leave for your current course of action, Dreadwing.” Optimus threw his voice out while anticipating the Decepticon’s next move. Even while reeling from disgust, he could tell that Megatron had been impatient in his comm. Furthermore, this setup did not seem like something he would have planned or authorised. 

Megatron did not like his soldiers taking any kind of initiative. It scared him. Optimus had always theorised that the only reason he ever kept someone like Starscream around was because he took initiative more than anyone else, and it always failed. With Starscream as an example, others were prevented from thinking they could do any better.

But Dreadwing had been gone for a long time. He didn’t know how much had changed since Cybertron. He thought Megatron still had a spark.

“I am his most loyal soldier,” he threw back, and Optimus could hear him laughing. “His finest warrior. The only one worthy of being his second-in-command. He trusts me to deal with threats myself. Unlike your soldiers, Optimus Prime, I do not need to be watched over and coddled like a sparkling fresh from the womb.”

‘Your leader does not coddle sparklings fresh from the womb. He kills them.’ Optimus fought back another surge of anger. If Dreadwing truly was the new second-in-command, perhaps he would be the new Starscream as well. A scapegoat as well as a soldier.

“He did not seem pleased to hear that you were acting on your own,” Optimus protested, readying his sword in one arm while the other pulsed with a bullet at the ready.

“He will come around when I present your head to him.” Dreadwing’s voice was much closer now. Optimus dodged just as Dreadwing landed on top of him, deflecting the barrel of the other mech’s cannon with his blade. The plasma within fired uselessly against the ground, melting the tarmac rather than Optimus’ plating, before Dreadwing managed to overpower Prime’s arm and wrest back control. Optimus didn’t have the chance to attack before he was forced back into cover, this time ducking within the maze of containers. 

“Don’t mean to rush you, Optimus,” Bulkhead’s somber voice came through his comm unit, “but… Jackie’s looking real nervous right now.”

“I ain’t nervous!” Wheeljack’s voice was audible even outside the comm unit– Optimus could hear him from somewhere in the dock. “I know what I’m doing, so shut up and let me do it!”

Time was running out. Optimus would need to overpower Dreadwing somehow, to force him to cooperate. His own strength wouldn’t be enough, and he was sure Dreadwing could remotely detonate the device if he was truly overwhelmed. 

If they could somehow hold him within the blast radius, he’d be forced to disarm the bomb to save himself. Optimus edged around his cover, finding the edge of the dock that met water on the other side. There was another crane ahead, though this one was attached to something much heavier than a simple hook. 

“Can Wheeljack free you from the shackles, Bulkhead?” Optimus opened up the comm line again, now whispering into it.

“Er… one step ahead of you.” Bulkhead sounded rather guilty for some reason. “Managed to get myself free, but this damn bomb ain’t budging.”

“There is a magnet crane on the east side of the dock,” Optimus told him. “If you can reach it, we can lure Dreadwing under it and use it to hold him in place.”

The magnet itself would not be powered without an operator, but the sheer weight of it could be very useful. Bulkhead was a construction worker before the war. He’d seen his fair share of work accidents. He knew how delicate other machinery could be.

“I see… yeah, I get what you’re gonna do. Just leave it to me.”

Optimus trusted that Bulkhead would relay the plan to Wheeljack. Now he just had to get Dreadwing into position… 

“I knew your twin, Dreadwing.” Optimus propelled his voice over the towering walls, praying that Dreadwing would remain grounded with the wounds in his wings. “Only briefly, but long enough to know that he was a mech of great principles. And, like you, he was loyal to Megatron. Why pledge yourself to someone who does not share your values? Why come all this way to serve a mech who knows nothing of honor?”

“Do not speak to me of honor , Prime!” Dreadwing’s voice was amplified by the metal as well as his own anger, though Optimus could not pinpoint where he was. “Is it honorable to hide in this sea of metal like a coward, rather than face me with your true strength? Was it honorable to awaken my twin from his slumber, only to destroy him?”

“We did not wake him, Dreadwing,” Optimus corrected, remaining stationary to try and lure Dreadwing closer. “The blame for that lies with Starscream.”

Dreadwing spoke again only after a great pause.

“You are correct.” The Decepticon was close now, his voice no longer contained within the maze. “But it was an Autobot who laid the final blow. I suppose I shall congratulate him on his victory, before I pull his spark from its chamber.”

With that threat against Bumblebee– who trembled for many nights after he had to kill Skyquake, who only did what he had to do– Optimus could no longer play the coward. He stepped into the open, and found Dreadwing waiting for him on the other side of the loading bay. The Decepticon saw him, but did not fire. Optimus had come out only bearing his sword for a reason.

“You’ll have to get through me first,” he declared. “If you are truly Megatron’s finest warrior, then prove it now. Bring my spark to him.”

He stood at the end of the dock, the crane hanging high between him and Dreadwing. He could not see Bulkhead, but he knew that he was in position. If Dreadwing was truly honorable, then he would put the cannon aside. He would meet Optimus with his own blade.

Across the distance, Dreadwing did not seem to expect anything amiss. He smiled, perhaps at Optimus’ foolishness, or the chance to prove that he was truly superior through sheer strength. 

“You may have failed to save your Autobots, Prime.” He let the cannon fall with a heavy clang, and unsheathed the sword at his back. “But you will at least have the honor of being killed by one of the last sons of Vos. A noble feat… if not a rare one.”

He took up an opening stance, one that Optimus didn’t recognise. Few people, Autobots and Decepticons alike, bothered with martial arts when guns and bullets were so plentiful. People like Wheeljack mostly used them to show off. For most, their blades were only ever a last resort, or for when you needed to conserve energon. 

Dreadwing, however, held his sword with reverence. This was a ceremony to him as much as it was a fight, and Optimus realised something very important about the other mech. To be gunned down by him, in his eyes, was insignificant, merely expected in the bloody theater of war. But to be killed by his blade was a privilege.

Optimus had truly underestimated him. But he held his stance steady, allowing Dreadwing to close the distance at his own pace. He wouldn’t get close enough to strike, if Bulkhead timed it just right. He held his blade out as a shield as he came forwards, still holding it when he started to run.

He would be under the magnet in seconds. He wouldn’t even see it falling–

Something crashed into him. It wasn’t the magnet. 

“Wheeljack, no!” Optimus’ protest came far too late– Wheeljack had already thrown Dreadwing out of the crane’s path. As their frames collided, one of the Wrecker’s swords was knocked out of his hand and left lying on the edge of the dock, far out of his reach.

Undeterred, Wheeljack used his remaining sword to try and hack at Dreadwing’s cape. The Decepticon caught the blade in his bare hand, wincing as he butted his own sword’s hilt against Wheeljack’s skull.

“This battle is no longer yours, Wrecker!” he growled, now kicking Wheeljack aside with his ped square in the other mech’s chest.

“Stand down, Wheeljack!” Optimus didn’t like being in agreement with a ‘Con, but he needed Wheeljack to stay out of the way. What the hell was he trying to do?

“I don’t take orders from you, Prime!” Wheeljack sheathed his sword and switched to his blasters, taking aim as Dreadwing turned towards his abandoned cannon. Optimus tried to block the route by pelting the tarmac ahead with bullets– if Dreadwing regained his ranged weapon, there’d be no way to get close to him again.   

“Do as he says, Jackie!” Bulkhead’s voice yelled out from the crane, barely audible over the sound of gunfire. But Wheeljack heard him, and that was enough to make him pause.

“Bulk? Where are you?!” The Wrecker still had Dreadwing in his sights despite the fresh panic in his voice. Optimus, once again forced to do something he wasn’t proud of, took advantage of the lull. Wheeljack’s lost sword was halfway over the edge of the dock– Optimus kicked it so it went falling into the water.

“Optimus, what the hell?” Wheeljack cursed even as he went diving after it. Now with him out of the way, Optimus just had to deal with Dreadwing. The Decepticon was still eyeing his cannon, no longer interested in a battle of swords. Optimus only had one more chance to get this right…

“What are you waiting for, Dreadwing?” he taunted, spreading his arms in invitation of a killing blow. “My spark still shines!”

Dreadwing looked over his shoulder, seeing Optimus only armed with his blade once more. Dreadwing could still make a run for his cannon, knowing Optimus wouldn’t have time to switch out his guns again. He could end the line of Primes in seconds…

But it would be too easy. Dreadwing bared his sword and charged towards Optimus, and this time Prime matched his fury by running towards him as well.

“Bulkhead, now!” Optimus cried. “Drop it!”

He had to pray that Bulkhead heard him, that he managed to break the chain in time, that Dreadwing wouldn’t stall. He had to believe all of that just as he once believed that he would find the Matrix, and a better Cybertron with it.

…And once again, against all odds, it all worked. Even if Dreadwing came to a stop, he couldn’t move out of the way in time. The magnet slammed down onto him, compressing his frame into the ground. And though Dreadwing struggled, when the dust cleared he was left pinned beneath the weight. 

“Huh. Nice thinking, Prime.” Wheeljack climbed up onto the edge of the dock dripping water and algae– either the dive had managed to cool him off, or he was just glad that Dreadwing was neutralised. Optimus, despite his relief, was not nearly so jovial.

“Wheeljack, what were you thinking ? You almost ruined our plan.”

Wheeljack turned his head aside to drain water out of his receptors, so his scowl was lopsided. “I didn’t know there was a plan, cause Bulkhead knocked me out! I only woke up a few klicks ago!”

Bulkhead now appeared from behind the crane– the bomb on his chest only had some minutes before detonation, though that wasn’t why he looked sheepish in front of Optimus.

“I… panicked,” he admitted. “You were getting impatient. Thought you might make a mistake, so when I felt the bonds getting loose… I thought getting you out of the way would help.”

“Out of the way?!” Wheeljack all but shoved Optimus aside as he marched up to his friend. “I was risking my life trying to help you! Like Wreckers are supposed to!”

The scene was interrupted by a sardonic laugh from the ground. Dreadwing had given up on trying to escape, now resigned to watching the three mechs with disdain. 

“So much for an honorable battle,” he spat. “Even Optimus Prime has to resort to trickery to win.”

“You took Bulkhead as bait,” Wheeljack spat back. “Ain't nothing honorable about that either.”

“Tell us how to disarm the bomb, Dreadwing,” Optimus ordered. “Or you will be one of its victims.”

Dreadwing scoffed. “Along with the rest of you. A worthy sacrifice for the Decepticons.”

“And what of Skyquake?” Optimus added. “Who will avenge him in your absence?”

It was a lazy gambit, but it was the final hurdle in this impossible plan. Someone in Dreadwing’s situation would be thinking very carefully about their legacy– the true worth of their spark against others, the unfinished business that they couldn’t trust others to take over for them.

Bulkhead’s timer continued to tick down as Dreadwing tried to hold out, until only one klick remained.

“...Very well.” Dreadwing sighed, disgust carved deep into his face. “Release me, and I will disarm the device.”

“No way,” Wheeljack argued. “Tell us how to do it ourselves.”

Bulkhead threw a nervous look at Wheeljack, and then at Optimus. But Optimus would not argue against the ultimatum. If they let him go, Dreadwing would still have time to get far enough from the blast.

“...The blue wire.” Dreadwing closed his eyes, unable to even look at his enemies as he assisted them. “Cut it.”

Wheeljack looked skeptical, but there was no time for doubt. He’d spent enough time puzzling over the bomb’s mechanism that he immediately knew where the blue cable was. He severed it with seconds to spare…

And the bomb went dead, falling off of Bulkhead’s chest with a hollow thud.

“Oh Primus… I need to sit down.” Bulkhead didn’t have much say in the matter even as he spoke– he collapsed and hit the ground shortly after the device did. Even Wreckers didn’t enjoy coming so close to death.

“That’s the immediate threat dealt with.” Wheeljack followed Prime’s own example and kicked the bomb’s leftover casing aside, letting it fall into the water for extra assurance. “Now what do we do with Megatron’s latest fanboy?”

Dreadwing’s glare was acidic. 

“It would be easy to kill me right now,” he suggested. “You know I would do you the same mercy.”

“Death is too good for him,” Wheeljack growled. “He’s a split-spark, right? So why don’t we break it up a little more. One shard for every Wrecker you offlined on your way here.”

He leaned in close to try and intimidate Dreadwing, but the other mech didn’t flinch. Autobot ideas of torture probably sounded like child’s play to a Decepticon.

“You’ll be here all day if you want to try and tally up all my kills,” he scoffed. “I only keep track of worthwhile targets. Autobots.”

Optimus stepped in before Wheeljack’s anger made him do something stupid. “So why go after Wreckers, Dreadwing?” he asked. “If Autobots are your only targets–”

Dreadwing laughed, though the weight on his body turned it into a wheeze. “You still believe that Wreckers aren’t Autobots? You’ve been on the same side for millions of years. What you call yourself makes no difference. But if you want to know the truth…”

His vents inhaled deep; dragging in the salt on the air, heedless of its sting. 

“I targeted Seaspray specifically to lure you in, Wheeljack.”

“Me? Why me?” Wheeljack stood up now, suddenly nervous as he made space between himself and Dreadwing. Optimus thought it was the smartest thing he’d done since he arrived on Earth.

“Earth is a surprisingly difficult planet to find,” Dreadwing said. “I assume you did so by accident. There were rumors of the Cybertronian war making its stage on an unknown, primitive, organic world. But they were only rumors. No-one knew where this supposed world was. Not until you told them.”

Wheeljack looked confused, though it was forced. Optimus took some moments to process the revelation, the weight of it that became as heavy as the magnet still crushing his foe.

His Autobots, and the Decepticons, had been on Earth for three years now. In that time, the only other Cybertronians who’d arrived were Cliffjumper and Arcee, and now Wheeljack and Dreadwing. Optimus had put out a beacon to summon the others, though after Starscream had managed to intercept it he ceased its transmission. Hailing any Autobots would also inevitably mean attracting Decepticons as well. 

As much as Optimus yearned to know who was still alive, and who was still willing to fight for Cybertron, the risk to Earth was too great. He’d resolved to end the war with what he had.

But now, it seemed, what he had would never be enough.

“Wheeljack… what did you do?” Optimus had no way of knowing what the Wrecker had done in space, before he went chasing after Dreadwing. He didn’t even know what he’d been doing since the Exodus. It wasn’t his place to ask because he wasn’t his commander.

Wheeljack didn’t answer. Dreadwing smiled.

“Wreckers have never understood discretion, Prime. I’m sure you knew that already. Wheeljack couldn’t resist telling everyone who would listen that he’d met the great Optimus Prime, that he’d outsmarted the Decepticons’ last surviving Shifter. The galaxy is not a small place. Such tantalizing words spread quickly.”

“So why haven’t more ‘Cons showed up here to worship Megatron, huh?” Bulkhead was the one who stepped up (metaphorically– his body remained planted firmly on the ground for now) to defend Wheeljack. “How come you’re the only one dumb enough to still believe in him?”

Bulkhead looked to Wheeljack, waiting for his friend to provide another cutting remark, but he remained silent.

“When was the last time you updated your ship’s network security, Wheeljack?” Dreadwing asked. He was grinning, and Wheeljack was sweating. 

“Every starship,” Dreadwing continued, “even your primitive model, has a black box. A record of every journey. I knew that if I could find your ship, it would be trivial to infiltrate your upper systems. I only needed the coordinates. And now… here I am.”

His head fell back, baring his proud smile to the sky, as if he could see his brethren gathering above. “I am only the beginning, Prime. Others will surely follow my trail.”

Optimus didn’t want to believe him. But it was far more dangerous to swallow a lie than suffer the truth. Autobots and Decepticons alike, or anyone who thought they had a part to play in Cybetron’s future…

Earth would soon be very, very crowded.

“You killed Seaspray to get to me.” Wheeljack’s vox cracked when he finally spoke, and he didn’t bother to hide it. “What about the others?”

“While you have me hostage,” Dreadwing sighed, “I may as well give another confession. After I left Cybertron, I never killed any Wreckers.”

“ Bullslag!” Wheeljack’s sword, still dripping wet, was in his hand before Optimus could blink. He was fast enough to stop the Wrecker from trying to decapitate Dreadwing with it, holding his arm back with both of his own. 

“Call it what you want.” Dreadwing seemed bored as he watched Wheeljack wrestle against Prime’s grip. “I know it as the truth. Someone else has been picking off your cohorts. I won’t pretend to know who, or for what reason. But I’d heard of it, and I knew any Wreckers still living would be on the lookout for the perpetrator. So I took advantage of your emotional state. I had my friends spread my own rumors. I laid the trap, and you flew right into it.”

Once Bulkhead joined in with trying to hold him back, Wheeljack finally stopped struggling. 

“...You still killed Seaspray,” he snarled. 

“I would have,” Dreadwing said, “if I needed to. But when I boarded his ship, he was already dead.”

Wheeljack was shaking. But when Optimus released him, he did not surge towards Dreadwing. It was not rage he was repressing, but something far more destructive.

“He’s lying,” he hissed, pointing at Dreadwing as if he could stop his spark with his finger. “He did kill them. He’s only saying he didn’t so we’ll let him go!”

Optimus wanted to believe Wheeljack. It would have been easy to. How could anyone trust the word of a Decepticon, after all? But even Bulkhead looked doubtful. Dreadwing was ready to lay his own life down in order to take three others with him. He wouldn’t lie just to save himself. 

“You are a proud mech, Dreadwing.” Optimus fixed the Decepticon in his gaze, treating him as the threat he still was. “I know your kind. Even in the face of death, you would not deny your accomplishments. You don’t see them as anything to be ashamed of.”

“I can tell you the names of those I did kill, if you’d prefer, Prime. Your Autobots. Though there are so many, I fear I can only remember a fraction of them.”

Dreadwing grinned again, desperate to goad another reaction that Optimus simply refused to give.

“Others will come here, as you said. Autobots as well as Decepticons. Friends and families of the sparks you’ve claimed. I will not take their chance for vengeance away.”

Behind him, Wheeljack and Bulkhead were talking– a whispered argument. He had no intention of interrupting, or eavesdropping. He knew what to do next. 

With one arm, he held his gun for insurance. With the other, he lifted the magnet off of Dreadwing and let it topple aside. Before it even hit the floor, Dreadwing– heedless of the singed holes in his wings– was already flying away. 

“Prime, what the hell are you doing?!” Wheeljack glared after the ‘Cons vapor trails. “We had him right there, I could have taken his head off with one shot!” 

He shifted out his blasters and tried to hit Dreadwing with some farewell bullets, but it was a futile effort when he was already so far away.

“I will not slaughter a mech who cannot defend himself,” Optimus insisted. He knew what honor was, just as Dreadwing did. Neither of them had acted with it to reach this point, but it could still be recovered. They could fight another day. There was still a chance for Dreadwing to reverse his brother’s mistakes, to realise Megatron’s true nature and walk away. 

“It’s that kind of attitude that made us lose Cybertron!” Wheeljack whirled on Optimus, now aiming each barrel at him. Optimus stared into them as Bulkhead rushed forward to try and hold his friend back again. 

“Jackie, calm down. Optimus knows what he’s–”

“He knows what he’s doing?” Wheeljack laughed as he shrugged off Bulkhead’s hands. “I’ve heard that before. Spare me the cliché.”

Wheeljack restored his hands, flexing the fingers into fists as he spat at Optimus’ feet. 

“Commanders are all the same. You get to sit back and let people live and feel good about yourself while the soldiers suffer the consequences. Next time, it won’t be Bulk who gets captured. What if it’s Arcee, or Ratchet or Bumblebee? And what if you don’t get to them in time? Would you let him go then?”

He waited some seconds for Optimus to answer, but there was none that Optimus could give. He couldn’t save everyone. No-one could. But as a Prime, he had to try.

“You probably would,” Wheeljack growled. “That’s how spineless you are. That’s why we’re losing this damn war.”

“Jackie, enough !” Bulkhead pushed Wheeljack back, and the motion seemed to stun him. Optimus seized the moment while it was there.

“You are not an Autobot, Wheeljack. You’ve made that clear. So what does it matter to you what decisions I make?”

Wheeljack smirked when he recovered, though there was no humor in his scars. “Cause you’re still a Prime. You still got that shiny Matrix lodged where your spark should be. You’re the only hope we have left of having a home again. Even those who don’t follow you still depend on you.”

He shook his head with the same kind of disgust he’d reserved for Dreadwing. “Even if Dreadwing didn’t kill my brothers, I’m still staying on Earth. Seems like I’m the only one around here with the bearings to do what needs done. Come on, Bulk. Let’s get the medic to look you over.” 

He clapped Bulkhead on the shoulder, apparently forgiving all slights of the day, as he walked away. The Jackhammer was still waiting on the hill across the water, and it was there that he was making for. 

Optimus watched him leave with regret that was as palpable as exhaustion and anger alike. Letting Dreadwing go was the right thing to do– so long as no-one was killed, Optimus would never have done differently. But Wheeljack, already alienated from the Autobots, was now an irreversible problem. Unreliable, headstrong, with the potential to be a menace as much as Starscream now was. 

The key difference was that Wheeljack believed he was doing good. But he didn’t believe in second chances. It was why he would never be an Autobot, and why he could never discover what Optimus was hiding in the woods.

“Optimus? Are you coming?” Bulkhead was standing ahead, waiting for Optimus to follow. He would fly back to base in the Jackhammer , which made sense. But Optimus shook his head.

“The Jackhammer is rather small for someone of my size. And I doubt Wheeljack would want me taking up the space. I will make my own way back.”

He could ask Ratchet for a Ground Bridge, but he was not eager to return so quickly. He needed solitude for a time. He needed to forget the weight of the Matrix in his chest and the world on his shoulders.

Bulkhead hesitated, then he stood before Optimus. The Prime was taller than most Autobots by several heads, Bulkhead included, but the old Wrecker still tried to meet his eyes.

“Don’t take it to spark, Optimus,” he said. “He’s just frustrated. He’s always been like that, even before the war. I’m glad we have someone like you, and the others agree. We’ve been at this so long, you’re the only thing stopping us from turning into Decepticons… or worse.”

He wasn’t able to keep eye-contact for long– his head quickly fell, but obvious embarrassment be damned he kept going., And Optimus appreciated it more than Bulkhead would ever know.

“Thank you, Bulkhead.” He wouldn’t embarrass him any further by dragging it out. 

“I’ll see you back at base. Safe journey.” Bulkhead started to run towards the Jackhammer , though he looked over his shoulder back at Optimus at least twice. 

The Prime didn’t move until the ship was already in the air, its occupants safe within. Now alone at the dock, he looked at the imprint Dreadwing’s body left in the ground. Then Optimus looked at the cannon he’d left behind, still lying where he’d dropped it.

With one more swipe of his ped, Optimus let it fall forgotten into the water. Megatron’s finest warrior could easily obtain another, but he felt slightly better knowing that at least one weapon was out of reach.

From his current position, it would take six hours to drive to Nevada. To where Airachnid currently was would take another six hours. Either one was tempting, if not for the energon he’d waste on the journey. For any distance less than two hours away, it was much more efficient to Bridge there instead. 

He would return, eventually. He would check on Airachnid. But for now, he was alone, and he wanted to savor it. Even a Prime should be allowed that much.

Especially if so many others were already on their way over.

“I have a question, Ratchet…”

“I told you before, Miko,” the medic groaned, “I am not going into detail about interface. You don’t need to know, and you don’t want to know.”

It was the only thing he’d glossed over during the impromptu lesson on Cybertronian reproduction, and he’d done so for a reason. It was one thing to explain the birth of a new sparkling, but his own anatomy was a step too far for his comfort.

“I’ll find out sooner or later!” Miko swore. “Anyway, that wasn’t what I was gonna say. I just wanted to know… is Bulk on his way back?”

Rafael and Jack and Ms. Darby had already gone home for the day. But Miko refused to leave without seeing Bulkhead first.  

“Yes,” Ratchet told her. “He’s safe.”

He knew only because Bulkhead’s signal was moving again, and because Optimus had sent him a single ping affirming that the rescue was a success– though, for some reason, his own signal wasn’t moving with Bulkhead’s. Ratchet had no way of tracking Wheeljack; although he carried the Autobot brand like most Wreckers, he’d refused the tracking device that other Autobots were fitted with for their own safety. 

The only one who could trace his movements was Ultra Magnus– the official leader of the Wreckers, the same one who had mandated the Autobot insignia be fitted to all under his command. The last time Ratchet had seen him was on Cybertron. He and his soldiers had cleared the way to the Allspark so that Optimus could launch it into space, far away from Megatron and the dark energon he’d flooded the planet’s core with. When the time came to leave in the Ark , no-one could find him.

So many had been left behind; those who refused to abandon Cybertron, and those who were presumed dead. They didn’t have time to search for the bodies. 

“How far away is he? Is he hurt?” Miko didn’t try to climb up onto the console for once, though Ratchet could feel her eyes on him.

“You’re too young to be worrying this much, Miko,” he sighed. He wished he could just comm Bulkhead and let her speak to him, but Dreadwing must have deactivated his systems when he captured him. “Here, I’ll show you his signal. He’s… oh. He’s here.”

The radar screen marked Bulkhead’s signal somewhere up above, which meant Wheeljack must have just landed on the roof of the base. Ratchet had to pick Miko up and put her on the platform so she wouldn’t try and run for the elevator with him.

He arrived up top just as Bulkhead and Wheeljack left the Jackhammer . Neither of them seemed obviously injured, but Ratchet knew not to celebrate too early. He waited inside the elevator for the two mechs; Bulkhead dragged his peds behind him, and Wheeljack wouldn’t take his eyes off the ground.

“Welcome back.” Ratchet nodded to them both as they entered the elevator. “Optimus told me you got out safely, but not much else. What happened?”

He decided not to ask about Optimus’ whereabouts for now– whether or not he was up to something involving a certain ex-Decepticon, Ratchet didn’t want to know, and he certainly didn’t want to call anyone else’s attention to it. 

Bulkhead didn’t say anything until the elevator started moving downwards. “Almost got blown up. Business as usual, really. Think I’d like to go into stasis for a few weeks now.”

“I can give you a few hours, at least,” Ratchet assured as the elevator doors opened– and Miko stood before them with her hands on her hips. 

“Bulk, you big fat jerk ! You can’t go to sleep without saying hi!” Then she surged forward to wrap her arms around his ped. 

“Good to see you too, Miko.” Bulkhead laughed as he gently pried her away, only so she wouldn’t be hurt when he stepped forward.

“And you!” She pointed up at Wheeljack. “Don’t let him get kidnapped again! That’s an order!”

Wheeljack, who was also allergic to following orders, gave her a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Shouldn’t you be home by now?” Bulkhead asked, still looking back at Miko as Ratchet herded him towards the med-bay. “Your host parents will be asking questions.”

“I told them I stayed late doing homework at a friend’s house. Besides, I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I knew you were safe.” She jogged to keep up with Bulkhead’s steps, slipping into the med-bay before Ratchet could close the door. “But dude! I’m so mad at you!”

“What, cause I almost got myself killed?” Bulkhead groaned as he lay flat on the slab, giving Ratchet’s scanner full access to his frame.

“That too! But mostly cause you never told me about robot babies.”

Both Bulkhead and Wheeljack looked at each other, then at Ratchet.

“Robot babies…?” Wheeljack asked the question, but Ratchet shook his head.

“Don’t ask. Get out before you contaminate everything, Miko. See if Bumblebee can take you home.” He shooed the human out, practically sweeping her through the door before sealing it shut behind her.

“Where is Cee and Bee, anyway?” Bulkhead asked, craning his neck around as if they were hiding in the corners of the room.

“I told them to go rest– sit still!” Ratchet pushed Bulkhead back down on the slab before his scanner could throw an error. “They’ve been worried sick about you and Optimus all day. Speaking of, where is he?”

“He’ll be right behind us,” Wheeljack said with a shrug. “The Jackhammer wasn’t designed for three passengers.”

Ratchet could believe that– but why hadn’t Optimus asked for a Ground Bridge yet? He didn’t like to micromanage his friend, not only because he was a Prime, but with the recent revelations… he didn’t like the thought of him being alone. 

Assuming he wasn’t with Airachnid, which was even worse to think of. So Ratchet wouldn’t think of it at all. He watched the screen as the scanner did its work– with someone of Bulkhead’s size, it would take some klicks before it was done.

“...Jackie,” Bulkhead’s voice was lower than the hum of the device, “was Dreadwing telling the truth?”

Wheeljack scoffed, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “What the hell do you think? He’s a Decepticon. Whether or not he killed Wreckers, he still deserves to be in the Pit.”

“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about others coming here.”

“Others?” Ratchet hadn’t wanted to intrude, but the word demanded his attention. “What’s this about?”

Bulkhead went silent, and Wheeljack looked away. The crackle of his EM field filled the whole room.

“When I left Earth the first time,” he sighed, “I… went looking for other Cybertronians. And I found a few. Mostly neutrals, the kind who’re too scared to join either side.” 

He tried to turn his head around, but his field became a storm of static. The only way he could speak is if he wasn’t facing either of them.

“I told them where I’d been. Where Optimus Prime was. The last Autobots on the frontline of the war. I thought… I thought it might convince them to do something. Autobot numbers are shrinking every day. The only way we’re gonna win is if more people step forward and fight.”

Ratchet’s understanding became as solid as his sense of horror. Earth, previously buried safe amongst the billions of other planets in the universe, now had a target on its back.

“And you didn’t think ‘Cons would hear about it as well?!” he hissed.

“I didn’t think it would be a problem!” Wheeljack threw his arms out, an explosion from his chest where his spark was roiling. “Hell, most of them are just waiting for the war to be over so they can go with whoever wins! They just want to wait and see what’s left for them to scavenge.”

Wheeljack’s energy went as quickly as it came– when he fell against the wall this time, he looked like he wanted to collapse. Ratchet’s sympathy was limited.

“So the only ones who’ll come to Earth will be Megatron’s most loyal supporters,” he said. “His fanatics. Others like Dreadwing.”

“Yeah,” Wheeljack admitted. “Probably.”

Ratchet wanted to say more, but the pain on Bulkhead’s face made him hesitate. Wheeljack already knew the magnitude of his mistake. There was no point in rubbing rust into the wound.

“ Bulk !” Bumblebee’s chirp came from the med-bay’s doors– his and Arcee’s timing was impeccable. They both piled in (and Miko followed along under their cover), and Ratchet tried to dampen his anger for them. He wasn’t sure which of the bad news would hit them harder, but for now they didn’t need to know any of it. Let them be happy, if only for a short while.

“Still in one piece, huh?” Arcee made a show of checking Bulkhead over for broken parts.

“I got a few thousand years left before I’m due to start falling apart,” he assured, trying not to sound too stilted. “Then Ratch will really have his work cut out for him.”

“I’m sure he’s got some Imperial medicine he can use on you when it happens,” Wheeljack said, taking the medic’s cue to forget his own frustration for now.

“I’m not that old,” Ratchet muttered; the Imperial Age ended when the Quintessons appeared, before he– before anyone still alive today– was even born. His console let out an alert when the scanner finished, and most of the areas it marked out were thankfully green. 

“There’s some damage to your servo shock absorbers,” he relayed to Bulkhead, “and your fuel pump has a few stress fractures.”

“No wonder.” Bulkhead exhaled as he stretched. “I’ve never been so stressed in my damn life.”

“Nothing your self-repair can’t deal with on its own. But you should stick to medex for the next few days while your pump heals.” Ratchet gave him a shining cube of the stuff to help his recharge. “And you really should be heading back home, Miko.”

Miko had apparently thought she was invisible until now– she jumped at Ratchet’s glare, then pouted as she crossed her arms. “Why can’t I just sleep over? Robot slumber party!”

Ratchet had to close his eyes before they rolled out of their sockets. “Not tonight. Bumblebee, could you take her?”

“ No problem.” Bumblebee could at least keep her quiet, since there was no point badgering him with questions when she wouldn’t understand his answers. She didn’t even try to get Arcee to take her home instead, not without Jack to hold onto during the ride (despite how much Arcee insisted she was a safe driver, for some reason riding a motorcycle was the one risk Miko wouldn’t take).

Once the human was escorted out for the second time, Arcee sat down next to Bulkhead on the end of the slab. “So what’s the war story this time?”

Bulkhead groaned as his optics shuttered. “I don’t wanna talk about it… maybe tomorrow.”

“Damn. Must have been really bad if you don’t want to brag.” Arcee looked to Wheeljack, expecting him to give the gory details instead, but the Wrecker just kept staring at the floor.

“Ratchet.” The medic almost jumped from the voice in his comm unit. “Please prepare a Bridge at my coordinates.”

It had been two hours since Bulkhead’s signal had moved away from Optimus, two hours of Prime being by himself until now. Ratchet tried not to think of what could have happened in that time.

“Maybe Optimus can tell us all about it,” he suggested. “He’ll be Bridging in momentarily.”

As soon as he said the Prime’s name, Wheeljack started walking towards the door as well.

“I gotta go check on my ship,” he said without turning around. “I’ll be up top if you need me.”

When Ratchet reached the Ground Bridge controls, the elevator was already gone. He was grateful that Wheeljack was so obviously trying to avoid Optimus, if only because he was allowed a rare moment to speak to him privately.

The medic opened the Bridge, and Optimus appeared seconds later. He too didn’t seem injured, though he’d been known to hide injuries just so other Autobots received help first.

“What was the hold-up?” Ratchet asked, and he could only hope that Optimus would tell him the truth. He already knew the worst secret… as far as he knew.

“I could not fend off Agent Fowler for much longer.” Optimus sighed around the human’s name. “He… had much to say.”

Ratchet could believe that, and though it was hardly the most pressing problem he was glad that it was dealt with. “I heard about Wheeljack’s… adventures in space.”

“Yes.” Optimus didn’t betray any anger. “I decided not to inform Fowler of that development for now.”

That was one secret Ratchet could agree on keeping. The humans would likely be the last to know of the waiting surge of Cybertronians, only to stop them from panicking and doing something stupid in the meantime.

(For every difference between their kind and humans, there were just as many similarities. What was the point of having different species across the galaxy, Ratchet wondered, when so many of them behaved the same as everyone else?)

“Bulkhead and Arcee are in the med-bay. Bumblebee will be back soon, and Wheeljack decided to make himself scarce just before you arrived.” Ratchet expected Optimus to follow him, but he remained still where the Bridge faded from existence.

“Ratchet, I… require your expertise on something.” He spoke slowly, as if ready to snatch the words back at any moment, and like Wheeljack he was unable to raise his eyes from the floor. 

“What would that be?” Ratchet tried not to sound suspicious. Optimus gulped. 

“Something that the others are not yet ready to know.”

His hesitance told Ratchet everything he couldn’t dare say out loud, not when the others were so close by. He’d asked the medic to trust him, and now that trust was finally being rewarded. But Ratchet didn’t feel honored. He only felt sick.

“I see.” Ratchet inhaled, silently cataloging everything he’d need to bring with him and wishing he was anywhere else. “You should let them see you before we go anywhere.”

Optimus nodded. Ratchet could hear how happy Arcee and Bulkhead were to see him through the door, but he didn’t follow them in. Taking from his stocks in front of them would be highly suspicious, but he knew the importance of redundancy and kept stores outside the med-bay as well. He gathered medex, his portable scanner, voltmeter and polarity gauge, field journals he hadn’t looked at in millions of years…

The only thing missing was a weapon. His scalpels would have to do.

☽ ✶ ☾

“Lord Megatron. Please forgive my failure. I… allowed myself to be outmatched.”

Dreadwing stood before Megatron once again, but he knelt with shame rather than reverence. The pain from the holes in his wings, still burning against his spinal strut, paled in comparison to the pain of disappointing his leader. He had disobeyed his liege’s orders, and he would pay whatever price Megatron decreed for his insolence.

“You said Optimus Prime was with them?” Megatron’s tone was inscrutable. He had remained silent until now, as Dreadwing relayed the true extent of his defeat– his failure to consider Prime’s presence was chief among his mistakes. 

“Yes.” Dreadwing winced with his head bowed out of sight. “He thought to ambush me.”

And he’d succeeded. Dreadwing had been so overconfident, so focused on watching the two Wreckers struggle from afar, that he’d ignored the subtle sounds of the Prime’s approach behind him. He’d been warned that someone, or something, was close by, and he’d done nothing with it. 

Megatron would demote him. Perhaps even banish him for his hubris. Either would be deserved.

“Surviving an encounter with him is no small feat,” his leader said. “Despite your defeat, Dreadwing, you have proven yourself a capable warrior, well worthy of being my second-in-command. Though I trust that this loss will remind you to not act on your own desires. I am your commander, and I alone will decide what course of action is best for the Decepticons. Is that understood?”

Dreadwing was still kneeling, still hiding his face, but no longer from shame. He was trying to mask the overwhelming relief, and the joy of being forgiven– it was a privilege to witness such a rare moment of Megatron’s mercy, one that almost matched that of being by his side.

“Of course, my liege. In my haste to further our cause, I forgot my place. It will not happen again.” He spoke with no sarcasm or regret. He was a Decepticon once more, and such an honor did not come freely. He knew that better than anyone else on the Nemesis.

“I’m sure it won’t.” Megatron motioned for Dreadwing to rise, and he obeyed. “You are dismissed. But before you retire, do ensure that you report to the med-bay this time. I won’t have my second-in-command perish because he is too stubborn to allow a medic’s assistance.”

“At once, my lord.” Dreadwing vacated the bridge with haste, and took himself to the med-bay as ordered. He was truly alone this time– his audience with Megatron had thankfully been private, no Vehcicons crossed his path and there was no Breakdown waiting for him around the corner. 

As he walked, he thought over his defeat. Replaying the battle, analyzing how the enemy countered him. It was the only way he would learn from his mistakes.

The Prime had made mistakes as well, though. He could have terminated Dreadwing. He should have. A dishonorable victory was still a victory, and the Prime threw it away. Even when Dreadwing pushed him, taunted him, reminded him that he was the enemy and nothing more, he refused to take the bait.

Was it because there were others present, and he thought to set an example for them? If so, it was little wonder there were so few Autobots on Earth. Anyone who followed in their leader’s steps would end up dead, and anyone who did what was necessary would likely be shunned for it. 

The Prime’s attitude would change when the other Decepticons arrived. It would have to, if there were to be any Autobots left at all. Either way, the Decepticons would still prosper. The only question was how long Optimus Prime would continue to struggle.

Dreadwing entered the med-bay, but it was deserted. There was no sign of Knockout, or obvious explanation for his absence. Dreadwing was sure Megatron would have told him to expect a patient, though he wasn’t intending to wait around for him. 

When he slept on the way to Earth, he dreamt of Skyquake dying. He hadn’t recharged since before he arrived, and he was feeling the weight of his empty batteries now. Maybe he would be allowed to sleep in peace, now that he’d paid his respects at his brother’s grave.

He turned to leave the med-bay, though he was aware someone was now on the other side of the door. Knockout would have to explain what had caused him to abandon his post…

When the door opened, Dreadwing found Soundwave passing by. The third-in-command, now Dreadwing’s official subordinate, barely glanced towards the other mech. It was almost certain that he was there on Megatron’s orders, to ensure that Dreadwing did as he was told, though Soundwave was very good at making his presence seem coincidental. Why else would he be the Decepticons’ spymaster?

“Soundwave.” He stopped walking at Dreadwing’s voice, though he didn’t turn towards the other mech. “I was told to report to Knockout, though he is currently not at his station. Do you know where I can find him?”

Dreadwing was face-to-face with him, and he could see his own exhaustion reflected in Soundwave’s visor. The spymaster tilted his head barely an inch, the only movement he made for some long seconds, before he turned around and started walking the opposite way. Dreadwing assumed that he should follow him, and he didn’t bother asking where they were going. Words were often wasted with Soundwave, and Dreadwing needed to conserve his energy. 

He couldn’t remember exactly why Soundwave never spoke. He wasn’t an empurata victim like Shockwave, despite how he hid his face. He still had his vox component, or something similar that allowed him to play back other voices. All Dreadwing knew was that he was a survivor of the same gladiator pits that birthed Megatron, which allowed him to be one of the very first Decepticons. He had changed since then; various adaptations and upgrades, a fleet of drones that slotted onto his frame and fed him information from all corners of Cybertron.

(There had been four of them before the Exodus. Laserbeak seemed to be the only one left.)

Dreadwing had to wonder why he was not second-in-command instead– seniority alone gave him the right over anyone else. Then again, a spymaster knew all secrets, which was far more power than any other position could give.

Soundwave was a secret onto himself. Dreadwing wasn’t eager to discover anything more about him. He had enough sleepless nights to contend with.

They didn’t travel far from the med-bay before Soundwave stopped outside a section of corridor. Then the wall parted– the door was only obvious when it was already open. When Soundwave entered, Dreadwing could see a bank of monitors before a console brimming with dials and switches. 

This was the spymaster’s station, or perhaps just one of them. Soundwave stood before the console and faced Dreadwing, silently beckoning him over. 

It occurred to Dreadwing that he still had no idea where Knockout was, but while he was here he might as well see what Soundwave had to show him. If he couldn’t just tell Dreadwing the answer, then he could only show him it.

Soundwave’s digits danced across a keypad, and one of the monitors came to life. It showed the start of a recording from the Nemesis’ flight deck. Dreadwing recognised the grey clouds and dull metal of the ship’s exterior– and then the presence of Knockout at the very corner of the screen, just as the other mech commenced the playback.

…

Knockout was not scared of heights, as much as Starscream liked to taunt him for not taking a Seeker’s T-Cog when given the option. That wasn’t why he didn’t like being on the ship’s flight deck. It was simply too easy to get yourself killed on it.

But there was no-one else around this time, no-one but him and Breakdown. He’d checked the surroundings three times before summoning his assistant, and once more for good measure while he shivered under the tiny canopy that shielded the stairwell leading down into the safe haven of the ship. 

“And we can’t just talk in the med-bay… why?” Breakdown asked, raising his vox over the roaring wind, already completely ignoring Knockout’s request for discretion.

“Keep your voice down!” Knockout rushed up to him as he hissed. “I told you, this is one of the few places on the ship that Soundwave doesn’t monitor.”

It was more of an assumption than a fact– recycling was annoyingly complicated on the Nemesis thanks to resource limitations, so Knockout often disposed of his metal shavings after a good buffing session by throwing them overboard. Then he graduated to disposing of other inconveniences the same way; old paint, shells of pilfered energon cubes, parts of Vehicons that couldn’t be salvaged. He’d never been reprimanded for it, so he assumed Soundwave simply didn’t watch the far side of the flight deck.

“How do you know that?” Breakdown asked, but Knockout knew that if he explained it out loud he’d realise how stupid the assumption really was, and he had to get this over with as soon as possible for his own sanity.

“That’s not important!” Knockout rubbed his face with his claws. He’d rehearsed this confrontation over and over, knowing it had to happen, but for the second time in years he was speechless. 

The first time had happened when Megatron entered his med-bay, asking about Airachnid. It figured that the same subject would make it happen again.

  “I’m going to ask you a question, Breakdown,” he sighed, “and you’re not allowed to be offended at it.”

“Um… alright.” Breakdown blinked his lone optic– he’d turned down every offer Knockout gave to supply a replacement, ostensibly because he wanted a ‘reminder’ to never let himself be overpowered by humans again. But the real reason was because Breakdown thought it looked cool, and that his battle scar might impress a certain femme who was no longer on the ship. 

Knockout never had the spark to tell him otherwise. But maybe if he had, he wouldn’t be having to have this conversation with him. He had to sigh again before it would finally come out.

“Did you ever interface with Airachnid?”

“Did I– what?! ” 

Even though he’d told Breakdown he couldn’t be offended at the question, Knockout already had a hand prepared to clamp over his mouth to stifle his outcry. He only had to raise the hand aloft for Breakdown to take the hint and clamp his jaw shut.

“You really shouldn’t act so shocked,” the medic chided. “Everyone knew you had a thing for her. The Vehicons were taking bets on where they’d catch you two going at it.”

That was a lie only so far as Knockout didn’t know or care what the Vehicons were really up to half the time. But he knew Breakdown liked to talk with them as if they had sparks, so he’d probably believe it.

“I… look, I was working on it!” Breakdown was clearly embarrassed, but for entirely the wrong reasons. “I mean, I know she didn’t like me that much. Hell, I don’t think she likes anyone . So I was taking it slow! I thought she’d kill me if I ever asked–”

Knockout raised his hand again to interrupt. “So that’s a no.”

“No, I did not interface with her! Thanks for rubbing it in…”

“Okay. I believe you.” Knockout’s vents were so full of relief that he didn’t even want to mock Breakdown for his interest in her. Maybe he’d do it later, if he was bored and Megatron was somewhere very far away.

“Why’re you even asking?” Breakdown, stubborn as any Decepticon, didn’t take the easy escape offered by Knockout turning away to head back inside. “Has it got something to do with her leaving?”

“If I told you,” Knockout said over his shoulder, “Megatron would throw me off this deck without waiting for us to land.”

“He’ll do that anyway if he catches us whispering up here.”

Knockout sighed at the top of the stairs. Dammit, it was starting to rain, and he was tired, and he’d likely just dug his own grave. But Breakdown was the only one onboard who actually cared about the spider. He deserved to know the truth.

  Besides, Knockout had already told him too much. There was no point in dying for an unfinished secret.

“Fine. I'll tell you. But it doesn't leave this deck, you understand?” Knockout cursed himself even as he covered up his mouth, dropping his voice against Breakdown’s audio receptors. “Airachnid was pregnant.”

“Preg… what?”

“Will you keep your vox down!?” Knockout looked over his shoulder at the inviting stairs, expecting to see Soundwave or Megatron himself standing there. Though it remained empty, he didn’t let himself feel relief. 

“I know… it’s shocking. But it’s true. Megatron himself confirmed it.”

“How did he know?”

“He found her sparkling when she left. Allegedly.” Knockout’s glossa tripped over the last word.

Breakdown’s face furrowed– the ridge over his missing eye moved as if it was still there. “You think she left it behind?”

“I don’t know what to think. I’m not a natal nurse!” Knockout had never liked sparklings, and war hadn’t changed that fact. If Protihex had forced him to complete his training at a nursery, he would have just dropped out on the spot. 

Even with all that in mind, he didn’t want to think about what Megatron had done to Airachnid’s child. He especially didn’t want to think about what it might have done to her.

“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t the sire.” Knockout shook his head, hiding a wince. “Now let’s never speak of this again.”

Breakdown scoffed, though his frown was forced. “Hell no. Even if I had interfaced with her, I keep my firewalls up. I’m not putting them down for anyone.”

Of course he’d immediately ignored Knockout’s order to not talk about it anymore. He could believe Breakdown, at least. He was a moron, most of the time, but he was a careful moron.

“Fine. Don’t ever mention it again. Now let’s get the hell out of here.” Knockout shivered, not just from the mist clinging to his plates. 

“Wait, Knockout.” Breakdown grabbed him by the shoulder as he ducked into the stairs. “Who is the sire, then?”

If Knockout could have blown out his own vox with a single sigh, it would have been at that very moment. “All the Vehicons are sterile. There’s only two other options on this ship. And I wouldn’t expect either of them to…”

He chose not to finish that sentence for his own sanity. He kept on walking, intent on ignoring any more questions. 

“Maybe there is no sire.” Breakdown had the mind to whisper, still lingering near the safe zone at the top of the stairs. “She’s technorganic, right? Maybe she has some other way of spawning. Like… eggs? What if she's got eggs stored somewhere?!”

Knockout turned back just to see if Breakdown was joking to try and lighten the mood. But the panic on his face was very real.

“Breakdown, did you think that movie we watched at the drive-in last vorn was a documentary? That’s the last time I’m letting you tag along, by the way.”

(He was a terrible movie watcher, always asking questions that anyone paying attention would know the answer to. Then again, enjoying films made by humans required a substantial amount of cultural knowledge that wasn’t easy to come by. Knockout had decided to just give up and go by himself from now on.)

"I'm not crazy, Knockout!” Breakdown insisted, while still whispering like a conspiracy theorist over a hijacked radio on Cybertron as he followed behind. “What if... what if she's been putting them in our spark chambers while we recharge?! They could be anywhere on the ship, or inside us! Waiting to burst out of our chassis' and suck on our energy!"

"You're an idiot." Knockout closed the first door he passed by to lock Breakdown behind him, refusing to be associated with his nonsense, wanting nothing more but to get back to work. Breakdown easily bypassed the barricade, but the momentary pause seemed to have forced him to calm down.

“...I hope she’s alright,” he said. “Wherever she is.”

Knockout wasn’t going to respond, but he didn’t want Breakdown coming up with any ideas of going out to find her on his own. “She’s not stupid. I’m sure she’ll turn up somewhere.”

Whether she’d be alive or dead would be impossible to predict. Knockout didn’t know which would be better for her.

…

Dreadwing watched the two mechs leave the Nemesis flight deck. Despite their secrecy and the howl of wind and rain, he’d heard everything.

“...How long ago was this?” he asked.

Soundwave pointed a single digit at the timestamp in the corner. The whole scene had finished just a few klicks ago. Knockout would likely be at the med-bay now.

Had Soundwave been going to catch them both in the act, before he’d run into Dreadwing? He must have seen it happening live. Perhaps he’d been planning to inform their leader.

“Is Lord Megatron aware of this?”

Soundwave shook his head once. Dreadwing exhaled, trying to predict that Megatron’s reaction to the recording would be. Assuming that Knockout was telling the truth, and that Breakdown was doing the same… 

Airachnid had been pregnant, and Megatron had encountered her child. There was currently no child on the Nemesis . The conclusion, and the accusation, was obvious.

“I think it would be best if our liege was not bothered by such… distasteful rumors,” Dreadwing said. As for Knockout and Breakdown, he would see to them personally if this behavior was repeated. For now, he’d let them think they got away unseen.

“ Second-in-command.” Megatron’s own voice came from behind Soundwave’s mask. It was impossible to tell if he was simply affirming Dreadwing’s authority… or mocking him. Dreadwing only knew that Soundwave agreed when he nodded and didn’t stop him from leaving the room. 

He wanted to go to his quarters and stand under a solvent spray for an hour or more. He felt… dirty. But he was ordered to report to the med-bay, and those orders still stood even if the ship’s medic was a gossiping scandalmonger. 

He paused outside of the bay– not because he had to restrain himself from dragging Knockout before Megatron, rather because he realised something. The voice that Soundwave had used… Megatron’s voice. It had come from when he gave Dreadwing the promotion, less than an hour ago. Soundwave hadn’t been present on the bridge then. How could he have heard Megatron say it…? 

Dreadwing suppressed a shiver. Soundwave didn’t need to show his eyes when they were all over the Nemesis. He and he alone could attest to the truth of matters on the ship, at any moment in time. 

Dreadwing would have to keep that in mind.

☽ ✶ ☾

Wheeljack looked up at the Earth’s moon, inhaled deep from his cy-gar, and hated himself.

It wasn’t a real cy-gar– not like the same kind that Kup would go through by the box like energon, the kind he was convinced was worth the poison for the temporary overclock. But it would slowly kill Wheeljack like a real one. 

He knew he’d have to quit them eventually, and he’d been doing good until now. He’d made a promise to Springer when he last saw him, that what he had left in his ship would be the very last he ever used. After this one was empty, there’d be only three left. Only three to see him through to the end of this war. 

With what he knew he had to do next, he’d make this one count. 

As he inhaled one last gust, swimming in the chemicals, he saw someone driving up to the base in a cloud of midnight dust. He only recognised it was Bumblebee when he came close enough for Wheeljack to see his racing stripes, and he figured it was as good a cue as any other to get off his ass and head back inside.

Before he entered the elevator, he gave one last look at the moon. It was no Luna-1– he doubted he’d find Minicons swarming it or a Space Bridge hidden at its core– but it was big and bright, and he could get used to the sight of it. He would have plenty of time to.

Inside the base he found Arcee and Bumblebee and Bulkhead where he’d left them, but the medic and Prime were missing. 

“Where’s Prime gone off to now?” he asked.

Arcee shrugged. “Don’t know. Ratchet’s with him this time, at least. They won’t be gone long.”

Wheeljack chewed on the scars that marred his lips (that was another bad habit he had to kick).  “I need to talk to him… you have a way of tracking signals, right?”

He knew it for a fact, since they wouldn’t have found Bulkhead otherwise. Bumblebee left the med-bay wordlessly, then came back a few seconds later with an image projected from his optics– he must have taken it from the console that monitored everyone’s positions. 

“They’re both showing up way over to the east,” Arcee said. “I can get the Ground Bridge to take you there–”

Wheeljack cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Not that I don’t trust the Bridge, but… I prefer using my ship.” It actually was because he didn’t trust it, but he didn’t need anyone else knowing that. “Just give me their coordinates and I’ll find them.”

“Why not just wait for them to come back?” Bulkhead asked. “Like Arcee said, they won’t be gone long. And I’m sure not going anywhere.”

Wheeljack sighed. It would have been too easy to take the offer, and he didn’t become a Wrecker because it was easy to do. 

“I… owe Prime an apology. By the time they get back, I’ll have probably lost my nerve.”

That was all he could say. He knew what to do, and he had to get it out as soon as possible before it was gone. He didn’t expect Prime to forgive him for the colossal frag-up, but if he was going to stay on Earth then he had to play by Autobot rules. He understood that. He just wanted to be part of something good.

The Autobots all stared at him, then briefly at each other.

“Alright,” Arcee eventually said. “Good luck.”

…

When Wheeljack was out of sight, Arcee was left wondering if he’d been swapped out for a Decepticon again.

“Wheeljack doesn’t seem like the kind to apologise. Ever .” She fixed her eyes on Bulkhead. “What happened with Dreadwing?”

“Optimus will want to tell you himself,” he groaned– from the look of him he was already half-asleep, but Arcee wasn’t going to let him get out of it that easy.

“Bulkhead. Come on, just tell us.”

Bumblebee chipped in by drumming his hands on the slab, ensuring Bulk couldn’t drift off. Eventually Bulkhead gave in.

“Alright, alright! I’ll tell you, damn interrogators…” He used all his effort to turn away from Bumblebee. “Long story short… a lot of our people out there now know about Earth. A lot of ‘Cons, too. Chances are both of them will be showing sooner or later. And Wheeljack blames himself for it.”

Arcee only had herself to blame for forcing it out of him, because now she was regretting it. That explained why Wheeljack didn’t want to be around Optimus, if it was really his doing.

“But… reinforcements are good, aren’t they?” Bumblebee’s chirps echoed alone around the room. She really wished she still had his optimism.

“At first, they were,” Bulkhead sighed. “But when Optimus sent out that first summons, the one Arcee heard–”

“And Cliffjumper.” Arcee cut in before she could stop herself, as if some automatic protocol was keeping Cliffjumper alive in her mind at every moment.

“Right… you and Cliff.” Bulkhead sounded guilty for forgetting him. “When Prime sent that transmission out, the Decepticons intercepted it. A month later, Starscream showed up with a warship full of Vehicons. The scales were thrown out of balance, and it’s taken us three years to figure out how to level them again. Whoever shows up here, we can’t guarantee that they’ll fight for us or against us. It was safer to just stick with what we have.”

Arcee imagined thousands of Decepticon ships filling the sky, blocking out the sun. She saw Jasper lost in their shadows, the entire Earth consumed by dark energon like Cybertron was. She’d thought Airachnid had been the worst of them. But Arcee knew there were far worse out there than her. Worse than even Megatron himself.

She imagined Earth and Cybertron crashing into each other, Primus and Unicron reunited, and only one survivor emerging from the fallout. Then she watched Bumblebee’s face collapse, and the sight hurt her more than all of that.

“But you can’t win a war without taking risks.” She spoke despite the pain in her vox. “The scale being balanced isn’t a good thing. It’s a stalemate. That’s where we’ve been for the last three years.”

She held a tense fist at her side, and if she was alone she would have released it against something solid. Right now, she could only hold onto it with all of her strength.

“I’d say Wheeljack did us a favor,” she said. “I’m sick of being outnumbered. I’m sick of losing one Autobot for every Decepticon still on Earth…”

For every Decepticon, there was still an Autobot willing to rally around the last Prime. She had to believe that.

“ Tired of being alone.” Bumblebee’s face was still a chasm, but a new light broke through his eyes as he spoke.

Then Bulkhead made a sound that wasn’t quite a groan or a laugh. “That makes three of us.”

There were really only three of them left. Other than Optimus and Ratchet and maybe Wheeljack, they were all that stood between Earth and Megatron. Did they really ever expect to win the war by themselves? 

If they still had Cliffjumper… maybe. They could never replace him, but he wouldn’t want them to lose everything because they were still grieving. They needed to take the risk. Sooner or later, they would have had to put out the call, and be prepared for whoever answered.

Arcee imagined the sky full of ships being wiped out by a thousand more Autobots, and let herself smile. Then she threw her arms around Bulkhead’s neck, heedless of the fizz of his EM field.

“I’m just glad you’re still here, Bulk,” she muttered. Until those thousands arrived, they still had to hold on to what they had.

“Me too!” Bumblebee threw himself around Bulkhead’s chassis, almost knocking him off the slab with the force. “Group hug!”

And despite the injuries and exhaustion and uncertainty ahead, Bulkhead laughed– almost shaking them off with the vibrations of the sound– as he pulled them both close. “I love you guys, too.”

The moon was brighter on this side of the country, where time was two hours ahead of Nevada. The dirt was dry and the sky was cloudless, and when his peds hit the ground Ratchet wasted no time in getting to the point. 

"They're nearby?” He was already looking around, spinning in a circle as if he expected to be ambushed. Optimus couldn’t fault his caution.

“Near enough.” The Bridge had dropped them both into the same place that Optimus had first chosen just a few days ago.

(Had it really only been a few days? This must have been what life as a human felt like– months instead of decades, years instead of centuries. He envied them.)

Even though he trusted Ratchet, he knew it was better to never teleport directly on top of Airachnid’s hideout. There was always the chance that the others would come to investigate, or forget to change the programmed coordinates– at least this way, there was a reduced chance of them randomly finding her.

“Did she tell you who sired the sparkling?” Ratchet whispered as he followed Optimus– even this far from Nevada, he wouldn’t risk being overheard. Unicron was still under their feet, after all. Even while he slept, he could still listen.

“She told me it was Megatron.” Optimus regretted the wording, implying that he didn’t believe what she’d said, but it was too late for corrections when it was already out of his vox. Ratchet’s vents hissed, like knives scraping together. 

“Somehow,” the medic said, “that both does and doesn’t surprise me.”

“According to her,” Optimus continued, figuring he might as well tell Ratchet the full story, “he had plans to reproduce his spark even before the Exodus. He wanted an army of soldiers in his own image, using Decepticon femmes. So it seems, when Airachnid was returned to him… she became the first subject of his experiment.”

Even now, long after his fateful reunion with Elita, he could only discuss such things in careful euphemisms. It was the only way he could ever see Megatron as worth being saved anymore. He’d thought his former friend had crossed the line with dark energon, flooding Cybertron with Unicron’s run-off. But the true line lay far beyond where Optimus could have ever seen.

Behind him, Ratchet shuddered. “I hope she’s lying about that.”

Optimus didn’t voice any agreement. They walked the rest of the way in silence.

 The cave entrance, the point of no return, lay in front of them an hour later. Standing at the edge of the trees, Optimus held up a servo behind him to stall Ratchet.

“It may be better if I give her some advance warning of your presence,” he said.

“I know you’re there, Prime.” The darkness spoke from somewhere above. “You and your friend.”

Ratchet held up his scalpels, guarding his chest, as he scanned all around him. Airachnid did not rush as she descended from the trees on a shimmering web-line; glowing a toxic pink in the dark, hanging in front of them both. Even though she was upside-down, she didn’t look vulnerable. This was her domain, after all. She had no reason to fear them.

“This is Ratchet. He is our medic.” Optimus gestured to the other mech, who seemed lost for words– even though he’d known she’d be here, it was only now that he was actually seeing her that cold reality could sink in.

Ratchet scowled in greeting, and Airachnid mirrored him; even upside-down, her mouth could not be mistaken for a smile. 

“I told you I can heal on my own,” she argued, spinning in the shadows so that she would land on her feet.

“I’m not here for you,” Ratchet assured her, struggling not to spit as she uncoiled from her webs in front of him. “I’m here for the sparkling.”

For the first time, Airachnid’s confidence slipped. She blinked at the medic, then looked at Optimus with a sliver of panic. Then, finally, she scoffed.

“You really did tell him everything.” She spoke it like a question, as if Optimus was an idiot for doing so. And maybe he was. 

She started walking towards the cave, not bothering to invite either of them along. With her back turned, Ratchet looked at Optimus as if the Prime had suddenly become a Quintesson before his eyes. Until now, he’d been able to treat the whole thing as a ridiculous prank; as if Optimus would ever offer sanctuary to someone like Airachnid, as if someone like Airachnid would eve r have a child.

But it was true. The fact that Airachnid hadn’t immediately tried to kill either of them was all the proof needed. All things considered, Ratchet was actually taking it surprisingly well.

“Let’s get this over with,” he muttered, pulling a hand across his face as if he could pick up his scowl and throw it aside. 

Optimus led the way forwards– Airachnid wasn’t waiting for them, but she knelt at the mouth of the cave, her attention focused on something. Optimus could tell that it wasn’t Scorpia, but he also couldn’t detect where she was. Airachnid had a good habit of keeping her close, usually swaddled in silk and secured at her back, but he hadn’t seen any sign of her. 

When the mechs were right behind Airachnid, they could see what she was working on.

“Airachnid, what… is that?” Ratchet's voice was the precursor to an accusation.

She looked over her shoulder at him, her claws marred with blood and her eyes narrow with contempt. “It’s a skull.”

It certainly was– not human, thank Primus. But it was fresh; she must have spent at least a few hours scraping the raw flesh aside, leaving behind almost-clean bone. In his haste to help a new mother, Optimus had completely forgotten about her old hobby.

“Where did you get it from?” Ratchet pressed.

“Where else?” She sighed in frustration. “From my hunt. And before you get too upset, I only went after animals. I have to keep myself occupied while I wait for my savior’ s arrival.” 

She threw her wrist so that the claws fanned towards Optimus, almost splattering him with specks of gore. 

“You can’t just kill animals whenever you feel like it!” Ratchet’s EM field fizzed like a vat of high-grade– his scalpels were still on display, and they carved through the air as he gestured his fury.

Airachnid rolled her eyes as she stood up, staring down Ratchet with no mind to the fact that he was a head taller than her. “Would you rather it was a human’s skull?”

“ Enough. ” Optimus stood between them, repelling them with the strength of his own EM field– as if the force of his vox wasn’t enough. In the right planetary atmosphere, with the most dire stakes, a Prime’s voice could allegedly be heard across continents. Optimus hadn’t yet attempted such a feat, and he hoped he would never have to.

The voice that Ratchet and Airachnid heard caused them both to freeze and flinch– Airachnid tried to hide her reaction, but the way her optics squeezed shut was undeniable.

He should have anticipated this. Airachnid wasn’t just a threat to Cybertronians. Decepticons in general had no love for organics, but she went out of her way to hunt them down. On Archa Seven, it was because she had to. Now she did it for fun, and because she was good at it.

Wherever they relocated her, if she even agreed to it, she would likely wipe out the native fauna there. If they kept her away from Earth’s animals, she would have no qualms about hunting humans instead…

And then there were the children, of course. The Autobots had pledged to protect them, just as they did all of Earth. Jack had been a victim of Airachnid, just as Arcee was. They wouldn’t understand why Optimus was helping her, even with Scorpia– and how could they? Their lives were counted in years, not eons. They couldn’t fathom a war of over hundreds of millions of years; the effect it had on those who survived the fighting, the way it changed them over so much time. When Megatron first took his stand against the Senate, humans as a species hadn't even evolved yet. 

Even when the humans became adults, they’d still be forever young compared to Cybertronians. Scorpia was only a sparkling now, but she would grow quickly. And then she’d live for a million more years, if Primus allowed it. Her own birth planet might perish before her.

A wail came from inside the cave. Scorpia must have known Optimus was thinking about the consequences of her existence. Or, more likely, he had woken her up with his voice.

“Good job, Prime,” Airachnid said, all trace of fear gone from her glare. “I had only just managed to make her fall asleep.”

Ratchet was still frozen in place, but his head snapped towards the sound of the restless sparkling. His eyes bled a thick blue corona as he tried to see into the cave, though Airachnid’s frame blocked any view of the sparkling within. He moved as if to follow her inside, but Optimus held him back. Even if Airachnid had not yet attacked either of them, she wouldn’t take kindly to a stranger in her sanctuary.

She must have put Scorpia in a sling at her back; when she re-emerged her arms were empty, but Optimus could feel the buzz of a tiny spark. Ratchet must have sensed it too– when Optimus let go of him, he didn’t try to move.

“Will this be a recurring behavior, Airachnid?” Optimus gestured to the skull and the torn scraps of flesh around it.

“I cannot ignore my instincts, Prime. No more than you or I could ignore Scorpia’s cries.” She didn’t look at him as she spoke. “But… I can control them, believe it or not. I strike only when I know it is safe to do so.”

Ratchet scoffed, but Optimus ignored him. “And you will not harm humans?”

Airachnid scowled, but at least she now looked at Optimus. “So long as I have no reason to. I’ve worked with them before, remember? I don’t always play the monster.”

Ratchet shook his head, still staring at the skull and the flies buzzing around it. “I can’t believe this…”

“If it makes you feel better,” Airachnid told him, “the creature would have died soon anyway. A slow, painful death from infection. I granted it mercy.”

“You don’t know the meaning of the word.”

“Ratchet, enough .” Optimus did not raise his voice this time, but the tone was the same. “You asked to be brought here. You knew what to expect.”

Ratchet pressed his mouth into a firm line, as if it was the only way he could stop anything else coming out of it. Scorpia chirped, almost sounding like Bumblebee, and Airachnid tried to shush her over her shoulder.

“I assume that’s the sparkling?” the medic asked. “I need to see her to ensure she’s healthy.”

Airachnid stepped back, placing herself against the stone wall. “She is healthy. We don’t need a medic.”

“As I said, I am not here for you. She’s still a newborn, isn’t she? She needs to be examined. Hand her over.”

Ratchet held his hands out, as if he really expected Airachnid to comply. She stared at his digits, and pressed her claws flat against the cave wall.

“...I don’t want to.”

“Airachnid.” Optimus didn’t want to pressure her, but they couldn’t afford to give into her wishes. Often, by the time the mother noticed anything wrong with her offspring, it was too late to save them. Airachnid shook her head, stepping back again into the shadows of the cave.

“If I hand her over, I won’t get her back,” she said. “You’ll take her away and turn her into one of you, and I’ll be left behind to rot. I've already lost one child to Decepticons. I won't lose another to Autobots.”

Ratchet looked at Optimus with a question, silently asking after what other child she was referring to. Optimus shook his head once– they could go over that later, if they had to. 

He couldn’t tell Airachnid that her fears were unfounded. It was the most logical thing to do, after all. It was something the Decepticons, and even some Autobots, would do without hesitation. On all roads, it was the correct path to take.

If she was taken now, Scorpia wouldn’t even remember her own mother. She’d only know the Autobots, and the war, and Optimus. And the thought of that alone made him nauseous.

“You do not trust Ratchet, and that is understandable,” he told Airachnid. “But do you trust me?”

Optimus expected her to laugh at the presumption, and maybe then she’d let her guard down. But she didn’t laugh.

“Between the two of you, I trust you more,” she admitted. “Take that however you wish.”

She trusted him only because she had to, and because, until now, trust had meant nothing to her. The fact that Optimus had promised to help, and continued to do so, must have been novelty. It was good to know. But he needed her to trust Ratchet as well, if only so far as that he wouldn’t harm her daughter. And he needed his friend to see a light in her as well.

Optimus nodded to Ratchet. The medic would need to convince her himself. Ratchet sighed, and reluctantly sheathed his scalpels.

"Airachnid, I have been a medic ever since I came out of the Well,” he recited, “when the Quintessons were building us on assembly lines. I have cared for young and old, mothers and fathers alike. I have a sworn duty to care for the young and helpless– that child is both. And I know better than to take a newborn away from its carrier. I’m sure you’ve done your research, just as I have.”

Airachnid’s grip on the wall became loose, and her scowl softened. But she still refused to move.

“If you won’t let me see the child,” Ratchet tried, “then at least let me examine you. Birth is a strain on any carrier. Problems can manifest quickly, and they only get worse by the hour. You won’t be much good to her if you end up dead.”

She narrowed her eyes again. “You said you weren’t here for me.”

“Duty must come before prejudice.” Ratchet closed his eyes as he spoke the pledge. Optimus recognised it as the motto of the Deltaran facility– where Ratchet had worked before the war, before it became the only place people of any or no faction on Cybertron could receive medical treatment.

Optimus recalled that Deltaran had lasted a few months before the Decepticons destroyed it.

“I will take Scorpia, if you wish,” he offered to Airachnid. “You’ll have her back.”

She curled her lips, but the fire in her eyes was gone for now. No matter her stubbornness and claims of healing herself, she had to be hurting. If she’d been trying to hide her pregnancy for the last year, she would have avoided Knockout at all costs. There was no telling what system errors she could have developed since then. 

Airachnid slowly pulled Scorpia’s cocoon into her arms, then glared at Optimus.

“Try anything, Prime,” she hissed, “and your skull will be my next trophy.”

“Noted.” Optimus only had eyes for the sparkling when she was finally passed into his arms. Scorpia chirped again, wrapped tight in her mother’s webbing, and she squirmed close to his chest. 

Now that her arms were empty, Airachnid didn't seem to know what to do with them. Her talons wrung and curled and flexed, her servos wrapped around her torso only to drop to her sides again, as she watched Optimus handle her child. 

Ratchet craned his neck, desperate to see Scorpia for himself, but Airachnid blocked his view with her frame. He had offered to examine her, after all. He only might have a chance at seeing the child afterwards. Ratchet sighed and motioned for Airachnid to sit down, while Optimus divided his attention between the two of them and Scorpia.

While Ratchet examined her, Airachnid held the skull in her lap and picked at the leftover flaps of skin. Her back was the first component he looked over, shining a blinding light over the spindly legs hanging there, and it was only now that he seemed to realise how they were damaged. 

“What happened to your legs?”

Airachnid’s head went low, and she hissed to herself. “Ever wondered what would happen if a part of you got caught on the other side of a Ground Bridge? I used them to destroy the console before the portal disappeared. I… wasn’t fast enough. They were severed.”

Ratchet blinked. Even though he was the main operator of the Autobots’ Ground Bridge, he had clearly never seen such injuries before. A Ground Bridge was, more or less, a highly-compressed Space Bridge– severely limited in range, but with much more risk to using them. Being caught in the Shadowzone and sudden amputation were only some of the problems that could arise from one.

“Well… they’re healing,” Ratchet said. “Slowly, but the nanite count is healthy. Medex might help speed it up–”

“No medex,” Airachnid insisted. “It hinders more than it helps.” 

Ratchet’s eyes creased, and he shook his head. “Very well.”

Scorpia continued to squirm, managing to wriggle a single arm free from her bindings that she flailed around like a tiny mace. Optimus caught it with his digit– just one of his fingers dwarfed her entire servo. Even without the aid of growth stimulant and CR stasis, she would be twice her current size in just one month, and then twice again in two. Sparklings did not stay helpless for long; after they reached their first year, all they had to do was grow larger and eventually find their alt-mode. But before that, they were allowed to be children. They were allowed to be loved.

It wasn’t just that those born from bonds had an immediate advantage over the Well-born ready-mades like Optimus; a head-start of years to learn and grow, a network of family and friends alike, a better chance to prepare for life on Cybertron. They were afforded the rare luxury of being useless for a while, of not having to follow a purpose. They existed because their parents wanted them to, not because the Senate needed them to fill a role.

At least, that was how it was supposed to be.

Ratchet stood up, his scanner in hand and his knees marred with stones. Whatever Airachnid had allowed him to examine, his work was done. “All signs point to her having given birth recently.”

Airachnid remained seated and scoffed. “We already know that. Do you think me a liar? Do you think I plucked a child from the ground just to fool you all into taking pity for me?!”

Ratchet was unphased by her venom. “According to these readings, there were two branches from your spark. You should have given birth to twins.”

Ratchet glanced at Optimus as he spoke, and now Airachnid looked away. 

“I did,” she admitted. “The other one didn’t make it.”

For the first time that evening, Ratchet seemed truly stunned. Optimus still didn’t know if he should have told him that Airachnid’s sparkling was a twin. Explaining the brother’s absence might have been easier, or it might have hurt him much more.

Either way, Scorpia went quiet in the Prime’s hands.

“...I’m sorry to hear that.” Ratchet inhaled. “What was the cause of death?”

“He was shot. By his father.” Airachnid turned away from him. She stared at Optimus, and her daughter, and Scorpia seemed to be staring right back at her. A heavy pause hung between them, mother and daughter joined in mutual loathing for the mech that had brought them both here.

“No-one else on the Nemesis knew you were carrying?” Ratchet eventually asked.

“No.”

“Why didn’t you terminate the pregnancy?” The medic hesitated to ask, but it had to be said– Optimus had even considered the question himself, when he first found her. Some people had very strong opinions on the subject of terminating buds, medics most of all. Airachnid didn’t even flinch at the suggestion.

“My biology isn’t like yours,” she claimed. “I couldn’t.”

She wouldn’t elaborate any more than that, and neither mech could ask her to. Ratchet knew how the process was done, how a femme could send the kill signal to her chamber if she needed to. But he, like Optimus, would never know anything beyond the theory. Neither of them would ever understand the thoughts that went through a femme’s head when she had to kill her children to save herself. 

Hell, they could scarcely understand what a fellow mech would be thinking.

“So why would Megatron terminate the sparkling?” Ratchet asked, and he put a hand on his chin. Airachnid shrugged, as if she’d just been asked what she thought of a book she’d just been reading.

“I assume he didn’t recognise it as his own,” she offered. Ratchet shook his head.

“But if his goal was to grow Decepticon numbers, that wouldn’t matter. Your story doesn’t add up.” He fixed her in his gaze as he stood in front of her. “There must be more to it. Assuming you’re not lying.”

“Ratchet, please–” Optimus stepped towards him, but now Ratchet held him back with his hand held up.

“She can defend herself, Optimus. I’m sure she can explain the inconsistencies.” He didn’t even try to steal a look at the sparkling now– he was too busy staring down Airachnid.

And though Optimus knew Ratchet was right to question her, he still simmered. Scorpia felt the heat in his chest and rolled away from his spark. Airachnid’s eyes went to her, the familiar sliver of panic bleeding in between the honeycombs, and her claws scraped at the air. Even though she now believed Optimus wouldn’t harm Scorpia, even if there was no consequence at all to not saying anything… she didn’t want to risk it. She couldn’t.

Her head fell in defeat.

“He didn’t force me into it,“ she confessed. “I… I allowed myself to become pregnant.” 

She spat the truth out like a lump of congealed poison. Ratchet looked at Optimus, unsure yet of what to do with it, and Optimus was the same.

By her admission, Megatron wasn’t a rapist after all. It gave him little relief.

“Even though he allowed me back into his fold,” Airachnid went on, “I knew it wouldn’t last. I didn’t want it to last. I… I thought if… I thought it would give me protection from him.”

And now it all began to make sense. Optimus had assumed Airachnid had been overpowered by Megatron, forgetting her true strength. Even if the pregnancy had been accidental, she should have planned to leave long before the birth. Even if she had nowhere to go, the plan should have been there, and he never would have found her.

She’d never intended to leave the Nemesis at all. Not like this, at least. How naive she must have been. How desperate.

“You were going to use them as bargaining chips.” Ratchet’s disgust made him step away from her, but she didn’t even look at him.

“I made a lot of assumptions,” she said. “About myself, and him. I thought he still had enough of a spark to recognise one linked to his own. Mistake number one.”

“What was mistake number two?” Ratchet asked.

Airachnid’s mouth was open, but no sound came out at first. Optimus saw her glossa move, but he couldn’t make out any words.

“You’ll have to speak up,” Ratchet said. “My receptors aren’t as sensitive as they used to be.”

She sighed, and hissed, and clicked her glossa. She made every sound that wouldn’t have to go through her vox, hugging the skull to her chest as if it was a comfort. And then she finally spoke through her fangs, refusing to look at either mech.

“...I thought I’d simply produce the offspring as eggs.”

“As… eggs?” Optimus was the one who asked, because Ratchet was too dumbfounded to speak.

“Do not mock me!” Airachnid snapped. “It was a fair assumption to make! It’s how the spiders reproduced. I inherited everything else from them… why not that as well?”

Her anger died a quick death, engulfed by regret. How stupid she must have felt now. How lost and confused she must have been, when she realised the sparklings would not come out so easily. Being technorganic was a very unique kind of curse.

“The spiders?” Ratchet spoke now, new confusion chasing the old away. And now Optimus became worried, while Airachnid rolled her eyes.

“From my home,” she told him. “Didn’t Prime tell you that? I wasn’t born on Cybertron. I was born on Archa Seven.”

“Archa…?” Ratchet blinked slowly, and his face morphed as if it had a T-Cog of its own. Optimus knew what was coming. He should have been preparing for it. Or, better yet, he should have told Ratchet from the very beginning.

“Optimus, may I speak to you in private?” It was a command disguised as a question, and Ratchet didn’t wait for Optimus’ agreement before he started walking back to the treeline.

“I’d like my daughter back first,” Airachnid said. “If you don’t mind.”

Scorpia had calmed down, lying almost asleep beside Optimus’ spark despite how it shuddered in its chamber. He moved only enough so that Airachnid could take her– she rolled over into her mother’s grasp, and then disappeared against her chest. Airachnid closed her eyes, and for the first time that evening she seemed to be at peace.

“What about Megatron’s army?” Optimus asked her. “The sparkling farms? Was any of that true?”

Airachnid looked up at him, but only for a second. In that brief moment, he saw something like guilt flooding her gaze. “It was. Why else do you think so few followed him here?”

Optimus didn’t know if he wanted to believe her. If it was true, then maybe Decepticons would continue to stay away from Earth. But at the same time, it meant that Megatron was truly a monster. 

So much of the war had hinged on the possibility of Megatron making a different choice– choosing to renounce the Decepticons, to rebuild Cybertron as a true haven. Optimus had been given many chances to terminate his spark, all of them thrown away because he’d thought there was another option. How many more lives had been lost because of his foolishness? How many could have been saved if he’d known from the beginning what he knew now?

 Would Elita have been one of them?

Ratchet was waiting to interrogate him. Optimus wanted to stay with Scorpia. He was sorry she had to be born. He needed to let her know that, somehow. Maybe when she was older, when she could understand why her mother hated her.

“I apologise for Ratchet,” he told Airachnid, as he stood to go to him.

“What for?” she asked. “He’s the most sane Autobot I’ve met so far.”

Optimus couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. He knew she had a sense of humor, he just didn’t know what it looked like. 

Ratchet waited in the shadows, staring at his peds in the dirt. His hands were planted on his hips, soldered there with force.

“Archa Seven.” He greeted Optimus with those two words, treating each one like a slur. “You know what I’m going to say, Optimus. Is this why you wanted to help her? And don’t you dare lie to me.”

Although Optimus didn’t even think of doing so, he took offense to the assumption that he would. He was already losing Ratchet’s trust, and this was only the first meeting. At this rate, the others were already lost to him.

“I would have helped her regardless,” he told the medic. “But yes. The connection compels me to try and understand her.”

There was more to it than that, of course, but there was nothing else he could hope for Ratchet to comprehend.

The medic sighed, and his EM field let out a flurry of static. “Who is she, then? Was she on Archa Seven, when…?”

Optimus was grateful that he didn’t finish the sentence.

“I do not know,” he said. “I assume so. She has no memory of any life on Cybertron. She was never given a choice to fight in this war. The Decepticons took her from Archa Seven, and used her as they saw fit. That is all we know.”

Ratchet scoffed, almost laughing. “You mean that’s all she’s told you. You can’t let her trick you like this, Optimus.”

He spoke from concern, from centuries of friendship and sympathy. Yet Optimus could not stop himself from becoming angry.

“What would the trick be, Ratchet? Elita One is gone. I’ve had the last thirty million years to accept that. Unless Airachnid can raise the dead, she has nothing to use against me.” Her name burned his glossa, but he didn’t let the pain stop him. 

“How do you even know she was on Archa Seven at all?” Ratchet hissed. “What happened to Elita has never been a secret. How easy would it have been to look up your name in the Decepticon database and see just one line about her? That’s all she’d need.”

“All she’d need to do what , exactly?”

Ratchet must have felt the stab of his EM field against his own– he recoiled, and his eyes hardened.

“She helped Shockwave tame the Insecticons. For all we know, she could have helped him create the Cortical Psychic Patch. She would have known the last mnemosurgeons and learned from them. She was an interrogator , Optimus. She knows how to get inside people's heads.”

He was pleading. He was desperate for Optimus to agree, to see the threat right in front of him.  The sparkling didn’t change anything, really. It didn’t change who she was, what she and others had turned herself into.

Optimus knew all this, and yet he also knew he still would have done nothing different.

“Do you think I am so easily manipulated?” he asked Ratchet. The answer came immediately.

“Yes. When it comes to Elita, yes. ” Ratchet was almost frantic as he stressed the fact, and Optimus found himself caught by surprise. It wasn’t that he was challenged, only that Ratchet really believed that he was so weak. 

Optimus Prime, in the eyes of a mech who’d seen the Quintessons first hand, was nothing more than another addition to a lineage of disappointing Primes; like Sentinel before him, the fake figurehead of Cybertron. Sentinel at least had the excuse of not bearing the Matrix. Optimus had no excuse at all.

Ratchet suddenly looked anxious. He stepped away while the Prime tried to think of what to say. 

He was not so weak. He was not like Sentinel Prime, or Nova or Nominus or the countless other tyrants and cowards who whispered to him through the Matrix. And he was not the Thirteen either. He wasn’t trying to be. He’d dared to imagine a better world on his own, and the Matrix had been his punishment. It had never been anything else.

He was only ever doing his best. What he thought was right. And he suffered greatly for it, every single day. He’d lost almost everyone he loved, and he would likely lose the rest of them before he ever saw Cybertron again. And he had to tell himself it was worth it. He had to. He had to.

When the words finally came, Ratchet was almost a meter away from him. Optimus cleared the distance in two strides, because his old and honest friend deserved to be told to his face.

“You helped me during that time I spent without her, Ratchet. You more than anyone else, and I will never forget that. But you do not know me as well as you might think you do.”

It wasn’t meant to be a warning. Yet Optimus could not make it sound like anything else. Ratchet’s vents reached across chasms as he inhaled.

“Neither does she,” he said. “Remember that.”

Optimus wouldn’t argue with him. No-one truly knew him anymore, and he didn’t want anyone to. No-one deserved that kind of knowledge. Not even Airachnid.

Optimus had left her out of sight for too long. He turned towards her, leaving Ratchet in the trees.

“Even if she is telling the truth,” the medic called after him, rustling through the leaves, “saving one victim of Archa Seven won’t bring the other back!”

Optimus stopped, and Ratchet must not have expected it– he almost fell back into the undergrowth to avoid colliding with him. 

“Do not state the obvious to me, old friend. That was never my intention.” Optimus didn’t offer to help steady him. 

“So what is the intention?”

“Exactly as I told you. I believe she can change. She can be redeemed.”

Ratchet clearly wanted to curse at him. “Someone who allowed her own child to be killed. Someone who lied about being raped because it was convenient for her. You think someone like that can become an Autobot?”

There was so much that Optimus wanted to argue against, but he knew it would have been a waste. He was tired. Even his dreams of Elita, tortuous in their serenity, were now something to look forward to.

“Redemption,” he said, “does not mean becoming one of us.”

And he would leave it there. He would give Airachnid her energon, and he would leave. If she didn’t want to give Scorpia to Ratchet, no-one could force her. Maybe Ratchet was now so disgusted that he would stay away from now on. Why was that a preferable outcome? 

He was so tired.

“Optimus?”

He turned towards Ratchet for the final time, but the summons wasn’t from him. He felt the new presence now, and snapped towards it. Wheeljack was staring at him from deeper in the trees, only a few meters away. There had been no Ground Bridge, no sign of his ship overhead. How long had he been there for?

“Wheeljack…?” Optimus was stunned in place, his exhaustion chased away by the roar of protons in his fluidstream. “What are you doing–?”

Wheeljack opened his mouth, presumably to answer, but then he found something over the Prime’s shoulder. It was exactly what Optimus had feared– he didn’t need to follow his gaze, but he did so anyway, as if following a doomed script.

Airachnid had already noticed the new arrival. More importantly, he’d also noticed her. When Optimus turned back towards Wheeljack, the barrel of the Wrecker’s gun burned a hole through the night.

He hadn’t tried to shoot her yet. Optimus tried to take that as a good omen.

“Stand down, Wheeljack.” He had no real command over the Wrecker, and no expectation he would listen. But the order was enough to throw Wheeljack off guard, though he didn’t shift his eyes from Airachnid.

“There’s a ‘Con right behind you, Prime.”

“I am aware. Stand down.”

Wheeljack finally tore his glare away, vigilance giving way to confusion.  

“You better do as he says, Wheeljack.” Airachnid decided to join in– Optimus didn’t dare look towards her, but he could imagine the taunting look on her face. “Two against one won’t end well for you.”

Wheeljack must not have noticed the sparkling in her arms, or she chose to hide her away. He scoffed, now using his other arm to steady his weapon. It would only take some nanoklicks to charge up a shot, barely enough time for someone to tackle him and throw his aim off. Optimus planted his peds in the dirt, ready to spring forward if needed. Ratchet still looked stunned, though even if he was able to move, Optimus doubted that he would get in Wheeljack’s way.

“I’ve won against worse odds,” Wheeljack said, throwing his voice over the distance between himself and the spider. “Not that you like to play fair, Airachnid.”

Optimus hissed a silent curse. Wheeljack was familiar with her. He had been hoping she’d just be another Decepticon badge to him. Whether he knew her personally or by reputation would make little difference to what would happen next.

“You know her?” Ratchet was the one who asked, probably shaken from his stupor by the revelation. Wheeljack seemed surprised, as if he’d forgotten the medic was there. 

“We crossed paths once or twice,” he explained, wrestling his confusion and anger. “After the Exodus.”

“Only once,” Airachnid corrected. “And I should have killed you when we did.”

Wheeljack glared at her again, but his aim wasn’t locked on anymore. “Look, will someone just tell me what the hell is going on here?”

Optimus wanted to ask the same– Wheeljack had no reason to be here, not unless he was following himself and Ratchet. But this was going to be a one-way interrogation.

“We will explain everything, Wheeljack,” he swore. “But only if you disarm yourself.”

“Frag that. You’re gonna tell me and then I’ll decide if I want to be disarmed.”

Optimus knew that would be the response. But he had to offer the peaceful way, even when it was never really an option. It was the only way he could justify a lot of what a Prime had to do.

“I’m leaving.” Airachnid made the announcement as if she was bored of the conversation. 

“Airachnid, wait–!” Optimus looked over at her just as Wheeljack let off a volley of plasma bolts– each one missed her as she zipped into the trees on a webline. She was doing the smart thing and escaping while she could. Optimus couldn’t fault her for it. It was one of her best skills, after all.

“You’re helping her?” Wheeljack’s weapon was still smoking as he jabbed the barrel into Prime’s chest. “A Decepticon ?!”

Optimus resisted the urge to grab the gun. He could easily crush it in his hand– the metal was weak, long overdue for a replacement. Wreckers couldn’t afford replacements, they kept using their equipment until it broke, or killed them.  

“If you’d allow me to explain–” 

“First Dreadwing, now her? I’ll give you points for consistency if nothing else, Prime.” Wheeljack shook his head, disappointed and, strangely, smiling. As if he was amused to find that Cybertron’s last living hope was a traitor to his own cause.

Ratchet, having failed to find Airachnid’s shadow in the trees, now stood beside Optimus. “You don’t know the whole story, Wheeljack–” 

“And you too, doc? You and Prime, doing Decepticon rehab together? Unbelievable. Of all the fragging people to fall for it. Who else is in on this? Does Bulkhead know?” 

Wheeljack still hadn’t put his gun away. He was switching it between the two mechs, threatening them equally with its glow.

“Wheeljack, will you listen for once in your wretched life?!” Ratchet put his hand on the barrel, shoving it so it now aimed at the ground between himself and Wheeljack. It was an extraordinarily stupid thing to do, and the shock of the medic’s hands seizing his weapon was probably the only thing that stopped the Wrecker from shooting him.

And then Wheeljack, for possibly the first time ever, did listen. He heard the same thing that Ratchet and Optimus did. Airachnid was still nearby, somewhere above them. She must have been, for them to be able to hear Scorpia crying.

“...That sounds like a sparkling.” Wheeljack stepped back, freeing himself from Ratchet’s grip. He looked towards the sound, somewhere in the scraping branches, and the confusion on his face was amplified.

“That’s because it is,” Optimus told him.

“Bullslag.” Wheeljack scowled, but didn’t look away from overhead. Scorpia’s cries were staggered now, likely in answer to Airachnid trying to silence her. To a human, it might have sounded like the song of a dying bird.

“What else do you think it could be, Wheeljack?” Ratchet asked, challenging him again. Wheeljack’s eyes fell from the canopy, and he seemed to forget about the gun at his side.

“...Airachnid’s sparkling?” he asked, still staring at the forest floor. Optimus let the silence answer his question.

“She’s not a Decepticon anymore,” he eventually said. “Not since Megatron put that child upon her.”

“And how long ago was that?” Wheeljack either chose to ignore Megatron’s name, or forced himself to for the moment.

“The child is only a week old.” Optimus allowed Wheeljack to do the math himself. A typical gestation period took six months, assuming adequate nutrition and minimal medic intervention. Airachnid would have been pregnant when Optimus was onboard the Nemesis as Orion Pax…

Which meant that she must have conceived the sparkling around the same time. Why hadn’t he realised that until now?

“Who else knows?” Wheeljack interrupted the dawn of his horror. The Wrecker was now sitting on the ground, his gun hidden within his servo. His arms were hanging limp on his knees, his legs stretched out in the leaf litter. He clearly didn’t intend on getting back up any time soon.

“Only the three of us gathered at this moment,” Optimus answered. He would have very much liked to have kept it at two, but even a Prime could not control such things.

Wheeljack opened his mouth, but again he was cut off by the sight of Airachnid over Optimus’ shoulder. Her descent from the trees was almost silent, only betrayed by Scorpia’s whimpers. She held the web in one arm and her child in the other.

“You can look her over,” she said to Ratchet. “But make it quick. No medex, no syringes. I’ll be watching.”

Ratchet blinked at her– it took everyone a moment to parse that Airachnid was allowing Scorpia to be in a stranger’s hands. She didn’t hand the child over, but also didn’t flinch when Ratchet took hold of her. The easiest way to hand a bundled sparkling off to another person was by tipping it into the other's waiting arms. As soon as that was done, Airachnid disappeared again.

So Ratchet finally came face-to-face with the sparkling, and Wheeljack was allowed to see her for himself. Both mechs looked at her as if she was mythical. Even Optimus sometimes didn’t believe that she was really there, even when he was holding her himself.

Ratchet glanced overhead, knowing Airachnid was still somewhere up there. And then Scorpia babbled while trying to grab his chin, and suddenly he seemed to forget where he was. He smiled down at her, allowing her to hold his digit as he waved it in front of her, and there was an unmistakable purr from his engine.

Then Wheeljack laughed, and Ratchet stiffened like he’d just been tasered. 

“I’ll.. get on with it, then.” The medic turned his back on Wheeljack and Optimus and cleared some space, hiding his work from them both. They could hear Scorpia giggling.

“The others really don’t know?” Wheeljack kept his voice low, almost masked by the rustle of dead leaves under his frame. Optimus joined him on the ground.

“It is a sensitive situation,” he said, and Wheeljack laughed again.

“That’s one hell of an understatement.” Then he looked away. Scorpia went quiet, and Ratchet examined her in silence.

“I won’t tell them,” Wheeljack said after a moment. “Only cause I know you will, sooner or later.”

Optimus couldn’t help but hear it as a threat. But he would need to tell them. He could never forget that. Of all the people to stumble across Airachnid on their own, Wheeljack turned out to be the most understanding of them. But that did raise another worrying question of how easily one could find her.

“Why did you come here, Wheeljack?” Optimus suspected it was to confront him again, or to call him a coward. He hoped it was something simple like that.

Wheeljack still didn’t look at him. He tried to, but his will only lasted for a second. 

“...I wanted to apologise. Me and my big mouth, bragging about Earth. Trying to rally whoever was left to come here. I didn’t think… well, I just didn’t think, full stop.” He pressed a hand against his face, as if to hide his own embarrassment. “And even if I don’t agree with letting Dreadwing go… this is Autobot territory. I gotta follow your rules if I’m gonna stick around. So there. Here’s a Wrecker feeling sorry for himself. Feel free to laugh.”

Optimus did not. One thing that Wreckers could never be faulted for was their honesty. The only reason he couldn’t accept the apology was because he felt like he didn’t deserve one– especially not now, not with what Wheeljack now knew.

“I do not wish to be your enemy, Wheeljack. And I do not claim that I always do what is right. I only try to follow the Matrix’s guidance.”

Wheeljack’s fingers twitched. Optimus couldn’t tell if it was trigger nerves, or just regular nerves.

“Well,” the Wrecker sighed, “‘right’ is subjective. Megatron obviously thought that knocking Airachnid up and making a blood-pact with Unicron was the right thing to do.” He shrugged, but there was a scratch on his vox when he said the femme’s name.

“How do you know her?” Optimus asked. It had to be an interesting story, if Wheeljack was even alive to tell it. Wheeljack must have agreed– he started to laugh, but made himself stop.

“Tale as old as time. I met her at a bar. Somewhere in neutral territory, back when there was a lot of it. She laced my drink, I woke up in a cocoon, managed to convince her to just rob me instead of killing me.”

Optimus was sure there was more to it than that, but he appreciated the abridged version. “You knew her as a Decepticon back then?”

“She had the badge. Claimed she didn’t follow it anymore, but at the time I didn’t believe her. I think I believe her now.”

That made sense to Optimus, and at least confirmed that Airachnid hadn’t been lying about her allegiances during the Exodus. Though it was curious that she never tried to remove the faction insignia, or cover it up. Perhaps flitting between Decepticon and unaligned helped her survive, or having the choice just suited her.

She must have been able to overhear them, if she was close enough to watch Ratchet. But she chose to stay silent.

“She wasn’t on Earth when I first came, was she?” Wheeljack asked. “How’d she end up here?”

“Her ship crashed,” Optimus answered. “The Decepticons captured her, eventually.”

“So she didn’t go right to them. Guess she really does want to leave them behind.”

Towards Ratchet, the sparkling squealed. The medic seemed to jump, but Airachnid didn’t swoop down and behead him so he must have been doing something right.

“Does the kid have a name?” Wheeljack craned his neck as he asked– he’d never see her over Ratchet’s shoulder, but that didn’t stop him from trying.

“Scorpia.” Optimus struggled to keep his mouth flat as he said it. He could tell she was safe– even if she wasn’t in the hands of someone he trusted, he could sense her spark, fluttering and warm.

Wheeljack made a sound that was halfway to approval. “Sure sounds like something her mother would pick.”

Ratchet tutted again– Scorpia must have been getting agitated. She chirped again, just like Bumblebee throwing a tantrum.

“How is she?” Optimus stood over the medic’s shoulder, and Wheeljack joined him at the other side.It was the first time Optimus had seen her outside of her cocoon, and she was somehow smaller than he imagined her being. At this stage of development her frame was all fragile protoform, and she seemed to take after her mother in that respect.

 Ratchet had set out a mini-slab for her, the kind used for transporting Minicons or to create a sterile space to treat limbs. It was more than big enough to keep Scorpia off the ground, but she apparently wasn’t fond of its surface. She protested when Ratchet tried to set her down, and eventually the medic had to give up and let her squirm in his free arm.

"Before I say anything else,” he sighed, “I’m not a natal nurse. This is… not my area of expertise. I only have what others have written to guide me.”

“They obviously don’t tell you how you should hold sparklings,” Wheeljack scoffed. “The spinal strut needs more support than that.”

“And suddenly you’re an expert?” Ratchet scoffed right back.

“No, I just happen to know more than you. Look, when she wriggles like that, it’s safer to let her roll onto her belly–”

“Alright, alright!” Ratchet furiously waved Wheeljack’s hands away as he allowed Scorpia to make her own way onto the slab. She seemed to like it better against her abdomen rather than pressed into her back. “There, she’s lying flat. Now may I please continue?”

Optimus nodded, while keeping an eye and ear out for Airachnid. He wondered if she was laughing at them.

“At first glance,” Ratchet finally began, “she seems healthy. No obvious defects. Everything I can recognise is where it should be. But her structure and biology... I've never seen anything like it."

He shook his head in disbelief, even though the proof was lying and giggling right in front of him.

"Given her heritage,” Optimus offered, “I suppose that is to be expected.”

“It’s not just that, Optimus.” Ratchet placed the tip of his digit on Scorpia’s back, indicating where her protoform would grow its first protective layer. “Her armor seems to be growing normally, but the layer currently covering her is... brittle."

Both Optimus and Wheeljack shared the same look of concern. Usually a sparkling's armor was soft and pliable, to allow for easy molting and movement. It only started to harden after their first stellar cycle, but wouldn’t become true steel until much later when the frame grew into its alternate form.

“It doesn’t seem to be causing her any pain right now,” Ratchet added. “But it’ll likely cause complications as she grows.”

There was an uncharacteristic hesitation to his diagnosis. Optimus waited for Ratchet to say more, but nothing else came.

“I see,” he eventually said. “But she seems healthy otherwise?”

Ratchet nodded. He lifted Scorpia from the slab, scowling again when Wheeljack tried to take over and show him how to properly hold her. The only thing that broke them apart was the reappearance of the mother.

“Are you done?” Airachnid dropped in between them, a dash of pink light amongst the blue. She ignored Wheeljack completely, only interested in glaring at Ratchet.

“There’s a few areas of concern,” the medic said. “We won’t know if she’s ingesting energon properly until she’s a month old. And her proto-armor is abnormally–”

“Brittle, yes. I heard.” Airachnid snatched her daughter back and restored her cocoon in mere seconds. “Anything else?”

She was in a hurry to get away. The stumps of her legs twitched, desperate to run when they couldn’t. Optimus couldn’t help but empathize.

“No,” Ratchet said. “Nothing else. She should be checked regularly from now on.”

“I suppose so.” Airachnid secured Scorpia’s harness to her chest, and only now seemed to acknowledge Wheeljack standing behind her. “Why is he still here?”

He matched her scowl in a perfect mirror, and shrugged. “Breaks are out, so might as well honk the horn.”

“ What ?” she asked, too utterly confused to keep scowling.

“Means I already know Prime’s little secret,” he explained, “so I might as well stick around for the rest of the ride.”

“Absolutely not. It’s bad enough having Autobots involved. I want nothing to do with your kind.”

“ My kind?” He affected being offended. “You don’t like Wreckers?”

“No-one does. Now go away. All of you.” She turned her back on them– Optimus assumed she was walking towards her cave, though she seemed to disappear wholly in the dark.

“One more thing, Airachnid,” he called after her. Then the darkness exploded with a magenta glow, the light from her eyes and frame casting a halo around her as she whirled towards him.

“What is it now , Prime?” she snapped, and at once the midnight forest fell silent in the wake of her anger. Optimus doubted many could make her sound like that and remain alive afterwards. He felt somewhat privileged.

“There will be no more secrets from now on,” he said. “Not from you, and not from me. No more half-truths, no more almost-lies. This arrangement will only continue if we are honest with each other.”

It was something he should have made clear from the beginning, even if he never expected Airachnid to be forthright. But now that more were involved in keeping her alive, he couldn’t afford to have tension between any of them. She and Scorpia were enough of a secret on their own– they couldn’t take the weight of any more.

“Fine.” Airachnid’s fire dimmed as she rolled her eyes. “In that case… there’s something you should know. Starscream was here.”

“Starscream?” Ratchet’s neck must have cracked from the force his head exerted, and Optimus felt his own head throb at the sound of the Seeker’s name. Wheeljack only seemed to get angry.

“What do you mean ‘here’?” Optimus asked.

“He passed through this forest,” Airachnid said. “He was heading to what’s left of the Harbinger . I don’t expect I’ll see him around here again. Even so…”

She trailed off– even if she was reluctant to voice her worries, they were obvious enough that she didn’t need to. Starscream hadn’t been seen by anyone since he tried to throw his lot in with MECH, and now of all the places for him to reappear, it happened to be exactly where Airachnid was hiding? It was far too coincidental.

“It seems our discussion of relocation must be brought forward,” Optimus said. Airachnid scoffed at him before she turned her fire away.

“Tell you what, Prime. If I’m still alive by the morning, you can take me wherever you want. But only if you leave right now .”

She must have been truly exhausted– she didn’t even try to spit venom at any of them. Scorpia must have been tired as well, because she didn’t cry when Optimus was out of sight.

“I think next time she won't ask so politely,” Wheeljack said, making the first move to do as she demanded.

“Optimus,” Ratchet asked, “what was that you said about relocation?”

“I already had plans to move Airachnid to somewhere more secure. Somewhere we can monitor her and the sparkling. We can discuss it when we return to base.”

“How’re you planning to get back there?” Wheeljack asked. And that was a question Optimus hadn’t even considered when he brought Ratchet along.

“We can go back to where we Bridged,” Ratchet offered, “and whoever in Nevada is still awake can bring us home.”

Wheeljack shook his head. “Take the Jackhammer instead. Let the others sleep. Assuming either of you old men still know how to fly?”

He held up a keycard that would presumably give access to his ship, and Ratchet grabbed it with a glare.

“And what about you, Wheeljack?” Optimus asked, trying not to be suspicious over how helpful the Wrecker was suddenly being. “How will you return to Nevada?”

Wheeljack cast his eyes over to Airachnid’s temporary home. “With someone like Starscream sneaking around, I’ll stay here and keep an eye on the family. You can Bridge me over when you land.”

Both Optimus and Ratchet thought the same thing about that idea– they shared a look, and Wheeljack frowned.

“What, you think I’ll try something as soon as you two are gone? If that’s the case, you seriously underestimate her. Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t get close without a knife in my spark.”

“Wheeljack, you swore to me that you would terminate all Decepticons on Earth,” Optimus reminded him. “You said those words only some hours ago.”

“Well, she ain’t one anymore, is she? And in any case… the sparkling changes things.” Wheeljack’s eyes still wouldn’t meet either mech’s’ face.

“I don’t trust him,” Ratchet muttered, not quiet enough for Wheeljack to be able to ignore.

“I got one of my own, if you must know,” he sighed. “A little femme. Just like her.”

Ratchet stared at him. Optimus resisted the urge to do so, though he could feel his own eyes burning all the same.

“ You have a sparkling?” The medic was almost laughing at the idea. Wheeljack still didn’t look up.

“Her name’s Strongarm. She’s a few years old now. I dropped her off with Springer long before I came here. He’s been taking care of her for me.”

“Who’s her mother?” Ratchet pressed.

“No-one you know. She couldn’t look after her, so she handed her off to me.”

Optimus didn’t know if he believed him. He wanted to. It wasn’t something anyone would lie about, but he couldn’t tell what Wheeljack really wanted. Even if he wouldn’t hurt Scorpia, there was no guarantee Airachnid would be safe with him.

“The Matrix tells me of every sparkling born,” Optimus said. “Why did I not sense her?”

Wheeljack shrugged. “She’s a few galaxies away from here. I guess even the Matrix has its limits. But if you really want proof she exists, look here.” 

He pulled back a panel on his servo, revealing a hologram projector. It was a device repurposed from a drone unit, useful for delivering eyewitness reports by projecting the scout’s own vision for others to see. Wheeljack used it to show a scene that must have been some time after Strongarm’s birth– she was curled in the crook of his elbow, barely the size of his hand. Though the hologram had a blue tint to it, her native colors were clear– grey, blue and yellow. The shape of her face already mirrored her sire’s.

“So there.” Wheeljack let the two mechs ogle his own secret before shutting it down. “I got a soft spot for kids. Still don’t trust me?”

Optimus didn’t know how to answer that. He didn’t really know how to quantify trust anymore, now that he was betraying that of his Autobots every single day. But the fact remained that he and Ratchet had to return to base, and he was too tired to deal with any questions from Arcee and Bumblebee. 

And if Wheeljack was going to be involved with this, then Optimus had to be able to trust him. This would be a way to prove if he could, at least.

“Do not leave him here.” Airachnid’s hiss came from above– either she’d never entered her cave, or had re-emerged to try and scare them all off. She glared only at Optimus, a thick shine of venom on her fangs. Yet Optimus struggled to be scared of her anymore.

“I am sure you are capable of handling him if needed, Airachnid.” He waited for her to spit at his back, but either she missed or didn’t bother. Suddenly he realised that what he should have been worried about was not Wheeljack hurting Airachnid, but Airachnid hurting him .

Well. She’d left him alive once before. And he assumed Wheeljack wasn’t stupid enough to try and provoke her. He had to trust that Airachnid was as exhausted as he was, and wouldn’t have the energy to do anything other than feel mildly disgusted.

“Safe journey,” Wheeljack said as Optimus and Ratchet took their leave. “You’ll find the ship nearby.”

The Prime didn’t know how Wheeljack had managed to land the Jackhammer so close by without anyone hearing it, but he was grateful he didn’t have to walk far. It had been many years since he’d piloted a craft by himself– the Ark had been outfitted with no less than four pilots at any time, and he usually wasn’t one of them– but he took the driver’s seat anyway. Ratchet was too nervous to be a smooth flier.

“Scorpia,” the medic said, his first word spoken onboard. “Who named her?”

Optimus allowed the ship to rise over the trees before he answered. “It was Airachnid’s choice. I only provided some inspiration.”

“Orion and Scorpius?”

Optimus didn’t have to nod. Rafael had once completed a school project on astronomy, and the Autobots had been more than happy to learn about Earth’s night sky along with him. Cybertron had a similar system of giving meanings to the shape of stars– the superstitious kind liked to believe those of Onyxian descent would develop alt-modes (or ‘beast’ modes) based on the stars they were born under. 

Optimus had been amused to discover the humans had a similar system that they called the zodiac. Then the librarian that still lived behind the Matrix learned about the stories within, and he’d lost an entire day to researching them. Orion and Scorpius had stood out to him, for obvious reasons. It was the only one he’d told Ratchet about, when the medic asked him why he’d been standing at the console all day.

“There’s another story from Earth you might have heard of, Optimus,” Ratchet said from the passenger seat. “The scorpion and the frog.”

They were enmeshed in the clouds now, far away from human eyes. The name rang a faint bell in Optimus’ mind, but he remained silent.

“Scorpions cannot swim,” Ratchet continued. “The story goes that one day, a frog is asked by one for help to cross a river. The frog refuses at first, thinking that the scorpion will sting it. But the scorpion argues that, if it did so, it would drown. So the frog agrees to help.”

There was a flurry of rain in this part of the sky, whipping against the Jackhammer’s viewport. Optimus felt his digits tense on the steering controls, remembering what he knew about frogs. They were one of Earth’s stranger specimens; able to live on land and water, which should have given them a great advantage over other animals. Yet they laid many eggs because most of their children wouldn’t survive to adulthood. 

“Halfway across the river,” Ratchet said, “the scorpion stings the frog. With its dying breath, the frog asks why it chose to doom them both. And the scorpion, with its own, replies, ‘I cannot help it. It is my nature.’”

Optimus quickly realised that he was supposed to be the frog in this story. He didn’t have the patience to untangle the metaphor any further. “It has been a long day, Ratchet. State your point.”

“My point ,” he hissed, “is that Airachnid is not like us. Maybe she was once, but she never will be ever again. So you can help her, and you can protect her, and you can believe her when she says she’s not our enemy. But she’ll sting you, sooner or later. Even if it kills her. That’s her nature.”

“And her daughter?” Optimus asked. Scorpia bore the name, after all. If anyone was going to drown, it would surely be her.

“A sparkling’s behavior is inherited more than learned.”

Optimus didn’t think that Ratchet really believed that. He couldn’t explain why.

“I cannot change what has been done, Ratchet. But perhaps I can change what will come next. Are you scared to be proven wrong?”

“I’m scared she’s going to tear the Autobots apart. You know she will. She’ll do it just because it amuses her.”

“So we should have taken Scorpia away from her after all. Is that what you’re saying?”

“Of course not! Don’t make me into the villain here, Optimus–”

As Ratchet’s vox crested, the ship was caught in turbulence. The rain roared past as Optimus tried to regain control. Once the storm passed, he was filled with more regret than relief.

“That was not my intention, Ratchet.” Optimus sighed. “I apologise.”

Ratchet was only angry because he knew what would most likely happen, and he was just as powerless to stop it as Optimus was. More than anyone else, he was the one person Optimus shouldn’t have been pushing away. Even if he didn’t agree with them, he knew his friend’s concerns were rooted deep in centuries of having his hopes crushed. Ratchet couldn’t afford to be optimistic anymore.

“It’s been a long day for both of us,” the medic conceded. “Let’s just focus on getting her away from humans.”

“Agreed.”

Even with the tailwinds, Nevada was still at least two hours away. They were traveling backwards in time, leaving the sunrise further behind them, and Optimus wondered where those hours disappeared to, and if they’d help him sleep without dreams this time.

“Her eyes were blue,” Ratchet said. Optimus hadn’t been falling asleep at the wheel, but the medic’s voice would have snapped his conscience if he was.

“Scorpia’s eyes,” he clarified. “Assuming Megatron really is her sire… neither of her parents have blue eyes. How did that happen?”

Optimus had wondered that himself when he first saw them. He still didn’t know how it came to be.

“Perhaps Primus took pity on her mother,” he suggested, and though he heard Ratchet shake his head he knew it wasn’t from disagreement.

“Never thought I’d feel sorry for someone like her.” Ratchet spoke softly, mostly to himself. “How are we going to tell Arcee?”

Whether or not he was just thinking out loud, Optimus still flinched. “I would rather not think of that right now, old friend.”

…

“Y’know you can come down,” Wheeljack called up to the canopy. “Can’t be comfy up there.”

“Comfort is not my concern,” Airachnid snarled back. Wheeljack shrugged– served him right for trying to be a gentleman for once. If she wanted to get cramps from hanging onto the branches, she was more than welcome to do so. He kept himself occupied by reading through the regular updates from Springer, watching how fast Strongarm was growing through all the pictures he sent.

He missed her. But he couldn’t see her until there was a home for her. He’d promised that much when he left her behind– when he came back, he would never be away from her again.

He blinked away the coolant in his eyes. Damn receptors. At least Prime and the medic weren’t here to see it.

“Lemme ask you something, Airachnid,” he called up again, knowing she was still there from the heat of her glare. “How come you didn’t kill me back then?”

“As soon as you started talking,” she hissed, “I lost my appetite.”

And Wheeljack couldn’t help but laugh.

☽ ✶ ☾

Everyone in Jasper was asleep. Bulkhead had slipped into stasis on the med-bay slab, and Arcee and Bumblebee were safe in their quarters. No-one stirred when the Jackhammer landed, and no-one heard the elevator as it arrived in the hangar.

“Where else can we put her?” Optimus asked. With the med-bay occupied, he and Ratchet set themselves up at the main console. They held off on Bridging Wheeljack over– they’d decide a plan of action between themselves, and the Wrecker would just have to accept it.

(Ratchet still couldn’t believe he was now wrapped up in all this. He’d only just managed to accept the situation with Airachnid and her sparkling, and now there was a Wrecker involved. One with his own sparkling. Unbelievable. Maybe he should have just stayed behind during the Exodus after all.)

Ratchet then suddenly had a brilliant idea for keeping Airachnid isolated. “The moon?”

“Be serious, Ratchet,” Optimus sighed.

“I am being serious. Plenty of open space for her, and no way to escape.” Ratchet already found coordinates that the Ground Bridge could accept– so long as it was within the Earth’s gravitational pull, they could reach it.

And the further away the sparkling was from Earth, from what still lay at its core... the better for everyone.

But Optimus stared at him. He couldn't know the danger. Not yet. He had enough to worry about, even if that was all his damn fault. Ratchet sighed as he wiped the console. 

“Okay, half-serious,” he admitted. “But it needs to be somewhere she can’t leave. Somewhere she won’t be detected. And where there aren’t any humans around.”

Ratchet knew that the last point would be impossible. Earth was their home, after all. They had a right to infest every corner of it, and that was exactly what they did.

“Her alt-mode will be unusable until her legs grow back,” Optimus theorized. “We could put her on an island. Somewhere deserted.”

Ratchet considered it. From the moment he arrived on Earth, one of the first things he’d noticed was that water wasn’t great for Cybertronian frames. If she was surrounded on all sides, then Airachnid wouldn’t have been able to escape without damaging herself. 

“That could work,” he said. “If we can find one.”

Optimus, for some reason, was now using his commline.

“Who are you calling?” Ratchet didn’t get an answer before the unit exploded with the sound of Agent Fowler's voice.

“Dammit, Prime, do you know what time it is?! We better have a full-on invasion on our hands right now.”

“Apologies for the disturbance, Agent Fowler,” Optimus said. “Do you recall a list of locations your government gave to us upon our arrival, of possible home base locations? I require a reissue of it.”

“What? What for?”

"With the Decepticons no doubt working on finding our current base location, it would be wise if we had a back-up to relocate to at a moment's notice.”

Ratchet couldn’t help but roll his eyes. He heard Fowler heave a sigh.

“This really couldn’t have waited until morning?”

“There are many reasons for urgency in this matter. Starscream is one of them.”

“Starscream? Damn… well, fair enough. Just gimme a minute to find the email.”

Ratchet shook his head. If it was Orion Pax standing in front of him and not Optimus, he was sure he’d be looking quite smug right now. Behind him, the console beeped with a new incoming transmission.

“Many thanks, Agent Fowler,” Optimus said as Ratchet opened the file.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever… just let a man get his beauty sleep.”

The commline closed, and Optimus joined Ratchet by his side as they both stared at the screen. It was a hefty document, but it only listed facility names and their locations..

“There are… more places than I remember there being.” Optimus managed not to gulp, but Ratchet could still hear it at the bottom of his vox.

“We’ll have to go through them all one by one,” Ratchet sighed, already starting to get a headache. “I’ll energise some fuel.”

It wasn’t like he was planning on sleeping tonight, anyway.

☽ ✶ ☾

Meanwhile, somewhere very far away from Earth…

An immense mech masked in purple studied his own findings, and waited for his team to arrive at the same conclusion he’d already found himself at.

“What do we think?” he asked, though only as a courtesy. He didn’t like to waste his most valuable weapon on pointless chatter and he never truly cared what any of them thought, but rarely they were able to offer intriguing ideas. Rarely.

“Where we’ll find Optimus Prime,” the stout one said, “we’ll find Lord Megatron as well.”

“A sensible assumption.” The mask did not move as the leader nodded. “But our duty lies beyond our liege. Traitors lurk in all corners of the galaxy. They hide from us. They run from their cause. Who else knows of what awaits on Earth?”

“Difficult to say. ” The smallest one spoke in a different language, something jagged and harsh, and as such did not always understand rhetorical questions. “The rumors are recent. But they are consistent. They seem to have originated from the Centauri quadrant.”

“Most traitors seem to end up there,” the four-armed mech remarked. “That’s where all those dead Wreckers started showing up as well, isn’t it?”

“It was,” his stout companion said. “Perhaps a Decepticon with a guilty conscience, hoping to impress us.”

“We should point them in the right direction, then,” the eyeless one mused. “Traitors and saints alike. Assure them all that Megatron is waiting.” 

He was the only one that commanded something close to respect from his commander, if only by stating the obvious and taking good care of the List. As such, he was the only one addressed by name. 

“Yes, Kaon,” Tarn said. “Yes we should. Inform Nickel that we’ll be departing soon.”

She never liked having such short notice to prepare. But she would forgive him. She always did.

Somewhere even further away…

A towering femme in golden glow watched the monitor in front of her, trying to decide what it was really telling her. Lives would depend on what she understood from it. It had been that way for many centuries, ever since she’d been forced to leave Cybertron behind with only a sliver of its Allspark alongside. Yet experience did not make the burden any lighter.

“Is he a true Prime?” she asked, addressing her assembled council.

“He carries the Matrix,” a mech argued. “Hundreds of witnesses attest to it.”

“Yet he abandoned Cybertron,” she reminded everyone. It was difficult for her to empathize with the so-called Prime’s decision. The Quintessons had forced her own hand; a diabolical force from the clumsy hands of Quintus Prime, yet another corrupted member of the Thirteen. What was Optimus Prime’s excuse for doing the same?

“The corruption was too deep,” another femme said. “When the Matrix came to him, it was too late to purge the Antispark.”

There was a collective hiss over the silence that followed. To speak of the Antispark out loud was akin to saying the Fallen’s true name. Yet the gravity of the situation did not leave room for euphemisms or careful couching of reality. Their leader, the wielder of the Forgehammer and long-lost beacon of the Imperial Age, knew this better than anyone, so she did not punish the young Torchbearer who spoke out of turn. She was only some million years old, a product of the hotspot in its infancy. By the most ancient measurements, the femme she answered to had seniority by billions.

“Cybertron is truly dead?” the leader asked. Everyone bowed their heads in answer, still mourning. They would mourn for the rest of eternity. All except one.

“Never dead, Mistress,” he said. “Only dormant. Healing. Waiting for us.”

And the Mistress could not chase away a smile this time. She appreciated optimism above all. Her beloved Star Saber, rest his spark, had always been that way.

“I want to meet this Prime,” she said. “I want to hear how he plans to save us. So we will send an envoy to Earth.”

By all the gathered accounts, it was not an easy planet to find. By her own findings, it would not be an easy one to get to. But, if it was truly where the last Prime dwelled, it was where they’d have to go. 

“Who will be worthy of making first contact with him?” someone asked. And that was the most vital question of all. The fuel supply of the colony was worth far more than its weight in gold– they couldn’t afford to waste a single atom of it on any fruitless journey. Furthermore, they couldn’t afford to risk raising anyone’s hopes prematurely. 

“Someone disposable,” the Mistress decreed. “In case he is not who he claims to be.”

She could only speak so boldly here, in the heart of Caminus. Words never left its walls. The council all had their own ideas of what ‘disposable’ meant, and they offered them up wordlessly as transmissions to the Mistress’ console. She was likewise silent as she traversed them, looking for the one who would be worthy of the challenge, but not missed so much if they failed.

A Cityspeaker would be a good choice. Caminus had plenty to spare, ever since they couldn’t afford to send them off-world anymore.

“...Windblade,” she eventually decided. “She’ll do.”

Somewhere furthest of all…

A very peculiar mech stood within his lab, investigating the latest crop of rumors from around the galaxy. Regulon Four wasn’t exactly a universal hub, but that was exactly why he liked it. He could stay out of the way and watch his webs from afar, dropping in when needed and scurrying away with whatever he’d managed to capture.

Despite his war-time reputation, he prided himself on discretion. It was why, to him, the Exodus had been the most opportune thing to ever happen to Cybertron. An easy escape for those not foolish enough to follow Autobot and Decepticons to a certain and boring death. He’d only been one of many who took advantage. Some fellow defectors had been pleasant surprises, like Slipstream and Deadlock.  Others had gone against their intelligence, like Shockwave and Soundwave, and chose to stay. And what a disappointment that had been.

He didn’t care much for them, though. He had even less interest in getting tangled up with Megatron again, or any of his other sycophants. There was only one other living being that he had the energy to care for. He’d been watching her from afar for millennia now. Never stalking her or interfering with her path, only looking close enough to make sure she was still alive. She was his legacy, after all. He didn’t have much of a conscience, but he knew it would haunt him if he let her go to waste.

She’d been in the same place for a while now, which wasn’t like her. He’d been starting to get worried. So he decided to investigate for himself. There’d been whispers of where Optimus Prime and Lord Megatron were now, the same name mentioned over and over. No-one knew for sure where it was. But a mech like him only needed the name to find the rest. 

The long calculations were now complete. He’d been putting off looking at them, but could do so no longer.  He’d been betting against his own intelligence, hoping it wouldn’t match up. Hoping it all wouldn’t make sense.  

But it did. Against all odds, she and Megatron were once again on the same planet. And this time, he wasn’t there to help her. 

“Oh, Airachnid… darling.” Tarantulas sighed. “What have you gotten yourself into?”

“I promised you sanctuary, Airachnid.” Optimus Prime stood before the Ground Bridge, cutting against the light of the vortex and the moon, beckoning to her. “Would you like to see it?”

It had been a full day since the disastrous meeting with the medic and the Wrecker. Airachnid had fallen asleep before the Wrecker did, and when she awoke he was gone. Despite her fears no-one had tried to take Scorpia in her slumber– still wrapped tight and bound to her mother’s chest, she’d hardly stirred at all.

So she was still alive that morning. That meant, if she was an honorable person, wherever Optimus decided to take her she’d have no choice but to follow along. 

Airachnid had never been an honorable person. But, for once, her wisdom outweighed her pride. She couldn’t stay in this forest forever, and if she had anywhere else to go she would have left for it already. Scorpia was cocooned in her sling, sealed to Airachnid’s chest armor and covered by her arms, and though she squirmed against the light of the Bridge she didn’t stop staring at Optimus. Airachnid was sure that nothing short of a nuclear explosion could have torn the child’s attention away from him.

She took a step towards the Bridge, but then stopped. She was forgetting something. While she waited for Optimus, she kept herself busy with her latest trophy– cleaning the bone with her usual ceremony, filing the jagged edges down with her claws. The skull was now bleached dry from the sun, hollow yet heavy as she carried it under her arm.

Other than Scorpia, it was her only possession. And, like Scorpia, if anyone tried to take it from her, she would slice their face off. 

Optimus, to his credit, didn’t try to. He only stood by the Bridge, ready to follow her through. Perhaps his presence was supposed to be reassuring, but it only told Airachnid that he wanted to block her escape. Whatever sanctuary was waiting for her, she’d be stuck there.

What was Scorpia’s safety worth to her? What was her own safety worth? 

She’d already answered that when she accepted Optimus’ help. There was no point in pretending she had much else worth holding onto now.

The last time she’d been through a Bridge, she’d also been trying to save herself. There was no panic this time, no rush to get away, and she was forced to hesitate. She still didn’t know how she’d pulled it off, truthfully. How she’d managed to destroy the controls behind her, at the cost of her limbs. It shouldn’t have worked, and yet it did. 

When she eventually pushed herself through the vortex, she felt the same burning on her back– the ghosts of her severed legs, twitching– and the same agony in her spark– the ghost of her son, still screaming somewhere distant.

On the other side, she found the ocean hissing at her, the moon fractured on its surface. The ground under her heels was so soft that she almost toppled over. When she recovered, she found Optimus reaching forward as if to catch her, but he withered away at her glare. Apparently he was only smart when he wanted to be.

“Where are we?” It was night here as well, so it mustn’t have been far from where she’d just come. But despite the breeze and the night, she could tell it would be warmer here when the sun showed its face. 

“Shizumi island.” Optimus faced the ocean alongside her as she set the skull down on the sand. “That is what the humans call it, at least.”

“They live here?” Airachnid turned around, almost expecting to see a mob of them gathering at her back. But all she saw were trees at the edge of the sand– huge arching leaves and ferns, more dramatic than the temperate woods she’d been hiding in until now. More coverage to shield herself in, at least.

“No,” Optimus answered, following behind as she approached the forest line. “It was used for nuclear testing, some time ago. Some radiation remains– only trace amounts nowadays. But, as you already know, humans are not as hardy as we are. The few that live on this part of Earth know to stay away.”

“It was either here or Chernobyl.” The medic– Ratchet, she managed to remember– came from the other side of the beach, and even in the dark Airachnid could see his scowl. It suited him.

“And you didn’t stop to think of how radiation would affect a technorganic?” she asked, just to see how they would react. Ratchet’s scowl went blank, and Optimus’ jaw was left on its hinge.

“I… we assumed minimal risk,” he stuttered. “Ratchet concluded that your biology is majority mechanical, so–”

“You assumed correct.” Airachnid interrupted him with a brief and sadistic smirk. “I just enjoy tormenting you.”

It was only half-true. Because so few had understood her biology even on Cybertron, she’d had to be careful. The same immunities that applied to Cybertronians didn’t always apply to her. Tarantulas had done well to teach her that, even if other Decepticons never cared to remember.

Radiation, at least, was an immunity she shared. She only knew that because when Lockdown came to take her away, she’d damaged his ship’s reactor core in her frenzy to escape. The radiation leak had done nothing to either of them, though it had left a quarter of Archa Seven’s surface uninhabitable when they left.

(Tarantulas had told her that as well, as if it was something to be sad about. She was only sad that the rest of it was left untouched.)

“An island. So it really is a prison.” Airachnid scoffed, though she’d expected as much. From the weight of the air around her and the size of the leaves hanging there, she knew the climate would be tropical and oppressive.

Perhaps her punishment for a life spent wicked was still taking full form. Perhaps that slice of Archa Seven was not dead at all– it had just been pulled from the crust and placed here on Earth for her to rot within. 

“No-one will find you here, Airachnid.” Optimus stepped forward as if to block Ratchet and his rolling eyes from her view. “Even if the Nemesis was overhead, the radioactive particles would disrupt its sensors. You and Scorpia will be safe.”

And everyone else will be safe from you. She would have respected him more if he’d said that part out loud. If the water didn’t keep people away, the apparent radiation would. She was almost impressed at how thoroughly they’d managed to defang her presence.

“And what about Starscream?” she contested. “What’s stopping the likes of him dropping in for a visit?”

He was the whole reason for this relocation, after all. If she’d just stayed quiet, she could have remained in her cave and waited to fight or die. Or, if she wasn’t suddenly such a coward, she could have dealt with Starscream herself. She should have.

“You’ll be pleased to know that,” Optimus said, “according to our human allies, he is currently unable to fly.”

If that was true, she was pleased. Not that she let it show through.

“And how do they know that?” It was the only way to explain why he was walking all the way to the Harbinger , but the fact that it was humans that knew this made her skeptical. 

“Apparently,” Ratchet said, “some MECH communications were bragging about getting a hold of his T-Cog. So, until he finds a replacement, he’s grounded.”

Scorpia giggled in her harness, as if she knew how funny it was, and Airachnid almost laughed alongside her. At least she wasn’t the only one on Earth being punished. Taking away a Seeker’s wings was like taking their spark from their frame, and Starscream deserved even worse.

Airachnid looked into the forest again, though all she could see was dark. Scorpia squirmed at her chest, though that was all she could do in the tight wrappings of web.

“Are there animals here?” There must have been, if there were no humans around to scare them off. Even if they only looked like her, they had to be here.

“An abundance,” Optimus answered. “Nature thrives in the absence of humans. You’ll find mostly birds and reptiles, though some mammals exist alongside them.”

“You’re not worried I’ll wipe them all out?” Airachnid was, once again, only slightly tormenting him with the question. Of course he was worried. He certainly should have been.

“You said you could control yourself,” he told her, “and I choose to believe you.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. Was he mocking her, knowing she’d doubtless prove him wrong at some point? With her track record, she probably wouldn’t even know she was doing it until he had a gun pointed at her.

She hadn’t been lying. She could control herself, when needed. But there were times when she simply didn’t want to. When she’d been with the Decepticons, it had been easier to not even try.

Everyone already thought she was a beast. It was a waste to try and be anything different for them.

“Let’s say I accept this offer.” Airachnid turned away from Optimus, the easiest way to avoid his eyes. “What’s to be expected of me? You just want me to stay out of sight, and you’ll cater to my every need?”

She could taste her own sarcasm, bitter as it was, and the sound of it made Scorpia flinch within her crossed arms.

“The deal remains as it always was,” the Prime said. “I will bring you energon, and I will ensure you and Scorpia remain safe.”

“That includes allowing me to examine both of you,” Ratchet added– damn, she’d almost forgotten he was still here. “Just so you know.”

Airachnid made sure to match his scowl before she faced him. “And what do you get out of it, medic? Are all Autobots just as delusional as their Prime?”

His expression didn’t change, and she was slightly disappointed. “You have a child. That child deserves to stay alive. Keeping you alive is just a necessary step towards that.”

And Scorpia chirped as if she knew just how important she was.

“I appreciate your honesty,” Airachnid scoffed. This was, assumedly, someone Prime trusted more than most Autobots, yet he didn’t act like one at all. Perhaps that was why Prime trusted him.

“So where’s the Wrecker this time?” she asked. He had to be hiding somewhere, making a nuisance of himself as Wreckers always did. 

(Wheeljack was the only one of them she’d had any personal experience with, but he was enough to ruin the rest of them by proxy.)

“He is controlling the Ground Bridge at our base.” Optimus didn’t shift his eyes, so he probably wasn't lying. “He will take us back on my command.”

“So let’s not keep him waiting. Chop chop.” Ratchet had apparently grown bored, or was anticipating that Airachnid would try to add his skull to her gallery if he spent too long around her. Either way, he was already walking to the other side of the beach, ready to forget about her until the next time he was dragged along with his Prime.

“I haven’t given my verdict,” Airachnid reminded them both, though only Optimus was around to hear her. “Whether or not I want to stay here. Unless I have no choice in the matter?”

It was easy to stay in control when you had so little to be in control of. And she’d already imprisoned herself with her sparkling. So she waited for Optimus to finally drop the act and treat her as the prisoner she really was. 

“You will not be trapped here, Airachnid,” he said, standing as stubborn as ever on his moral grandstand. “So long as you do not make an enemy of yourself. If you wish to leave, we can take you elsewhere. Just say the word.”

Airachnid shook her head. “Why don’t I believe you?” 

It was a rhetorical question. Prime was supposed to go with the medic and leave her, content with knowing that she was at least contained, and whatever regrets he surely had would be kept firmly to himself. That was what made sense to her.

She turned her back to him, but he didn’t move.

“Because the Decepticons raised you on lies. I imagine that you don’t know what honesty looks like. Not unless it hurts.”

Airachnid had to fight the urge to face him. She knew what her face looked like, and she didn’t want him seeing it. She couldn’t tell if what he’d just said was an insult, or an accusation, or an excuse for her. She couldn’t tell why he would say such a thing. 

‘What do you really want from me, Prime? Do you enjoy seeing your enemy’s weakness? Does it please you, like it pleases me?’

He’d survived the same war as she had, after all. He’d fought more battles than her. For all she knew, his kill count could have been double or triple her own. Some would say he’d killed all of Cybertron when he removed the Allspark.

With all of his bad decisions regarding her, it was far too easy for Airachnid to forget who he really was.

“I’ll stay. For now.” She spoke as if she’d just made her decision, not as if it’d been made for her, just to make it easier for her to admit. She could rest tonight and spend tomorrow investigating the land, and then hold Prime to his word if she found anything she didn’t like.

She still didn’t turn around– she could imagine the look of victory on Prime’s face well enough without having to see it.

“Before I leave… I have something for you.” He was walking around her. Dammit, he was standing right in front of her, blocking her view of the ocean, completely ruining what she’d imagined his expression would be. He didn’t look smug at all as he held out his hand towards her, bearing a memory chip in his palm.

“This is the frequency code for my personal communication line. It will allow you to instantly contact me, should you or Scorpia encounter any trouble.” 

Airachnid gingerly picked it up between two claws– the size was right for a comm unit chip, at least. It would allow her to bypass whatever encryption Prime had configured for his frequency. The other Autobots must have all had something similar to keep in touch with him.

So this was how her induction officially began. How humiliating.

“I realize I should have given it to you earlier,” Optimus added, somehow embarrassed, “but–”

“But you know as well as I do that location can be tracked through comm lines, and you couldn't have me handing such valuable data over to Megatron.”

She’d apparently caught him off-guard with such an obvious deduction. 

“...Correct,” he admitted.

She had to smile. “So you’re not completely stupid after all.”

Optimus coughed. "If there is a situation where you cannot formally address the problem, then a simple comm pulse will suffice to summon me. Likewise, if Ratchet is needed, I can send him to you."

Airachnid rolled her eyes– if she ever did need the medic, she’d rather just let herself suffer in silence. She looked over her shoulder, and as she expected he was still there in the distance, waving impatiently at Optimus.

“You really shouldn’t keep him waiting.” She pointed over at him, as if Optimus couldn’t see the scene for himself. Before Prime could even make a move, Scorpia cried out and wriggled towards him, somehow sensing he was about to leave her again.

It had been interesting the first time, how quickly she’d become attached to him, and then very quickly became tiring. But this minor annoyance was the price of having a hold over a Prime. For her own sake, Airachnid tried to not begrudge Scorpia too much as Optimus knelt to say his goodbyes. 

He tapped her in the center of her face, where her olfactories were housed, and her cries quickly morphed into giggles. It was as if it was a silent signal, a promise to her that he’d return. Airachnid wondered if that was really all it took to get her to stop crying. Not that she’d be able to test it, not without dulling her claws so she didn’t accidentally cut into her daughter’s face.

Optimus stood while Scorpia was distracted, moving his peds effortlessly through the sand with all that surface area in his peds. Airachnnid would have had an easier time of it, if she’d had more legs to walk on. She had no reason to follow, at least. She’d find somewhere to sleep when they were gone, and she was looking forward to it.

But then, Optimus inexplicably turned back towards her. In the dark, all she could see was the blue light of his eyes, the same ones all Autobots tried to mimic. As if they could match the so-called Matrix shining somewhere deep within him.

“I am glad you chose to trust me, Airachnid. I hope this place will give you and Scorpia some manner of peace.”

Airachnid really wished he’d stop talking. Now he was just trying to confuse her, and succeeding at it. She hated him. 

But he still deserved a thanks, at least. For taking on the risk that was her. For trying so hard, when she didn’t deserve it.

“You’re still an idiot,” she told him, because it was the closest thing to thanks she could ever give. “For doing all of this.”

“Maybe so.” He might have been smiling. She didn’t want to look close enough to be sure, only watching him and Ratchet to see them leave. Then she was alone with her daughter, and the stars, and when she looked up she recognized the hunter Orion looking down on them both.

✞✞✞

“I don’t like leaving her there.” Ratchet wasn’t talking about Airachnid, of course. Only about Scorpia. Optimus had a hell of a time convincing him to even allow her to go through a Ground Bridge without any prior testing.

(Between fighting Airachnid for her daughter and arguing with Ratchet, the latter was only slightly less harrowing.)

“How was she?” Wheeljack was leaning against the Bridge controls, as if specifically aiming to make Ratchet blow an engine out before the night was over. The medic shooed him away with frenzied hands, only keeping his vox low to not disturb the rest of the team sleeping within the base.

“Surprisingly co-operative.” Optimus had more to say, but not for Wheeljack or Ratchet to hear. “We’ll see if that remains so in the morning.”

“You going back over tomorrow?” Wheeljack asked. “I want to tag along.”

“Absolutely not,” Ratchet snapped. “Just because you’re aware of the… situation does not mean you can become involved in it.”

“So you don’t want someone with experience keeping an eye on the kid?”

“I must agree with Wheeljack, Ratchet,” Optimus added, as much as it pained him to admit. “His own experience as a sire would be an invaluable resource."

Never mind that the Wrecker was already involved by being aware, but Optimus knew better than to say that.

Ratchet groaned, throwing his hands away from the Bridge controls in defeat. “Do what you want. But any time he’s over there, I won’t be.”

“Perfect!” Wheeljack clapped the medic’s shoulder as if it was a brilliant idea, and nodded farewell to Optimus. “See you tomorrow, chief.”

The elevator carried him away, and Ratchet shook his head. “I don’t know who’s more intolerable, him or her…”

He finished calibrating the controls, saving the island coordinates to a secret preset and resetting the current location to something innocuous. They couldn’t risk anyone accidentally opening a Bridge straight to Airachnid’s doorstep. Then he sighed, hanging his head over the console.

“Do you really think she’ll stay there?” he asked, not for the first time. Of all the locations Fowler had offered, Shizumi Island was really the only one that would keep humans out and Airachnid within. Other similar islands were already under heavy military surveillance, or were too small to house a Cybertronian for any length of time– especially one of technorganic nature.. 

Shizumi was wild and abandoned, adrift in the waters between the US mainland and Hawaii– just far enough from jurisdiction to not be worth setting up a base on, and of course no soldier wanted to risk cancer on the job. The wildlife was a bonus, if a morbid one. If Airachnid could control her instincts as she claimed, she still needed an outlet for them.

“If she wanted to run away,” Optimus said, “she has had ample opportunity to do so until now. I believe she will not make a problem of herself while she recovers her strength.”

“And what about when she does recover?” Ratchet contested, snapping his head up with renewed spirit– anger was a very effective stimulant. “When her legs grow back and she can transform into her alt-mode?”

“According to her,” Optimus said weakly, “that will take some time.”

“So you just didn’t think that far ahead.” Ratchet didn’t scoff, though the sound he made was of something worse. “We can’t just expect her to sit around and do nothing while her sparkling grows. And we can’t expect her to be co-operative forever.”

Optimus cherished Ratchet as a confidant and skilled medic, as a friend above all. But he desperately wished he wouldn’t treat others, especially not Optimus himself, like they were idiots. Somehow it was less frustrating when Airachnid called him one outright. 

“So we will make contingencies,” Optimus stated, struggling to keep the edge out of his vox. “We have made it through worse than this, with far less time to prepare.”

“Optimus, we haven’t done anything like this before!” Ratchet’s almost shouted before he stopped himself, forcing his vox into a hiss. “We don’t even know how to break the news to the others–!”

“What are you old guys doing up? It’s past your bedtime!” Miko suddenly stood in the hangar, looking up at both mechs  in her pajamas, heedless of the fact that she’d left their sparks scrambled from fright. Optimus had thought the children had gone home hours ago, though he hadn’t seen them leave himself…

“I-I could be asking you the same, Miko,” Ratchet threw back when he recovered, though Miko just looked at him as if he was the one who just appeared out of nowhere. 

“What?”

“I said, I could be asking you the same,” he repeated, and Miko blinked up at him in sudden understanding. Optimus, meanwhile, was in the full grip of an as-of-yet unfamiliar panic. How long had she been standing there for…?

“I’m having my robot sleepover! I spent all day begging Bulkhead for it. He snores, though. I didn’t know you guys could snore!” Then she frowned, though it wasn’t because of Bulkhead’s engine having a life of its own. “That was weird. You were making a bunch of glitchy sounds before. You and Optimus.” 

She pointed up at them both, narrowing her eyes, and Optimus was all at once smothered in relief. 

“Ah.” Ratchet must have felt the same wave a moment later. “Neocybex.” He breathed the word as if it was something holy, and in that moment it was.

“It is our native language,” Optimus explained, shuttering his optics as the panic bled out. “We use it among ourselves.”

They only spoke English in the presence of the humans, of course, and it was that lazy habit that just spared them from a very uncomfortable conversation with one of the worst possible people to hear it.

“Is that what Bee talks in?” Miko asked, suddenly forgetting the conspiracy she’d just stumbled onto. 

“No, he uses a low-level shortform language called Chipquick,” Ratchet said. “I’m sure Bulkhead would be willing to teach you some if you ask nicely.”

“Cool!” She turned around in her slippers, each one adorned with cat ears and a trailing tail at the heels, was somehow able to run in them across the concrete floor all the way to the corridor of sleeping quarters, only to change her mind and run right back. 

“Hey, how come Raf can understand it but the rest of us can’t?”

“When we figure it out,” Ratchet promised, “you’ll be the first to know.”

“I better be!” This time she didn’t turn back, though both mechs still waited a full klick before they considered the coast clear.

“That’s another thing  I haven’t even come close to figuring out,” Ratchet admitted. “Rafael was able to understand Bumblebee before he even knew he was Cybertronian.”

Optimus was grateful for the change of subject, though this one wasn’t all that easier for him to discuss. “The only theory I have relates to Earth forming around Unicron… and I would rather not think of it as anything more than a theory.”

Ratchet grunted, though Optimus could tell he was suppressing a shudder. “You don’t think Rafael can understand our other languages as well, do you?”

“Considering our own lack of understanding regarding him… it is difficult to say. Why do you ask?”

Ratchet let out a cough of static, suddenly hesitant. “As you know, I… interact with him more than the other two. And, as you also know, when I’m under immense stress, I… talk to myself.”

Optimus was very aware of the latter. He also knew Ratchet liked to use Ancient Cybertronian for his external monologues because the curses sounded better.

“And so…” Optimus pieced together, “you voiced your thoughts regarding the situation where he could hear them.”

“I never mentioned her name!” Ratchet insisted. “Nothing about a Decepticon. But… I was trying to calculate the best fuel ratio for a growing sparkling.”

And that was all it would take to cause problems, if Rafael did in fact hear it. Of all the adult humans Optimus had encountered, Rafael was more intelligent than half of them. He was quiet because he was observant. In a Cybertronian body, he could have easily become someone like Soundwave. 

That wasn’t a reassuring thought.

“Perhaps we should speak with him tomorrow,” Optimus said.

“Perhaps we should,” Ratchet agreed. “And the sooner we tell everyone, the better.” 

Once again, he was talking as if he was the only one who knew the obvious. Thinking aloud because it was the only way to clear room in his processor. Optimus knew this about this friend. He knew he was right. He knew Airachnid and Scorpia couldn’t, shouldn’t stay secret for much longer.

 And all that knowing didn’t make it any less infuriating. 

“Good night, Ratchet.” Optimus said it in English, in case Miko was still listening somewhere. The show’s over, so go to bed. Even if, like Optimus, you know you won’t sleep.

The stain was still there. The Vehicons, those who weren’t hauling ore from the mines or working the Nemesis sensors, also had the most menial task of keeping the ship clean. There had been a whole Earth week’s worth of cleaning done, yet the stain on the floor was still there. 

Maybe only Megatron could see it. He was the only one who knew for certain what it was. What it had been.

At the time, he hadn’t even known it was his child until it was too late. How did he not know until it was gone? How did he not sense it? 

He’d avoided thinking about it until now. But hatred, eventually, always lost its use as a distraction. The child would have been his greatest weakness, one she purposefully made, but there were other ways he could have dealt with it.

The more apt question was, how had he not expected this to happen? Even with firewalls, even though they never bared their chambers to each other, the risk was always there. He’d wanted her loyalty the easiest way he could think of, and it had cost him half of his spark.

Even if he’d known in time, would he have been able to stop himself? He'd moved without thinking, with no control over his limbs. It had been the smart thing to do. The easiest way out– never mind that the easiest way was what had brought the child into existence.

They couldn’t afford weakness. They couldn’t let her think she had won . For all the pain she’d put him through, she really had nothing to show for it now. Wherever she was now she would perish alone and empty, never knowing the truth. And then Optimus would join her. 

It was not a fitting end for her, not the one Megatron had always imagined, but it was all he could hope for now. 

‘You should have used her sooner. You had the knowledge all this time, and you did nothing with it. How disappointing.’

He couldn’t tell who was speaking to him, if it was himself or… the demon lying dormant in his blood. In his head, they now sounded the same, and he still didn’t know who to blame for the idea of consorting with her in the first place.

He’d considered it even on Cybertron, of course. But Tarantulas, the sentimental sadist, wouldn’t let anyone near her. 

(How hypocritical, when he was the one who suggested growing the army from the chambers of their finest officers, then plugging the new sparks into battle-worthy bodies. The Exodus put a firm halt to those plans, and so Megatron was left with a legion of empty drones instead. Thanks to Dreadwing, at least, that would hopefully change very soon.)

Megatron never learned whether or not Tarantulas knew the truth about her as well. He was smart enough to figure it out, and smart enough to never mention it. 

It made little difference now. It did nothing to dull the burn mark, the scar from Megatron’s plasma bolt, at his feet.

He had the answer to one question now, at least. He would not have stopped himself. Because, in the brief time he’d had to look at the child, the squirming mech, he did not recognise himself in it. He saw someone else. Someone…

Someone was coming. Knockout was loath to leave his station without reason, Breakdown was overseeing the mining operation on the ground, and Dreadwing was living up to the name of his people– seeking out other points of interest from the surrounding sky. So the only one onboard with a spark was–

“Soundwave.” Megatron addressed him just as he appeared in front of him, his EM field barely whispering his presence. Soundwave stopped without surprise, giving Megatron just enough time to reposition himself so that his ped covered the burn.

Soundwave probably also knew what it was. With his eyes all over the ship, he might have seen the shot himself. Megatron would never know unless he asked– and he never would. 

“I trust your work on the Iacon database is progressing as expected?” he asked instead. It was slow going compared to the progress ‘Orion’ had made during his brief time with the Decepticons, but thanks to him they now had a solid foundation to work from and confirmation that the riches would be found here on Earth. Soundwave’s sole focus was now to finish the job.

He did not nod; his visor blinked to a display, showing the progress for Megatron to see for himself. Lists of coordinates alongside satellite maps– they were only rough locations, the precise numbers still wreathed in an Autobot cipher, but it was more than what the Decepticons had achieved in years of trying to crack the same records on their own.

Megatron forgot where he was standing for a moment as he grinned. “Excellent work, as always. Anything else to report?”

He was always prepared to be impressed; Soundwave would always notify him of urgent happenings, but other times he would keep intriguing sights to himself until prompted. 

This time, he offered Megatron a sight that sent his laughter echoing across the Nemesis . It must have been retrieved from Laserbeak’s camera, because he was looking down on Starscream– curled up like a fledgling in the shadow of a bare stone mountain. Wherever he was it was night and, from the mist of the Seeker’s vents, freezing cold. That mist was the only hint he was even alive.

Megatron laughed again. “He’s not being very inconspicuous, is he? What is his destination?”

He hadn’t seen Starscream since his ill-advised defection some months ago, of course. He hadn’t expected to ever see him again. Soundwave quickly calculated the trajectory he seemed to be heading for (revealing that he must have been watching Starscream for some time).

The Harbinger. Half of it, at least– the half that Starscream had tried so hard to keep hidden. The only time he was never stupid was when he was being predictable.

“And how long will it take him to reach it?” Megatron asked. Soundwave calculated again, and the figure flashed on his visor. Two weeks, if he continued at his current pace. Assuming he even had enough energon to finish the journey.

Despite himself, Megatron laughed yet again.

‘Let him suffer some more. Let him reap the true weight of what he has sown.’

It was a rare moment when he found himself in agreement with his voice.

“We shall leave him be, for now. Perhaps he’ll become desperate enough to take out another Autobot for us.” That was a vain hope, but amusing to consider. Soundwave made no note of the decision, though Megatron trusted him to know his own orders. He would keep watching Starscream, and he would know when he was close to death. Megatron could hardly wait.

Another thought, a complication , occurred just before Megatron’s ped left the floor. “Do try and keep Dreadwing away from this knowledge. I would rather he not be tempted into any more… ill-advised decisions.”

He admired the Seeker for his dedication to revenge, truly. But this time he did not want a SIC who formed his own plans. He wanted one who did as he was told, and nothing else.

Dreadwing had already wasted his one warning on going after Optimus Prime. Despite how useful he was, Megatron could not afford to let him slip again, lest the others start to get ideas about themselves.

At least he could always rely on Soundwave. He’d fought Megatron as Megatronus– as a gladiator, as equals. He had seen everything on Cybertron, knew every weakness, almost every secret. And yet he was still here.

There had always been rumors that he was a telepath; a mythical outlier descended from the likes Quintus or, depending on who you asked, Amalgamous Prime. Tarantulas had once theorised a way to know for sure, but– like most things he planned– it involved cutting into the brain. 

If he truly was one, then he knew everything about Megatron and still chose to follow him. If he wasn’t, then he still knew too much to be so loyal. 

Soundwave nodded this time, and continued on his way. Megatron stayed in place until he was gone. Not because he was so determined to hide the mark on the floor. He just never liked turning his back on other mechs.

Only out of habit, of course.

✞✞✞

“Silas, sir.”

He’d heard the young man running across the metal grates long before he announced himself, but still Silas didn’t face him until he saluted. Even if they no longer shared a common goal with the US military, some habits would always die hard. And a little discipline could go a long way.

“At ease, soldier. What do you have for me?” 

The man wore the typical MECH uniform; they all hid their faces as a precaution, even here where it was supposedly safe. Silas recognized this one’s voice– he was Novo, one of his covert operatives. Good with computers. He held out a hardcopy folder.

“Unencrypted email sent from William Fowler’s Pentagon address. The recipient is masked, but we can still see everything inside it.”

Silas felt his eyebrows shoot up at the mention of Fowler’s name, but otherwise he managed to stay still. “Not like Will to be so careless.” 

It had been over twenty years since they’d worked together, but Will had hardly changed in that time. Still as bureaucratic as he was painfully pacifist, or so Silas had thought. The timestamp marked the email as sent at three in the morning, just over a day ago. Whatever the urgency, Fowler must have been too tired to properly scramble the contents. 

“List of locations… some of these look familiar.” The ones he recognised had been propositions for black sites long ago, or former militia hideouts. Silas didn’t have to guess who the recipient was. “Any theories?”

Novo took back the hardcopy, and though his face was hidden it was clear he was thinking. He would have examined the email himself before bringing it to attention.

“There’s notes alongside them,” he said. “They remark how easy they’d be to hide from outsiders, any additional infrastructure needed to black out communications… It looks like places for Autobots to hide to me, sir.”

Silas smiled. He appreciated jarheads with a brain floating inside them.

“And you might be right. Do we have the resources to investigate?”

“If we work outwards towards the furthest away places, we could clear three a day with a pair of scouts each. That depends on how heavy security should remain here.”

Ever since the debacle with the Autobot Bumblebee, they’d been careful about conserving their manpower. MECH had soldiers all across the globe, but the most valuable ones were right here. 

Even so, Silas considered what he was standing on, and what was beneath him; the harness swarming with technicians, engineers triple-checking measurements, mechanics ensuring the energon efficiency was as balanced as it could be. 

The first prototype. Thanks to Starscream’s generous donation, it was almost ready…

“The hard part of Chimera is almost done.” Silas caught himself smiling again. “I think we can spare the manpower. Get to it. And be careful around these areas.” He unsheathed a pen and dotted stars around several points of the hardcopy, ensuring they were highlighted.

“Why these ones, sir?” Novo asked. Silas had been hoping he wouldn’t.

“Let’s just say, for the last sixty years, our government has enjoyed playing with nukes. And these places are some of their favorite playgrounds.”

He tapped one in particular. Shizumi Island. He, him and so many others, were there for Project Paryl; when they were trying more inconspicuous ways of setting off a radiation wave. Not anything as clumsy or heavy-handed as a bomb or a reactor meltdown, more like a flashbang. Shizumi, abandoned long ago by its natives anyway thanks to some plague or famine, had been the perfect testing site. 

Silas had seen the results. He knew how successful it was. And then the Autobots arrived, and suddenly the government didn’t want to be discovered trying to slaughter other humans with the click of a button.

They wouldn’t even let him try and test the devices against the Autobots. What if they didn’t work? Really, they should have been asking, what if it did work? They never listened to him. Even when the Decepticons followed, they refused to face the facts. 

Even to this day, they’d rather cater to the refugees than save themselves. 

“Y…yes, sir. Understood.” Novo gulped, but it wasn’t from the threat of radiation. Silas knew how he looked when he started remembering such things. Even he didn’t like to see it. Novo took his leave, and Silas didn’t blame the young man for running again.

✞✞✞

The humans were running late. Miko was already here of course, still in her pyjamas as she nodded off on Bulkhead’s shoulder. But Bumblebee and Arcee had set out to fetch their charges an hour ago, and there was still no sign of them. The town was a good distance from the base, of course, but still…

He needed to talk to Rafael. He needed to know for sure what he knew. What he suspected. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t relax, until he knew.

“What’s got you so wound up, Optimus?” Bulkhead asked, whispering so as not to disturb the human on his shoulder. Ratchet, performing his usual inventory and maintenance, was quick to step in for Prime’s benefit.

“The others are taking their time. Wonder what the hold up is.”

“Well, it is the weekend,” Bulkhead said. “If they don’t have school, they usually sleep a little longer. Especially Miko here. On Saturdays, she only wakes up when I honk a horn outside her window.”

Miko yawned as she made a great effort to lift her arm up and land a soft punch against the mech’s face. “Jerk…”

An engine roared nearby, amplified by the tunnel’s echo. It was hard for even Prime to tell if it was Arcee or Bumblebee, not until it came into view–

Arcee. Of course. He should have known from the sound of two tires instead of four. She had two passengers onboard this time– although she wasn’t wearing her usual uniform and her face was covered with a helmet, Jack’s mother was still instantly recognisable.

"Good morning, Arcee. Jack, Ms. Darby.” Optimus attempted to mask his anxiety as he nodded to each of them. He hadn’t been intentionally avoiding Arcee, despite all the reasons for him to, but recent happenstance had simply allowed their paths to stay apart. Arcee, at least, hadn’t questioned much of Prime’s absence yet. 

He would have to tell her before she did. It would only get worse, the longer he waited. But when he told her, he would have to tell everyone. Worse than that– when he told her, she would hate him…

There was still no sign of Bumblebee or Rafael. Jack and Arcee both blinked at the sight of Miko curled up on Bulkhead’s plating, but the mech just shook his head. Ms. Darby, somehow always looking around surprised despite how many times she’d now been inside the base, yawned as she set her helmet down.

“You don’t often accompany Jack so early,” Optimus said to her, seeming to make her jump with surprise. She quickly recovered, though it didn’t ease Optimus’ guilt at startling her.

“I know… but I’ve been having trouble sleeping ever since the hospital switched my shift pattern– I used to work nights at the weekend so I could spend the days with Jack, now they want me in three days during the week instead…” 

She shook her head. “I’m rambling. Sorry. Just ignore me. I’ll probably pass out in that office space William likes to hide in now and again. Why is Miko in her PJs?”

“Robot sleepover,” Bulkhead said, as if that explained everything. The human just rolled her eyes as she climbed the metal stairs, bringing her up to the height of Optimus’ chest.

“I understand,” the Prime told her, picking up the thread she had dropped. “As of late, I have found myself struggling to sleep as well.”

He didn’t know why he chose to tell her. It was a dangerous truth, an admittance of weakness. Not that he didn’t trust the humans, but at the same time he knew the role he had to play. This was his war, after all. He had come to Earth, dragging the entire human species into it. He thought he understood them better now, thanks to the children. But it didn’t ease his guilt. With how the children had been harmed so far, he only felt far worse.

Would he sacrifice a child of his own species for a human? Would he ever have to? He was talking to the woman whose son had been hunted, plagued with nightmares, by the femme he was now protecting. The femme who had now lost a son of her own.

Ms. Darby, like Arcee, would never forgive him. So he would have to make the most of her companionship while he still had it.

“I didn’t even know you guys did sleep,” she admitted. “Then again, I suppose everything alive in the world has to eventually.”

“‘Recharging’ would be the more accurate term,” Optimus divulged. “We enter a low-power state where our fuel pumps consolidate our energy stores, and our processors write ephemeral data to permanent disk storage.”

Typically a unit would take shifts, ensuring there was always someone fully aware to sound the alarm if an enemy came within range. Individuals, especially those who enjoyed their work, would attempt to undervolt themselves to stay awake for longer– a risky procedure even when done by a medic. If their calculations were wrong, the internal batteries wouldn’t be able to route enough power to the vital organs. The official cause of death in such cases was labeled as voltage failure. Ratchet, after some time spent reading up on human biology, called it asphyxia by electricity. 

Perceptor, thinking he could perfect his work before the Exodus with less time resting, had almost died that way. It was only thanks to Moonracer’s intervention that he’d survived. Fellow scientist Brainstorm, the one who gave him such a stupid idea in the first place, hadn’t been so lucky.

“Do you dream?” Ms. Darby was leaning on the railing, having apparently abandoned her original plans to go lie down on a soft surface. No-one else seemed to be listening now– Arcee was discussing something with Ratchet, and Bulkhead and set Miko down on the couch while Jack tormented her and she feebly swatted him away.

It wasn’t perfect privacy, but Optimus had the sense that he could now speak with her and her alone.

“Yes. We do. Often our processors will replay previous events, allowing them to further imprint on our memories. And often… that is not desirable. Not during war time.”

Undervolting became very popular as the war dragged on. Cheaper than stimulants, especially those on Cybertron’s new black markets. No-one wanted to dream. No-one wanted to remember. In some cases, the voltage failure deaths even seemed to be intentional.

 Humans seemed to have the better deal in that regard. Their minds, more complex than almost any computer, could make up new memories to replace the old ones. They had the privilege of forgetting. Their dreams, most of them, were allowed to be strange and happy.

Optimus wondered what Ms. Darby’s dreams looked like. How often her friends and family appeared in them. Maybe even he or the other Autobots showed up in some manifestation. 

…And what about Jack’s father? Wherever, whoever he was?

There was a parallel becoming evident here. Another child needing raised, though this one couldn’t even have her father know she existed. Humans were not Cybertronians. But he needed advice that wasn’t a lecture from Ratchet. He needed another parent’s voice.

“May I ask you a personal question, Ms. Darby?”

“Only if you stop with ‘Ms’,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Just call me June.”

“June…” Even from being in contact with humans for over twenty years, even with his growing confidence around the children, Optimus was still unsure of much of their emotional functions. He knew he'd have to tread carefully here. "You raised Jack by yourself, correct?" 

And immediately he knew he’d said something wrong. Her hand gripped the railing tighter, and a shadow passed low over her face.

"Yes... I did." The sigh was heavy as it spilled past her lips. "His father left when he was five and... it's just been me and him since." 

“He… left?” Optimus was desperately trying not to make his misunderstanding seem rude. He knew relatively little about the bonds humans formed with each other– it was only through observation that he concluded they were similar enough to those of his people.

“Our marriage was doomed from the start.” June shook her head with a sad smile. “I only agreed to it because I was already pregnant… I just wanted Jack to have his father around.”

The realisation dawned on Optimus only then. The father had left , willingly abandoning both his wife and child. Such things were unfortunately not uncommon on Cybertron, especially in less prestigious castes, and he did not exactly know why he thought humans might be different.

If anything, it made more sense for them. Unlike Cybertronians, they had freedom to choose their places in their societies. Some might simply choose to not be parents anymore.

“You… had a disagreement?” Optimus guessed. He could sense June wanted to say more, despite the look on her face. 

“A lot of them,” she said. “I don’t even know what the final straw was, but one day he just walked out the door and never came back. It took a long time for me to accept that it was the best thing he could have done. The worst part is, we’re still legally married. I can’t even serve him divorce papers if  I don’t know where he is.”

Her eyes went to her son– he’d decided to leave Miko alone and seemed to be catching up on schoolwork while he had the peace. “Cybertronians don’t get divorced, do they? 

The word went in and out of Optimus’ head, and he still did not quite parse it. He could have easily looked it up, but he was more interested in June’s definition. “I’m afraid I do not know the meaning of the word.”

“It’s when a marriage gets dissolved,” she explained. “You both agree to separate– though, whether or not you both actually want to is a whole other matter.”

Optimus still did not fully understand, but he nodded regardless. “I see… no. We have no such concept.”

June laughed without actually making the sound as she shook her head again. “I can’t decide if that’s a good or bad thing.”

Optimus had never thought of it as either. A marriage… a bond from one amora to another, was as sacred as the link every Cybertronian had to Primus. If there was any doubt in the bond, then there would be no bond. He could never imagine willingly wanting to leave one.

Then again, he’d never been given the choice in the first place. 

“A spark bond is for life,” he said. “That much is understood by anyone who enters one.”

“But a life is millions and millions of years for you,” June countered. “We humans don’t live for more than a hundred, and we can completely change who we are in a fraction of that time. There’s really never been a case of Cybertronians just… growing apart?”

Optimus wanted to say no, but statistically, with how many bonded pairs had loved and perished in the history of the universe, he knew he’d be lying. He knew that eons ago, in the space between the Thirteen disappearing and the Well of All Sparks bursting forth to replace them, alliances were made purely for survival. There was no room for love between the old tribes.

Even so, some of the oldest love stories were supposed to come from that time. Everyone knew how Deathsaurus and Esmeral each became the first, and only, Emperor and Empress of Destruction. Everyone knew the tragedy of the Mistress of Flame and Star Saber.

Optimus shook his head. As usual, Orion chose the worst moments to get distracted by mythology.

“The bond itself changes those caught within it. If one half undergoes a shift, then the other half will compensate.” He didn’t know if it was really an answer to the human’s question, but it was all he could think to say. The spark bond was not just a physical link, but a promise made in the light of the Allspark. 

I will be by your side, no matter the distance. I will hear the sound of your voice, amidst all others. I will follow you in death, only so you won’t go alone.

That was the pact. And, by staying alive after Elita’s death, Optimus had broken it.

“What if one person becomes worse?” June asked, and it was a rare moment where Optimus Prime was caught off guard. And it was almost always females who managed to do it.

“I mean,” she pressed, “if one person changes into someone else. Someone the other doesn’t recognise. What happens then?”

It was a good question. It was also somewhat terrifying to consider. Like most terrifying things, it was still worth doing so.

“One will mirror the other, always,” Optimus answered. “The direction of that mirror is never guaranteed.” 

The only guarantee was that the bond would never break, and that everyone on the outside would suffer for it. He’d heard the same horror stories as everyone else on Cybertron– those who killed their partners to force the bond apart, because the madness of the broken bond was preferable to being shackled to someone they now hated.

Optimus, Orion, had never understood it. Why bond at all when such hatred was a possibility? And then he’d met Elita, and the bond became the only thing he wanted.

“Forgive me, Optimus.” June lowered her head, as if she had something to be ashamed of. “I didn’t mean for it to turn so morbid.”

Humans couldn’t detect EM fields like his own kind, but somehow she could sense where Optimus’ mind was really going. Or, more likely, his thoughts were plain on his face. He resisted the sudden urge to pull down his mask.

"Was it difficult, raising Jack without a father figure present?" he asked, remembering the original thread that had brought him here. June blinked in surprise, but seemed grateful for the change of subject.

"Not as much as I was scared it would be.” She shrugged. “Nothing much changed, I just had a few more responsibilities. It was all up to me to keep Jack fed and clothed and safe... I was already doing that, even when his dad was around. It was hard on him, though. He still remembers his father. As he got older… I was terrified he’d turn into him. That he’d blame me for him leaving us." 

She hugged herself, and cracked a smile up at him. “So, when it turned out he’d just been hanging out with aliens all day, I was honestly relieved.” Then she looked away. 

”He… looks up to you, Optimus. When you gave him that key, the one that took him to Cybertron…other than me being mortified about it, I could tell it meant a lot to him. You never had children on Cybertron, did you?”

“No.” He heard the static in his vox just as he felt it. “I was… my bonded and I had discussed them. Before…”

He couldn’t finish it. He hadn't thought about that discussion in centuries, because he didn’t need to. He never forgot it.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” June’s voice was hushed and pointed at the floor. “Ratchet told us about… what happened to her.”

Of course he did. Optimus felt like he should have been angry, but June didn’t deserve it. Ratchet, with what Prime had dragged him into, especially didn’t. 

There were more important things to attend to, in any case. An engine idled nearby, and it could only have been Bumblebee’s. When he turned his head, he saw Rafael climbing out of the passenger seat with his laptop in tow.

“Thank you for indulging me, Ms–” Optimus caught himself at the last second, “...June.”

She nodded without looking up at him. “I’m… here if you want to talk some more. I may not have millions of years of life experience, but I like to think I’m good at listening.”

Optimus wouldn’t argue with her. Everything would change when she knew the truth, of course. But he appreciated how she was now. How selfless humans could be. 

And how selfish he was, asking them to trust him when he hid so much. 

He left June in peace and found Rafael wriggled in between Jack and Miko (who had managed to prop herself upon the armrest). Though his words were inaudible, he was clearly excited about something.

Optimus gulped. Was he already too late? What difference did it really make, how much or little he knew? They would all know sooner or later.

Today would be all about uncomfortable conversations, it seemed.

“Rafael. May I speak with you for a moment?”

The young boy jumped– today was also all about startling humans, apparently– and closed his laptop as he stood. “Uh, s-sure, Optimus. What’s up?”

Optimus offered his hand for the boy to step into. Jack glanced over but quickly went back to his work, and Miko kept on snoring. As Optimus carried Raf away from the others, Ratchet gave him a look from the Ground Bridge console. There was no sign that he’d overheard the conversation with June, only the expected warning glance. 

Bumblebee, at least, didn’t come storming over. He seemed preoccupied with Arcee and Bulkhead, likely planning out a patrol for the day. Even so, Optimus knew he couldn’t take long. He set Rafael down and knelt to his level.

“There has been an enduring mystery around you,” he said, dampening his vox so the tone wouldn’t cause the floor to vibrate, and switching the mode to see how the boy reacted. “Your ability to understand Bumblebee, despite– I assume– never having contact with his language before your first meeting.”

Rafael blinked as he adjusted his glasses. “Oh, that… yeah. It’s a little strange. I don’t know why, but it just makes sense to me, as if he’s speaking Spanish or English. Guess I was tri lingual this whole time.”

Raf shrugged, and Optimus shuttered his optics. When he opened them, the boy was frowning.

“Did I… do something wrong?” he asked.

“No, Rafael. Not at all. It seems you not only understand Bumblebee, but our own native Neocybex. I’ve been speaking in it this whole time.”

Raf blinked again, and even without his glasses his eyes would have been twice their normal size. “Oh… wow. I didn’t even realize. So I can understand all Cybertronian sounds?”

“It would appear so. And you do not register any difference in the sound?”

“Not anything obvious, no. I guess if I really paid attention, I could tell.”

Cybertronian receptors processed language much the same way. They rarely needed to differentiate between specific dialects, so they simply absorbed them all at once. It was why Ratchet hadn’t realised he’d been speaking Neocybex to Miko instead of English.

So it was very likely Raf had overheard Ratchet. How much he heard exactly would have to be discovered some other way, lest curiosity become suspicion.

“Interesting.” Optimus had just uttered the biggest understatement since his arrival on Earth. “Thank you for your time, Rafael.”

He started to pick himself up, but the boy then waved up at him.

“Hey, Optimus? Ms. Darby said I shouldn’t ask about it, but…” He waited until Optimus had settled once more on the floor, wringing his hands as if he thought he’d get in trouble.

“Is Arcee… carrying a sparkling?” he asked.

Optimus’ vox flooded with static. It took all of his willpower not to cough. 

“I… would not imagine so.” It was the most charitable answer that came to mind, and Rafael seemed to deflate with relief. Optimus didn’t know if he should be feeling the same.

“It’s just, well… I heard Ratchet talking about one. I guess it was in Neocybex, and I wasn’t supposed to hear it…”

Optimus would have laughed if he didn’t feel like tearing his own audials off instead. Primus provides in unexpected ways– He’ll give you exactly what you want, sometimes in the worst possible way. 

“You are aware of sparklings?” he asked, trying to seize back some semblance of control. It was better to pretend that he had no idea what Ratchet was discussing.

“Miko got Ratchet to give a lesson on where they come from a few days ago,” the boy explained. “I wasn’t allowed to sit in, so Bee told me all about them.”

“It is encouraging that you and the others have an interest in our biology.” Optimus made a sound of assent, which was also a chance to clear the clog of static from his throat. If he could distract Rafael enough from the subject, he could have him assume Ratchet was just going over the lecture.

“I’ve always liked computers,” Raf said, hiding his hands behind his back. “I mean, you’re obviously more advanced than a computer– you’re like… a bunch of computers linked together with legs. I even think Ratchet likes teaching us. Even if it’s just a chance to show off everything he knows—”

He was still talking, but all Optimus could hear was the pulse of his comm link. He didn’t recognise the frequency, which meant it could only come from one likely source.

‘If you cannot address the problem, then a comm pulse will suffice.’

He knew something would go wrong. He’d just hoped it wouldn’t have been so soon.

“My apologies, Rafael.” Optimus was rising as he spoke. “Something urgent has come to my attention.” He made a gesture to Ratchet, who started opening the Ground Bridge before the others could question where he was going.

He did have time to give a hushed last-minute warning to Rafael, at least. “Take care not to make Arcee aware of that particular rumor. She will… not be amused.” 

It was yet another understatement to rival the last one, and Raf shuddered in understanding. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

Late morning in Nevada meant that the island had yet to see the sunrise, though Optimus could see it bleeding across the ocean. Airachnid wasn't near the beach where he’d left her, but he hadn't expected her to stay close to somewhere so open. He guessed she would choose somewhere high up, where she could watch anyone or anything approaching. 

He scanned the trees as he ran past, but couldn’t detect her EM field– the overgrowth around him choked out most of his sensors. The comm link they shared would be one-way until Airachnid chose to open her unit to him, but by choosing the comm pulse she signalled that she wasn’t able to speak anyway.

Were there humans here after all? Or had the Decepticons managed to find her so quickly?  The energon in Optimus’ spark was getting colder with every passing klick without her in sight.

“Well. Didn’t expect you to come so quickly.”

Her voice came from the trees right above– Optimus was sure he’d already searched there, but he hadn’t heard her moving through the branches.  

“Are you alright?” he asked. She didn’t seem hurt or disturbed, and her chest bore the familiar web harness she carried Scorpia in.

“More or less,” she shrugged. “I just wanted to see if you’d actually show up.”

After a moment of disbelief, and then perfect understanding of who he was dealing with, Optimus sighed. “The comm pulse is only for emergencies , Airachnid.”

“Yes, yes, I know.” She rolled her eyes as if he was the one being unreasonable. “But I had to be sure that it would work. Anyway, while you’re here, you can still be useful.”

She descended from her perch with a practice webline, hardly making a sound as her heels touched the carpet of dead leaves. Optimus didn’t even see her reach behind her back, but suddenly Scorpia was being held out to him as if she was a stack of datapads.

“She’s been grizzly all morning,” Airachnid sighed. “She won’t even take any energon.”

Even now she was squirming in her mother’s grip, fighting against her cocoon, and the sight of Optimus didn’t seem to calm her.

“I… see.” Optimus took hold of her– in just a few short days, she’d somehow become twice as heavy as he recalled her being. How old was she now, two weeks at most? Ratchet was the one to ask about what to expect from a growing sparkling, but this was one with organic blood inside of her (perhaps even literally). There was really no way to expect what would happen as she matured.

Optimus could expect one thing, at least. He expected her to giggle when he tapped her nose, and that was exactly what happened. He didn’t know why she was apparently in a bad mood today, nor whether it would inevitably come back, but it seemed like she’d completely forgotten to sulk for now.

“Typical,” Airachnid scoffed. “She’s a model child when you’re around.”

Scorpia giggled again, as if enjoying her mother’s torment. Optimus carried her out of the deeper jungle, with Airachnid following close behind. After only a day’s residence on the island, she was already able to slip through the undergrowth with ease. Shizumi was like a floating rainforest, thick with vines and ferns and hundreds of different species living in them. It was a small island for a Cybertronian, though a hundred thousand humans could easily have lived on it with space to spare. 

 Optimus wondered where she’d spent the night– up in the trees, or in another cave somewhere out of sight? He’d only know if she wanted him to. 

He ended up back at the edge of the beach, though he wasn't sure if it was the same one the Bridge had dropped him on. Scorpia’s laughs died down as he jostled her, so to be safe he bopped her again. Airachnid, on the other hand, didn’t seem enthused that her sparkling problem had been solved. With her arms crossed and a subtle pout, she almost seemed to be sulking.

“Why don’t you try it?” Optimus asked, holding Scorpia back out to her. With how protective she’d been of her when Ratchet was around, it was surprising to see her almost recoil away from her daughter.

(Then again, it was much more in-character for her than what he’d seen so far.)

“These claws are not for soothing,” she said, “in case you haven’t noticed.” She waved five of them in turn to demonstrate their edge.

“You can use the knuckle,” Optimus offered. “Like this–”

He demonstrated as well, curling his digit so that only the joint touched Scorpia’s faceplate. The effect was still the same– she exploded with chirps, flailing her tiny limbs against his finger.

Airachnid still looked sceptical at the display, but when she took Scorpia into her arms again she curled her longest claw into a hook and tapped the curve against her daughter’s cheek. Then she flinched from her cries of joy, as if she really hadn’t been expecting it to work.

 “So it really was that easy.” She made it sound like a question. “Are they all like this?”

“Sparklings?” Optimus asked, though of course that was what she’d meant. “I assume so. I was not allowed much time with them… even before the war. But I know they not only need fuel and shelter to thrive. They also needed the touch of their caregivers.”

Scorpia chirped again in her mother’s arms, though her squeals had died down as if she wanted to listen to what Optimus was saying. According to Ratchet she wouldn’t actually understand speech for another few weeks at most, not until her learning models had time to absorb the language around her, and it would be longer still until she could replicate that speech. 

But even if she wasn’t actually listening to his words, she was still hearing his voice. She could sense the tone, the weight of his vox. A Prime spoke with the voice of all their ancestors, often to crowds and armies of thousands, of ancient promises and echoed psalms, but a sparkling wouldn’t care about any of that. He was Scorpia’s caregiver, and that was all that mattered. There was a rare kind of freedom in that. Speaking, and being heard, but knowing that your words wouldn’t risk someone’s death. 

Some Autobots thought that Optimus was quiet because he didn’t want to waste energy on his vox unless it was necessary. It was only half true. He also didn’t want to waste their lives. They listened to him, no matter what. They followed his orders, often without even questioning their purpose. It was a terrifying privilege. It was what had gotten Elita killed.

“Their EM fields are small,” Optimus went on, ploughing past the static in his throat, “but infinitely more sensitive than our own. Though they are vulnerable, they can sense danger in almost any form. Defenceless, but not helpless.  I remember hearing old stories of sparklings able to sense diseases in their parents’ bodies– cosmic rust, hard-disk rot–  long before they became known to any medic–”

He stopped himself when he realised the rambling wouldn’t help. He couldn’t drown out his thoughts, his guilt, with his vox. Airachnid didn’t look at him with annoyance though. She seemed amused. 

“Megatron said you were a librarian,” she told him. “Before you were a Prime. Is that why you have so many stories?”

He couldn't tell if she was mocking him or not. She probably was.

“The official title was ‘data clerk’,” he said. “Even before that, I… I was a police officer.”

He expected her to laugh. But she didn’t seem amused anymore. It was not disbelief that painted her face, but it was close enough.

“I thought Cybertronians weren’t allowed to change their professions,” she said after a pause. Optimus noted that she distanced herself in the distinction. 

“Not by choice,” he answered. “I wasn’t given one, in any case. I refused orders, so they took my function away. It was only through luck that someone was willing to give me another.”

Alpha Trion had saved his life. Optimus hadn’t even known it at the time. The Hall of Records wasn’t just a new job for him, it was a safe haven. The domain of the last of the Thirteen…

He hadn’t known that at the time, either. Perhaps not even the Senate knew. They wouldn’t have left Trion alone if they did. They might not have even let him live. How lonely he must have been. As lonely as Optimus was now.

The Matrix still hadn’t spoken to him since that final night. When he chose to help Airachnid, damning what it would cost him. Other Primes had done worse than him before, and perhaps they had paid the same price in being shunned. 

Only one of their voices reached out to him now. It wasn’t one he ever wanted to hear.

“That’s what you and Megatron started this war over, wasn’t it?” It was Airachnid’s voice that brought him back from within himself. “Your functions. Giving people that choice.”

Optimus nodded with numbness. Of course, Airachnid hadn’t known Functionism first-hand like everyone else. Her function, along with whoever she was before Archa Seven, was long gone. She only had what she chose to make herself into– a hunter, a defector, a mother. Perhaps an ally.

Optimus had fought for people like her to have that choice. He’d betrayed his best friend and taken on a mantle he didn’t deserve, all because he thought Cybertron would be better for it.

And now Cybertron was dead, the Allspark amputated from its heart. Some might say even that was better than Functionism, hiding their grief behind a laugh. Optimus wasn’t laughing.

“It was never meant to be a war.” He didn’t intend for it to be heard, because he didn’t know who he was saying it to. Primus, if He was even listening, was too far away to hear him. Yet Optimusd knew no-one else would believe him.

“Did you really expect it to be anything else?” Airachnid asked, such a subtle insult. As if she was speaking to another sparkling, one who screamed and lashed without knowing why it did so. The reason a natural sparkling was born without weapons was simple– it was more likely to kill itself or its own parents than anything else. It simply didn’t know any better, and you couldn’t expect it to. 

But this wasn’t an insult. There was no venom in her vox this time. She had no love for Cybertron, no reason to love it when it wasn’t her home, and yet she spoke of it with her own kind of grief. Grief always looked the same, when you knew what it was.

Perhaps she mourned not the planet, but the person she’d been when it was alive. Or perhaps she mourned what she would never see for herself. The illusion of somewhere to escape to, at the end of everything. Somewhere that could be home. 

The Auobots, even Decepticons at least, could at least convince themselves that Functionism died alongside Cybertron. One could be revived, and the other would stay extinct. Airachnid had no such hope. There was no sanguine future or bitter past to drive her. There was only the present moment, and what she believed she had to do to stay alive in it.

That had been the life of most technorganics, even when Cybertron had been whole. To be organic was, in the eyes of the average Imperial-minded Senator, an unfortunate malady that couldn’t be helped. To be half organic was an abomination. A function tainted by animal instinct was almost as bad as no function at all. Like outliers, they were dangerous. But unlike outliers, they were much easier to ignore or, if needed, extinguish. 

Even when the most infamous of both Senators and technorganics Ratbat was appointed to his office, nothing had changed. Even the fact that Onyx Prime himself could, by some definitions, be considered half organic, did nothing but create a blasphemy law sentencing any who voiced such a fact out loud to centuries in cryostasis. Even the lowest castes, disposables and drones, assured themselves that their lives could always be worse– at least they weren’t technorganic.

(Most of them were wiped out in the war when it was still only civil. The few that survived went on to become Decepticons. Optimus sometimes wondered about that.)

Then Scorpia let out a cry, just before the new arrival announced itself– a shadow over the beach, and a hum filling the sky. Optimus’ guns were ready before he caught sight of what was coming close. Airachnid scowled at it, and he almost joined her. 

“Wheeljack.” Optimus tried to keep the sigh from his voice when the Wrecker’s ship landed on the shore and the mech himself emerged. “What are you doing here?”

“You forgot already, Prime?” Wheeljack stretched his servos as if piloting the ship was a great effort for him (though considering Optimus’ own experience behind the controls, he easily believed it). “Said I wanted to tag along last night, remember? Thanks for the heads up, by the way. Only knew you were here cause the Doc said you left in a hurry.”

Optimus closed his eyes so he could roll them without being seen. “There was a… sudden emergency. Or so I thought.”

He also kept them closed so he wouldn’t be tempted to glare at Airachnid. She was doing plenty of it herself, smothering Scorpia with her arms just so Wheeljack couldn’t see her.

“I thought the point of this place was to keep me away from anyone else,” she snapped. “I don’t want him dropping in whenever he feels like in that scrapheap he calls a ship.”

“My sire was the one who called it a ship, actually,” Wheeljack said, utterly unphased by her waving her fangs in his direction. “I call it the Jackhammer . Named it after him, funnily enough.”

“What ever ,” she hissed. “ I still don’t want it here. I don’t want you here. Go away!”

She turned on her heel and marched towards the cover of the trees, still holding Scorpia flush against her torso despite how the child protested.

“Wheeljack is a parent as well, Airachnid,” Optimus tried to reason; as much as he would have rather he never appeared, he was here now so they might as well try to make use of him. “He could offer some valuable insight–”

“I don’t care. I don’t need his help.” Airachnid shouted over her shoulder, and then cursed as she peeled the wriggling sparkling away from her chest. Scorpia was crying again; loud enough to chase flocks of birds from the forest canopy, loud enough to even make Optimus flinch. It was the cry of something scared and lost. 

“She’s crying ‘cause she’s picking up on your spark signal,” Wheeljack called to Airachnid. “It’s causing a feedback loop–”

“I know that!” she snapped over her daughter’s squeal.

“So why’re you making it worse?” he snapped back, and Airachnid froze in place. She seemed to bite down on her lip, her eyes drifting away. Scorpia kept on crying, until suddenly she stopped.

Though she was scowling, Airachnid must have somehow forced her spark to reach an equilibrium. It probably wouldn’t last for very long– Optimus could sense the muffled weight of her EM field even from a distance– but for now it was enough to calm her daughter. 

“How are you feeding her?” Wheeljack asked; he knew better than to smile with ‘I told you so’, but Optimus could also sense how smug he was really feeling. “At this age, they do better when they can control their own intake rate. If you give her something like a straw– here, I can show you–”

He pulled something from his subspace as he approached. Airachnid rolled her eyes, but then they froze along with the rest of her again.

“You’re not putting that thing in my daughter’s mouth!” she hissed, recoiling away from him this time. Wheeljack stopped, just as surprised as Optimus was, because all he had in his hand was an innocent, tiny, stem-like straw. It was the kind bartenders might put into an exotic energon mix to encourage drinkers to slow down and savour all the money they’d spent on it. 

(Knowing Wheeljack, that was probably exactly where he's gotten it from. Maybe that explained Airachnid’s sudden horror.)

“Hey, it’s clean!” Wheeljack protested, twisting the thing between his fingers. “It’s the same one I used with Strongarm when she–”

But his assurance didn’t stop Airachnid from snatching the stem from his hand and throwing it far into the trees. Optimus was actually impressed at how far she’d managed to propel it. He tried to trace its path, but it was long gone as soon as it started falling. 

Wheeljack watched after it for a few silent seconds, while Airachnid seemed to hiss out a sigh of relief. Scorpia yawned in her arms, as if all the drama had exhausted her.

“Alright,” Wheeljack made a sigh of his own. “Point taken. I happened to quite like that straw, though, so I’m gonna go get it back.”

He snapped the ferns and thin branches aside as he dove into the undergrowth. Finding it amidst the greenery wouldn’t be a problem with his sensors, but actually finding the right area to scan would be the difficult part. It would give Optimus at least some minutes alone with Airachnid again.

“Don’t you dare leave him here again,” she warned, pointing Scorpia over her shoulder so she wouldn’t sense the glare she was drilling into Optimus. As if he had any way to make Wheeljack leave. As if anyone could give orders to a Wrecker and expect them to listen.

But even if Optimus could, he hadn’t forgotten about the stunt that brought him here in the first place.

“I’m sure you’re more than capable of making him leave,” he told her. “And since there is no emergency here to attend to, I must return to the Autobots.”

He didn’t know how he was going to explain another sudden absence to them. Ratchet would do his best to cover, but Optimus knew him as a terrible liar. 

“You still haven’t told them, have you?” Airachnid waited until his back was turned to hurl the accusation at him. “You’ve thought of almost everything. How to keep me under watch. How to hide me away from humans and ‘Cons alike. But you still haven’t figured out how to break the news.”

Optimus was also a terrible liar. Until now, he’d thought it was a virtue of his. So he didn’t even try. 

“Do you have any suggestions?” he asked without turning around. He didn’t need to see her smirk to know when it was there.

“Just one,” she said. “Tell Arcee last, and then start running.”

Scorpia giggled in her harness, already showing her mother’s sick sense of humour. Somehow, that managed to disturb Optimus more than the thought of Arcee going for his throat.

✞✞✞

“You need to tell them, Optimus.” 

It was the second thing Ratchet said to Prime when he returned.  The first thing had been a whispered warning about Arcee. She was, of course, the first to notice he was gone, and she was also the first to notice his return. Ratchet could practically see the gears turning in her head even across the hangar.

She hadn’t asked where Optimus had gone yet. But she was preparing for it. Maybe waiting for a chance where the kids wouldn’t overhear and interrupt. It wasn’t like Optimus couldn’t undertake his own missions, but he rarely left without warning. Arcee would be the first to see the pattern. 

She was the main reason they couldn’t wait any longer. They had to tell her. They had to tell everyone , only because they deserved to know the truth. Ratchet couldn’t do it, as much as he wished. Only Optimus could pacify them. Only Optimus could convince them it was the right thing to do… even if he hadn’t yet fully convinced Ratchet himself.

Optimus gave him a look that was almost reassuring. He looked exhausted, defeated and drained, in a way that could be hidden beneath the surface– but only just. Ratchet hated being glad about it, but if it was what it would take for him to finally give in…

“Attention, everyone.” Optimus made the first move, summoning everyone just as Arcee looked like she was about to march over to him. The Autobots gathered before him, though the kids seemed content to stay where they were. June Darby seemed to have passed out somewhere out of sight, and Ratchet envied her. 

Even though he knew it had to happen, even though it was better now than any later, Ratchet could feel himself shaking. Coolant made his digits slick, forcing him to keep them balled tight at his sides. He knew he looked like he was ready for a fight, and he could only hope he wasn’t making a prophecy for himself.

What would Arcee do first? The shock would keep her still for a few nanoklicks, at least. And then she’d be angry. Ratchet didn’t like other people being angry. He didn’t know what to do with them, other than be angry right back. But he couldn’t do that to Arcee. Not when she’d be right for it.

Optimus pulled air deep within his vents. He must have been rehearsing this. Preparing for it. He must have calculated all the possibilities. He knew the team, after all. He knew they trusted him. He knew how hurt they’d be…

“We have received information on Starscream’s whereabouts,” Prime announced. “I believe we can intercept him at the northern site of the Harbinger .”

Ratchet almost collapsed. First he was relieved, for a fleeting moment, and then he was furious. Of course Optimus wasn’t going to do it. If he told them now, there was at least some chance of being forgiven. He was intent on leaving the truth until it would destroy them all.

“Where does this information come from?” Arcee asked, her eyes glowing at the mention of Starscream. Officially, no-one had heard of him since his short-lived alliance with MECH. The government had been eager to mark him down as killed in action, but the Autobots knew him better than that. Like an Insecticon, he’d pop up again unless you hollowed out his corpse and burned it to cinders.

“Agent Fowler’s people reported a possible sighting of him,” Optimus lied, though he made it seem believable even to Ratchet. “His trajectory seems to be taking him towards the Harbinger ’s crash site.”

“ What’s the plan after we get him? ” Bumblebee asked. “ Are we… gonna try and recruit him again? ”

“Out of the question,” Arcee snapped. “Now that we know what he did… that he killed Cliffjumper…”

Her anger was almost drowned out by the sudden surge of grief. Ratchet could see the glaze over her optics, dulling the glow. Not long ago, he’d had to spend hours convincing her that severing her coolant lines was not a good idea. But she was so tired of crying all the time, he didn’t blame her for wanting it to stop.

“...We’re taking him prisoner,” Bulkhead finished for her, though that was almost certainly not what she had in mind. “Right, Optimus?”

The Prime  inhaled again. Whatever he had in mind, he hadn’t discussed it with Ratchet. The medic didn’t even know what to expect.

 “We unfortunately lack the resources to keep prisoners of war for an extended period of time,” Optimus answered, and Ratchet would have laughed if he was alone, considering the deserted island they’d managed to scrounge up for just one prisoner. 

“However,” he continued, “I believe Starscream could hold vital information against the Decepticons that he may be willing to exchange for–”

“We’re not making a deal with him.” Arcee stood before him, glaring across the chasm between his face and hers. “Don’t tell me that’s what you’re suggesting.”

Bumblebee and Bulkhead were wise enough to step back. Ratchet kept his eyes on her arms, watching for the tell-tale sign of her blades itching to come out.

“He will be desperate, Arcee. Without allies, likely on the verge of starvation.” Optimus spoke slowly, forcing her to consider each word on its own even though it was surely a losing battle. “It will be a deal only in the sense that we both gain something.”

Her EM field was a storm of static. Ratchet struggled not to flinch, and he could see Optimus twitching against it as well. Bumblebee and Bulkhead hid it well, but they were ready to intervene in case her emotions became overwhelming. Ratchet doubted Arcee would actually hurt Optimus. She was more likely to hurt herself than anything else. It would be an entirely different case when she learned about Airachnid…

She made a sound that might have been her gears crunching before she turned and walked away, carrying the storm behind her.

“Arcee?” Jack stood up in her wake. “Where’re you going?”

She didn’t answer him before she shifted, spinning her wheels before they even hit the floor. She was gone from sight in seconds, her engine letting out a keen that was close to a mourning wail.

“I’ll… try to talk to her,” Jack said, grabbing his helmet as he followed her tire tracks burned into the floor.

“It may be best to leave her be for now, Jack,” Optimus warned.

“Well, I’m still gonna try. She’d do the same for me.”  The human would never be able to catch up with her, but he kept on walking regardless. Maybe he would just wait outside until she returned.

“ That… could have gone a lot worse, ” Bumblebee said, as if it was some consolation, and Bulkhead almost shook the walls from the force of air rushing out of his vents.

“I’ve never seen her like that,” Miko muttered from the railing. “Is she gonna be okay?”

“You didn’t see her after Cliffjumper… she’ll be okay,” Bulkhead assured. “Don’t worry.”

Rafael didn’t say anything. He suddenly looked very small, even smaller than the average human, sitting on the platform with his legs hanging. Ratchet wished he could say something to the young boy, but he was surrounded by the others and only Optimus was in audio range now, and he only had one thing to say to him.

“You bastard.” He swore in the Primal Vernacular out of habit, but now it was because he wanted to hide how angry he really was. The old languages were good for that. Most people who didn’t use it spent so much processing power deciphering the words themselves that they failed to pick up on inflection and tone.

Optimus, who used to read ancient Imperial documents for fun, who probably had Primes older than the language itself whispering in his ear, was obviously not most people. 

“Just a few more days,” he said, as if he was pleading. “Until we know what to expect from her.”

Ratchet wanted to throttle him. He truly did. They couldn’t stall forever. They shouldn’t have been stalling at all. But they couldn’t rush it either. He was impatient, just wanting to get the inevitable fallout over with. He wasn’t considering how difficult it was for Optimus. After all, Ratchet wasn’t who the team would blame for it all.

“You spoke with Rafael before you left.” He changed the subject because there was nothing else to say that would help anyone, and because he was suddenly feeling cowardly. “What did you find out?”

Optimus closed his eyes, turning his back on the small group of Autobots and children. “He can understand us. He… heard you mention a sparkling. I believe I have managed to defuse his suspicions. But we must be careful around him.”

Ratchet nodded, and he felt his processor rattle around in his head. Maybe the team would blame him for some of it after all. “This is going to end much worse than I feared.”

He’d predicted a battle, at most. Screaming and tears.  Now he was expecting a massacre.

✞✞✞

After an hour or so, Airachnid chose to just try and ignore the Wrecker. Killing him wasn’t worth the risk of losing favour with Prime, and she was certain he would soon get bored and fly off somewhere far away.

 Scorpia wasn’t making it easy, though. She kept reaching out towards him, undermining all her mother’s efforts to pretend he wasn’t there. He cooed at her, and she had the audacity to giggle like he was Optimus. What a little traitor she was.

At least he wasn’t waving that damn straw around anymore. Never mind where he got it from or how useful it was. Airachnid hated looking at it. She hated being reminded… 

“So why did you let me go?” Wheeljack asked from what he must have thought was a safe distance. “Real answers only this time.”

Primus, he really wasn’t going to let it drop, was he? Maybe that was the only reason he was still here.

“At the time,” Airachnid sighed, refusing to turn towards him as she wrestled Scorpia back into her harness, “I heard rumours that there was a hefty bounty out on a Wrecker in the quadrant. That was all I knew about it– I didn’t have a name or description. Whether or not anyone else knew more, they weren’t willing to discuss it. You were a Wrecker. You seemed like someone others would want dead. I took the chance, and I was wrong.”

She was good at getting information and acting on it. Even after she left the Decepticons, she’d put those skills to good use. But the exodus had left her with almost nothing, scrambling for a means to get away from Cybertron as well as other defectors. One false promise of safety had led to another, and soon she’d found herself stranded on the verge edge of Black Block Consortia territory. They were to Cybertronians what the DJD was to defectors like her– a militia of organics who’d vowed to destroy all mechanical life, and that was even before the war spread to other worlds. 

She’d had no idea how they would have treated a technorganic like herself, and she hadn’t been keen on finding out. The Wrecker’s bounty would have been her escape. She’d have cashed in his head, spent the credits on a ship of her own and sailed far away. She hadn’t even known what his crimes were– they must have been serious, for the price of his spark to be so high.

She only discovered Wheeljack wasn’t the fugitive after she’d strung his drugged frame up in her webs, after she stole his comm device and found the notice that the wanted Wrecker had been turned in just a few hours before. 

“The only reason I captured you was because I needed the money to move on,” Airachnid confessed. “And the only reason I let you go was because the cleanup wasn’t worth the trouble.”

She’d almost killed him anyway, just for wasting her time. Wheeljack was silent for a while, and without checking she silently hoped that he really had just up and left, now that he had what she assumed he wanted. But then he spoke again.

“Who was the bounty actually for?”

Airachnid took a moment to recall it, during which she considered just making up a name for fun. But then that would have just raised more questions. Maybe now he’d leave if she told him.

“His name was Impactor.”

“Ah.” His vox crackled, as if someone had just punched it. “Yeah. That tracks.”

There was probably a story there. A reason for why why Wheeljack reacted to his name like that, probably the same reason why so many credits had been put up to capture him. But they weren’t her credits, so she didn’t care enough to ask about it. 

Scorpia gurgled, waving her arms towards her mother now. Maybe now she’d finally drink her energon. If she starved, she’d only start crying all over again. And Wheeljack would get even more annoying.

“What were you doing in that place, anyway?” he asked, obviously just trying to not think about Impactor and whatever the story was that he didn’t want to talk about. “It was light years from Cybertron. Organic planets all around. This just the kind of place you like to hang around on?” 

He gestured to the trees and sand around them– Airachnid only saw the gesture because he stood up and wandered in front of her, his feet sinking into the sand as soon as he put pressure down. She looked at him only because she was waiting for him to fall over on his ass.

“Every planet like this is the same,” she hissed, while dripping energon into Scorpia’s mouth. “And I hate them all.”

Wheeljack kicked at the sand. “So why don’t you go somewhere else?”

Airachnid would have laughed, but then she would have lost control of her hand and wasted precious energon on the dirt. “You’re the one with the ship. Why don’t you ?”

“Cause Megatron’s here. This war ends with him.”

She couldn’t stop herself this time. At least she had the sense to tilt the energon up before the laughter came.

“Prime is at least smarter than he looks,” she said. “But you’re just stupid all the way through. Even if Megatron perishes, do you think everyone under him will surrender? You think the likes of Shockwave and the gestalts, you think the Decepticon Justice League will give up their cause just because one mech is dead?”

Wheeljack didn’t answer her, instead chewing at the scars on his mouth. The only sound between them was the waves on the shore.

“Megatron is a tyrant,” Airachnid went on, making the most of him choosing to stay quiet for once. “And he’s very good at it.  The moment he infused himself with dark energon, he turned himself into a thing of legend. And when you kill him, you’ll only turn him into a martyr. Can you say the same of Optimus? Will the Autobots thrive when he dies, or wither without him?”

He wasn’t the right person to ask. He wasn’t even an Autobot. She was only tearing him down because Prime himself wasn't here to take his place. It was petty, and she didn’t care. She’d earned the right to be petty.

“A Prime never dies,” Wheeljack said, and it wasn’t clear if he was talking to her or himself as he shrugged. “They just take a new form.”

Airachnid scoffed. “What a horrible way to live.”

If that was true, then she almost felt sorry for Optimus. Almost.

“You never answered my question.” Wheeljack crossed his arms over his chest, and though he seemed to lose his balance for a moment he stubbornly remained standing in the sand. “If you hate Megatron and the Decepticons, if you hate it here so much, why don’t you leave?” 

He threw a thumb in the direction of the death trap he’d apparently managed to trick into being able to fly, still parked on the other side of the beach like a stranded whale. “The ship still has fuel for another few light years. I could take you almost anywhere. Would save yourself and Prime a lot of trouble, I bet.”

Airachnid really thought he was joking. It wasn’t a very good joke. Even Scorpia seemed to mirror her mother’s displeasure as she gurgled.

A younger, more naive Airachnid would have stolen the ship for herself by now. With no clue how to pilot it, no idea of its fuel reserves or engine speed, no plan of where to go and what to do once she got there. A younger, more naive Airachnid had already done it before. Twice, in fact.

The first time had been during the exodus, just before she came across Wheeljack and made the horrible mistake of not killing him. The second time had been when Megatron was lost in the planet’s core, losing the fight against Unicron. 

That time, at least, she’d had a plan. She knew where to go, who she might find once she got there. She had a crew of drones to smooth out the journey. And she’d almost managed it. If not for Soundwave…

“And where do you suggest I go?” she asked.

Once again, Wheeljack didn’t have an answer. He actually seemed surprised that she didn’t have somewhere to escape to, or maybe it was just from the suggestion that she actually cared for his opinion on something.

(She didn’t, of course. She just really didn’t know where else she should be. As for Regulon Four… now that Scorpia was here, it was no longer an option.)

“Killing Megatron may do more harm than good,” Airachnid said, shaking her head. “But it still needs to happen. And I have to be the one to do it. That’s why I can’t leave.”

All the times she’d tried to escape before had failed. Sooner or later, she always ended up back at square one. If she tried to run again, she’d die a coward. At least this way she had a chance of taking Megatron to the Pit with her.

“How long d’you think that’ll take?” Wheeljack asked, but the real question was, ‘how old will Scorpia be when you finally kill her father?’

The sparkling’s eyes were closed, but Airachnid knew she was still awake. “However long,” she told her daughter, “will be too long.”

The Wrecker looked away from them both, turning his attention to something across the sea. The sun was far above the shoreline now. “That the only reason you’re sticking around?”

“What other reason is there?” Airachnid suspected a trick, but her patience was ground down so low that she ran right into it before she could shut her vox off.

“You’ve got a Prime on your side here.” Wheeljack shrugged again, as if it was obvious. “Would be hard to find another one of those.”

Airachnid rolled her eyes. “I have an idiot with a saviour complex who takes pity on me because I made the ridiculous decision to have a child.”

He just so happened to be a Prime as well. Not only was he risking his own life to help her, but likely the fate of his species as well. It didn’t mean anything special. 

“I think having the kid helps,” Wheeljack admitted. “But he still would have helped you without her.”

“I wouldn’t have needed his help without her.” It wasn’t even a comforting lie. Airachnid didn’t know why she said it. Scorpia cooed up at her mother, and she couldn’t even look at her now.

She should have just stayed in her cave. It was a familiar dead end, at least. Somewhere she could run away from– not from Megatron this time, but from those who thought they could help her by holding her captive. The island kept her penned in; no matter how big it was, it would never be big enough for her to hide in forever. 

But damn if she wasn’t going to try. She just wanted Wheeljack to go away already. If he wasn’t going to take the hint, she’d leave him with no reason to stay.

She was in the canopy in seconds, her webline almost invisible in the morning glare. Last night, she’d managed to find two trees to string a hammock of webbing between. She’d find another pair further away this time, far deeper into the jungle. Best to not stay in one place for too long. The trap of habit was the most dangerous one.

“Same time tomorrow, then?” Wheeljack called after her, showing a surprising level of basic intelligence by not trying to follow her.

“If you’re not gone by the time I wake up,” she vowed from the canopy, “I’ll find a Sharkticon and feed you to it.”

As she traversed the trees, Scorpia giggled under her chin. Airachnid would have loved to have known what was so funny to her. 

When Orion found the Matrix and accepted its burden, when he followed Alpha Trion’s direction and purged the Allspark from his home, when he was no longer Orion and no longer a friend of Megatronus, he only thought of one thing in the deceptive calm that came after.

‘Elita… I need to find her. I promised I’d see her.’

He didn’t even know how long it had been since he’d left her. After the council meeting, after Megatronus murdered Senator Halogen… everything had happened so quickly. Orion’s comm unit had been cut, the entire city of Iacon placed on lockdown. 

And then hundreds of people– miners and factory workers and smelters and gladiators– stormed the gates to rescue their leader. He was no longer Megatronus, just as Orion was no longer Orion. 

His people called themselves Decepticons, and he called himself Megatron. It was somehow even more ominous than naming himself after The Fallen.

Orion had reached out a hand across the distance between them, and a plasma bolt had almost severed it clean from his wrist. He didn’t recognise that hand now. The Matrix had given him a new body as well as a new name. He could only hope that Elita would still recognise him.

He found her in her favourite place– Helix Gardens. The crystals within had heard her singing voice more than anyone else on Cybertron. It was the only place in Praxus spared from its neon street lights, high up enough from the streets that it almost seemed to be its own territory, the only place in the city where the stars could be seen. Even the most stubborn glare from the nightclubs below (which were still bustling despite, or perhaps because of, the very real threat of planet-wide war) were caught by the many hanging crystals, scattered somewhere far away and leaving the space within as a tranquil darkness. 

To the east, you could see almost clear across to Iacon from the balconies where she was standing. It was difficult to disguise his approach, with how much noise his footsteps now made. Even so, she seemed to deliberately ignore the sound until it stopped at the very edge of the balcony.

“Orion?” She was still looking at distant Iacon, at the thick smoke from the fires still burning. Then she whirled around, as if forcing herself to face him. She was startled, which was what he expected. But it still hurt to see her look at him as a stranger.

“No… sorry. You’re Optimus now.” She shook her head, rubbing at her optics. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”

The news had spread much faster than he would have liked. “Who else knows?”

“The whole of Cybertron, of course. You’re the first true Prime in millennia. How could anyone not know?”

Before, neither of them had been taller than the other. Now she barely came to the height of his chest, where the Matrix now lived. She put her hands there, and she was warm despite her shaking fingers. 

“You look so different,” she whispered, not meeting his eyes.

“And you look as beautiful as ever,” he told her. She always laughed at that. But now she she shook her head again, and her hands fell as if she’d been repelled. 

“Don’t do that, Or… Optimus.”

“Do what?”

Elita hugged herself. He wanted his own arms to be around her, but he was frozen in place. The garden’s crystals hummed all around him, but they gave no answers.

“You’re a Prime now,” Elita said. “You’ve just stopped an international terrorist incident. Megatron… he’s not going to stop at this. Everyone knows that. You must know that.”

She knew the true gravity of the situation, then. She wouldn’t let him ignore it. She was far too sensible.

“Civil war,” Orion said. “Worse than what the Quintessons brought us. I’ve heard the doomsayers.”

He couldn’t admit that they were all right, especially not to her.

“What really happened in there?” she asked. “With Megatron?”

Orion had watched the events over and over in his memory– trying to find where he’d said the wrong thing, the precise moment where Megatron decided to murder Halogen in front of him and do far worse still– yet he still couldn’t give her an answer that told her everything he wanted her to know. Alpha Trion, at least, had helped him rehearse the story.

That was what it was now. A story. A myth. Optimus Prime– formerly Orion, formerly a Pax– was now an unremovable part of Cybertron’s history. Even those who saw it firsthand, those who were in the chamber alongside him, would all say something different. 

Some would say he provoked Megatron. Some would say he was after the Matrix all along. And some would still celebrate him for it. Only one person knew who he really was. Only one deserved to know, and she was looking at him now like he was an angry God.

He hated that look as much as he loved her. 

“The Council wouldn’t listen to him,” Orion told her. “He became angry. I… attempted to defuse the situation. I echoed his words. I changed almost nothing about them. For whatever reason, they liked the sound of blasphemy from my vox over his.”

If Elita had heard other rumours that contradicted him, if she disagreed with him at all, she chose not to show it. He wanted to be relieved, but the feeling wouldn’t come. 

“So they named you as the next Prime,” she said, but he shook his head. Alpha Trion had warned him that was one part of the story that would be difficult to change.

“That’s what everyone may believe. But it’s not what they said.” He joined her on the balcony now, though he feared it might collapse under his weight when he heard its glass creaking. “They saw that we were both dangerous. So they sent us both on a suicide mission after the Matrix.” 

He paused to allow room for the disbelief that he knew she wouldn’t be feeling. Others weren’t as cynical as her, though. He had to anticipate their reactions and tailor his speech accordingly. And he’d be doing it for the rest of his life.

“They didn’t know where it was,” he went on. “If they did, they would have given it to Sentinel millions of years ago. We weren’t supposed to come back. I wasn’t supposed to…”

“Become a Prime.” She closed her eyes as she finished the decree for him. 

Megatron must have realised the truth much sooner than anyone else. He knew the Senate just wanted them gone. That was why he killed Halogen, right? It was self defence. He would have taken them all out if he hadn’t been stopped.

But then, why did he attack Orion as well? Why storm Iacon? Why did he already have an army at his command? 

Where did he even get dark energon from, to threaten Cybertron’s heart with it?

Alpha Trion had offered an answer to him, the only possible one, but Orion hadn’t wanted to hear it. Megatron had never wanted a peaceful surrender. He’d given the Senate one chance to save themselves. By not kneeling before him they had, in his eyes, wasted it. 

And now Orion was just like the rest of them. He was the enemy, and he had to die.

“So how did you?” Elita asked. “How did you… become this?”

She must have gestured to him, but his eyes were on the horizon now. Iacon was still smoking. Soon the clouds would hide the stars even as far as here.

“Alpha Trion,” he said. “He knew where the Matrix really was. He’d been guarding it. It was in Vector Sigma, at Cybertron’s core.”

“How did he…?” She trailed off, and she had the realisation much faster than Orion himself did. Not all of the Thirteen were gone. The Covenant, those very few pages available to the public, had even said as much, and it only ever had one author.

“Alpha Prime,” Orion confirmed, and despite everything he almost laughed. “He was with us all along.”

It hadn’t even been a good disguise. Yet it had fooled everyone, even the Senate. Hiding in plain sight was sometimes better than being invisible.

“Where is he now?” Elita asked, and Orion had hoped she wouldn't.

“I wish I knew. Before we reached the surface, after… after we stopped Megatron, we were ambushed. Insecticons came after us. We lost him.”

It was as simple as that. In the chaos, he’d lost sight of his mentor. The few allies he’d managed to rally– Chromia, Jazz, Mirage and Ironhide and Prowl and others he hadn’t even learned the names of when they threw themselves at his feet– scoured the catacombs by his side. No-one could find his body, which was as much a relief as it was a loss.

Orion wanted to believe Alpha Trion had simply slipped away to take on another name, another disguise. He wanted to believe his mentor was right– that he was worthy of the Matrix. He wanted to believe that Megatron could still be saved from himself. But he knew that he could only have one come true, if any at all.

“I’m sorry, Optimus.” Elita’s hand was so light against his arm that he only felt her EM field caressing his own.

He wondered how different he felt to her now, with a hundred godly ancestors converging in his heart. Maybe that was the real reason why she didn’t recognise him at first.

“I broke my promise,” he said. “I’m sorry too.”

“What promise?” Without looking at her, he could feel the flicker of her confusion.

“I told you I’d see you right after the meeting,” he explained. “I’m very late.”

“Orion, you idiot .” She punched his shoulder, and it was like a petrorabbit clawing at him. But she was laughing. Finally he could hear her laugh, and it drowned out all the other voices now living in his spark. He laughed too, and all around them both the crystals caught the echo and amplified it over and over. 

They were surrounded by their own shared joy, a chorus of doppelgangers in love. Orion finally held her, and for that moment he could almost ignore the smoke in the sky and the last hope of Cybertron now laying heavy with his spark.

The ringing stopped, eventually. The crystals fell silent, and Elita went still against him.

“You know we can’t stay like this.” She spoke against his chest, her vox a dull vibration that his spark keened for behind the Matrix’s suffocating shell.

“Why not?” he asked so foolishly, as if he was daring her to push him away in disgust. He couldn’t afford to be so naive anymore, but not even the Matrix could erase old habits. Not even a Prime could be reborn in a single night.

It had really only taken that long. Billions of years of Senate rule, of Cybertron’s Golden Age, had ended in just a few hours. It had been so easy, at such a great cost. To Megatron, it was worth it. It was probably what he’d been hoping for all along.

“The whole planet is looking at you now.” Elita pulled away only to hold him at arm's length. “They trust you. They don’t even know you, but they trust you. They have to. Anyone who wants to stand against Megatron and survive, they’ll be standing with you. You… you’re the only one they’ll listen to.”

With her back to the garden’s crystals now, her eyes rivalled their collective glow. She was burning like Iacon, a funeral pyre in the making.

“And all that means I can’t love you?” Orion wanted her to say no. Even though it was wrong, it was all he wanted to hear.

Elita winced at him as she gritted her teeth. He expected her to punch his plates again. “Orion, please . You’re supposed to be the smart one of us. You can’t pretend we can just… go on like nothing has changed. You can’t afford any distractions. Not if we’re going to get out of this slag alive.”

So she believed a Prime couldn’t love any more. She was as scared as him. But where he sought her out for comfort, she felt the urge to push him away. The fact that he understood it didn’t make it any less painful. 

“Elita… Ariel.” Orion beckoned to her, reaching for her shoulder but finding her face instead. Her cheeks were damp against his fingers. “Don’t ask me to do this without you. Please.”

“Orion…” Even as Elita shook her head again, she covered what little she could of his hand with her own.

“Please.” He wanted to touch his head to hers, just as he’d always done before, but the distance between them was so great now. She closed her eyes, squeezing his hand with all her strength. She would have left a dent if he was anyone else. 

“What if…” she gulped, “what if they don’t like me?”

Orion was about to ask her who ‘they’ were. She was looking across the edge of the balcony again– not only at Iacon this time. The rest of the planet kept spinning around them. And when he left this garden, its eyes would be on him all over again. They’d see Elita too. They’d have questions about her.

“Why would they not?” he asked. She was already beloved. Even those who didn’t attend her concerts wouldn’t deny her skills. Elita was humble, but she was never shy. She knew her talents, how many people loved her for them. She knew Orion was the only one who loved her for so much more.

She let go of his hand, and as soon as she did she lost the strength to hold her head up.

“I’m not a fighter.” Elita laughed when she said the word. “For Primus' sake, I can't even transform! I don’t know a thing about tactics or strategy or weapons–”

‘ Neither do I,’ Orion wanted to say, but she wouldn’t let him interrupt.

“The whole planet knows me… they think they do, at least. But not like they think they know you. I’m not what they need to survive through this. At the end of the day, I’m still only the Circle’s voice. All I know how to do is sing and dance. It’s all I’ve ever had to know.”

She moved away from him, catching herself on the balcony railing, furiously rubbing the wet away from her face. “They’ll look at you, and they’ll see hope. They’ll see what they’ve needed all their lives. They’ll look at me” – she laughed again, at her own expense – “and they’ll wonder what the hell I’m doing standing at your side. I can’t… I won’t have them saying I don’t deserve you. Even if it's true.”

She didn’t want him to hear that last part. He didn’t want to hear it either. Orion was never someone who was quick to anger. But Optimus Prime… someone insulting his beloved, even if it was her herself, was something he could not abide.

“It’s not true.” He reached for her arm, his strength set by fury. Only when he touched her EM field, the depth of its sadness washing over him, was he able to release his grip. “Don’t ever tell yourself that, Ariel. Please don’t ever.”

She was never ‘just’ a singer, or a dancer. She was so much stronger than she might ever understand. He could only try and change that.

She did not flinch from him, at least. Despite how heavy his own lingering anger felt, she did not run from him. Not yet. 

“Orion…” She held onto him even as her head went to the skies. The stars were so bright tonight, as if jealous of Iacon’s destruction in their wake. “What if they hate me?”

This time he didn’t have an answer for her. Even though Alpha Trion had warned him about that as well. The Decepticons had not sprung up out of nowhere, and even those who didn’t give themselves the name would have reasons to hate him. 

Megatron was only one of millions of caste-trapped people driven to desperation by eons of oppression. To them, a new Prime replacing the Senate was nothing to celebrate. A Prime was still an oppressor, still an enemy. And unlike the Senate, who could govern themselves so long as there were people willing to take the risk of their mantle, there was only one of him.

Even the fact that Megatron had tried to poison the Allspark would not sway the most hopeless of them. At least he was doing something. At least he wasn’t a Prime.

He had no answer for himself, and he had no answer for Elita. More people, strangers and friends alike, would hate them than would ever love them. Such was their burden, by trying to do the right thing.

‘You will be hated,’ Alpha Trion– Alpha Prime– had told him, even before he guided him to the Matrix. ‘ You are the only one who can carry this title, and you will be hated for it. Even if you do everything right, even if millions prosper thanks to your efforts, a million more may still perish. There is little you can do to stop this.’

He would never know why Alpha Trion had chosen him at all. The Senate’s words had meant nothing to one of the Thirteen. Perhaps he had given the warning alongside the blessing to others in his time, and Orion was the only one who did not shy away from it.

A single voice in his chest spoke to him now. The only Prime who had known a love so strong that he died for it… and had done much worse because of it. 

How ironic, that Megatron’s namesake would try to help him now. Before Orion could shut him out, he gave the youngest Prime the words that both he and Elita would need at this moment. 

And then he was gone. Orion could do with them what he wished. And despite where they had come from… they were the only solace he could offer.

“...Then I will still love you,” he told Elita. “And I’d hope you’d still love me.”

Hers was the only love he needed, after all. Anything else was just a bonus.

But Elita froze under his touch, and he immediately feared the worst. Before he could scramble to apologise, she threw herself into him. He could feel the coolant from her eyes in a hot rush. Her EM field was screaming at him, her digits clawing into him, but not in rage.

She was still scared, of course. But they would be scared together, holding on like this under the stars. 

“I want you to have something,” Orion said, still holding tight long after she’d stopped shaking. “Proof that my words are not empty.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to me, Orion.” But even as she protested, he knelt to present the offering that was now in his hands. It was half the size of his palm, a key of simple design but of monumental resonance and searing light. It hurt to even look directly at it (and Alpha Trion had, again, warned against that).

Megatron had tried to choke it with dark energon. The only way to spare it was to steal it away. Without it, Cybertron would never produce life again. It was the soul of Cybertron, the other inheritance left behind by Primus. The only thing of more significance than the Matrix in Orion’s body, the only hope Cybertron would have if he ever fell. 

“That’s…” Elita shielded her eyes, but their ignited coronas were still visible through the shadows. “It can’t be.”

“The Allspark,” Orion confirmed. “I want you… I would have you guard it for me.”

She shook her head, because she was still sane. “I… I can’t. I don’t know how…”

“I don’t have anything else to propose with,” he said, and she went silent for such a long time that the Helix Garden crystals, for the very first time, had no sound within them.

“You–?” Her hand was in front of her mouth, and her optics were drowning. He regretted doing this to her. At the same time, there was no-one else he could trust, and there was no better way for him to show that trust.

He really should have done it a lot sooner. But better late than never. Better to die with his love than live alone.

“I can’t win this fight without you, Ariel.” His vox cracked on her name, despite his best efforts, and the crystals echoed it all around him. “And even if I could… I don’t want to.”

She stared at him, then at the Allspark, back and forth. She didn’t say yes. She didn’t need to say anything when she finally took it from his hand into her own. He didn’t see where she put it in her subspace– it was safe with her. That was all he needed to know.

“What happens now?” she asked, her vox thick with static charge. And once again, he did not know. As she’d said, they couldn’t stay here forever. Cybertron needed Optimus Prime. The others, his few friends, were keeping watch for him outside, only so he could devote all of his attention to her. It was the least that she deserved. 

“I would like to be Orion for a little while longer,” he decided. “With you.”

“...I’d like that too.”  The metal of her palm was warm as he closed his hand around it. Iacon was still smoking so far away, but the fires seemed to have died now. Standing beside him, Ariel was burning so much brighter than the ruins.

Even without the Allspark in her grasp, she could dazzle the stars. Even if Optimus Prime failed in the end, even if Cybertron fell, at least he'd done one thing right. At least he would always be home with her.

✞✞✞

Two million years later

She didn’t have a name for herself yet. There were a few options, the ones she’d overheard while she was passed between dark tunnels. The one who’d caught her had called her a beast. The one he’d handed her off to called her a specimen. And the one who’d tied her legs together and thrown her in this prison cell called her a spider.

She didn’t know who these captors were, what they were, what they wanted from her. They were aliens of some kind, yet she understood what they were saying. And they all hated her. Even if she didn’t recognise their faces, she knew what disgust looked like. She looked at them all the very same way.

And yet they didn’t kill her. They were so insistent on keeping her alive, despite how she spat and clawed at them. Despite how she begged them to fight her. They were obviously predators, like her, yet they were so relaxed. They had energy to waste on toying with her. They were so much like her brethren. 

But now, it seemed like these predators had finally become bored with her. It was impossible to tell how long she’d been left alone for. She could see nothing in the cell– only the thinnest sliver of light managed to bleed through  the other side of the door, and a faint blue glow tried to beckon to her in the corner. She turned away from it.

Eventually she started tearing at her own lips with her fangs, just to quench her thirst with her own blood. Her hunger, already clawing at her insides, could be sated with her own legs if she was desperate enough. Her brethren had done the same during the harshest winters, devouring their own limbs or those of weaker broodmates.

(She always expected them to try and cannibalise her as well, just as they did their own kin, but they never did. Even when she mistook their eggs for food, they never tried to kill her.)

Even though all eight of them were tied around her back, she had enough of them to keep her going for a while. But what would be the point? She’d still starve in the end. She wouldn’t even take some of the bastards out with her. She might as well just die from the shame.

There was a voice outside her cell now, one she hadn’t heard before. Though it tried to whisper, in the absence of all other sound she heard it with a jarring clarity.

“...Five klicks. Our lord doesn’t need to know.”

Then the door opened. The light blinded her before she managed to shield her eyes. Her own reflexive hiss released spit that burned into her arm, but she resisted the urge to drop her shoulder. She’d long ago learned how to ignore pain. 

“Hello there.” The same voice spoke to her now. From its echo, she assumed that the door was once again closed. Even so, she didn’t uncurl from herself until her arm stopped burning. There was a light in the cell with her now, not searing like what was outside. It was a part of him, a noxious green halo around his frame.

He was like the rest of them; male, metallic. Though he was something very different as well. His legs were like her own– though they were hidden behind his back, she recognised them instantly.

“You can understand me, can’t you?” he asked. “You don’t have to say anything. Just nod.”

She didn’t know what he meant, so she did nothing. The stranger examined her prison, as if seeing it for the first time, and glanced twice at the blue glow in the corner. 

“You’re not hungry?” He leaned down to pick up the glowing thing– she could see now it was a cube of fluid that he tilted to each side. “Can’t imagine you had much of this where you came from. How did you survive?”

She still didn’t answer.

“It is fuel, you know. You should drink some. You’ll feel better.” 

He offered it to her with hands that looked like her own, and she recoiled. Bright colours like that were dangerous, they were warnings . Poisonous things, deadlier things than her, were bright like that. Threats that she couldn’t fight.

Even in the dark, she could see that he was bright like that as well.

“Hm. I think I see the problem…” 

From somewhere unseen he pulled out some kind of stick– though it was much thinner than any she was familiar with, barely the size of her longest claw. He rolled it between his own claws and then placed one end within the fluid, leaving the other hanging in the air.

“You might find it easier this way. See?” He put the hanging end of the stick against his mouth, and what followed was the same sound she often made while sucking blood from a carcass.

“Your turn.” He offered her the cube, turning the stick in her direction. It was hollow, offering a path to the liquid within. She understood how it worked now, but her willingness to drink hadn’t changed.

Her hunger, however… she hadn't eaten since even before her abduction. It was a bad time for hunting– the easy prey were hidden away hibernating, and the larger creatures were vicious with their own starvation. Her own kind, the other beasts and specimens and spiders, did not hunt with her if they could avoid it. She’d cultured a reputation for hoarding most of the meat to herself– which was only fair. She did most of the work to kill it, after all. It was the least she deserved. 

For whatever reason, they allowed her to be selfish. But their generosity hadn’t helped her when the hunter came. She’d only been overpowered because she was so weak, and because she was alone.

If the blue glow was deadly, if it would kill her… at least she wouldn’t starve. At least it would be quick.

She drank, and she did not die. She drank again, gulping as much as she could, until all that was left was dregs. Then the stranger offered her another cube, and she did it again. This time she didn’t need the stick. 

At some point, while the fuel was dripping down her chin like blood, her drenched vox remembered how to speak. She remembered what words really were.

“What… are you?” she asked, and it was the first time she’d ever heard her own voice.

“I’m like you.” He was kneeling now, alongside her on the floor. “More than anyone else around here.”

Something inside him crunched, though it wasn’t the sound of bones that she was used to. This was something mechanical. 

“My name is Tarantulas.” His claws lay flat against his chest. “Can you tell me yours?”

She was still savouring the fuel. It was not food, yet it had sated her better than a hundred carcasses. For the first time in her memory, she was no longer hungry. She was no longer fighting to stay alive.

Tarantulas… he was a spider too. He knew what she was, what she needed. He was her captor, and yet he was helping her.

When he asked his question, a word came to her. It leapt from her vox before she knew what it was.

“Ar–” 

And then it was gone.

“...No. I don’t know.”

“That’s alright.” Tarantulas took the empty cube from her trembling hands. “Do you mind if I give you a name? You don’t have to keep it. You can change it whenever you wish, if you find one that suits you better. Everyone needs a name. Everyone deserves one.”

She nodded. She knew what that meant now, somehow.

Tarantulas went silent. He was thinking for some time. The bones that were not bones still crunched inside of him.

“Airachnid,” he said, as if it was something sacred.  “How does that sound?”

She didn’t know how to answer. She didn’t know what it meant. He said she could change it,  if she wanted. So what did it matter if she liked it?

“Would you like to leave here, Airachnid?”

She wished he would stop asking her questions. She wished the light wasn’t so blinding.

“I want to go home.” She said it without thinking, with her vox catching on the word. Home. She knew the meaning of it, but not the feeling. The place where she’d come from wasn’t home. She was asking for something that didn’t even exist to her.

“This is Cybertron, Airachnid.” Tarantulas stood up and held out a hand of bristling claws towards her, and he spoke as if he was apologising. “This is your home."

The curse at the back of Optimus’ vox only vaguely sounded like his own voice. Orion had once spoken that way. He’d almost forgotten the sound of it. He tried to let the curse out, but all that emerged was static.

His quarters were still bare. His berth was still empty. Elita was still dead. 

How he cherished these memories of her, even as they taunted him. Perhaps that was exactly why they were happening to him. Or, if he refused to believe the Matrix was still punishing him, maybe they plagued him to ensure that, despite everything, he knew that she still loved him as he loved her. As if he could never forget that. 

Even in her absence, in the gulf of his spark, Optimus knew that he still had so much to fight for. The Allspark was waiting for him. He had given it to Elita because it was all he had to give, but it hadn’t died with her. She hadn’t taken it with her to Archa Seven. He’d wondered about that, in the centuries after. He still wondered about it today. 

Ratchet had warned him it wasn’t healthy to speculate. Of course she’d left it on Cybertron, where it belonged. Of course she hadn’t known what would happen to her that day.  And of course Ratchet was right. 

And yet Optimus still wondered. Even when he ordered the Allspark to be fired far out of Megatron’s reach, far away from his own anger and grief, he wondered if it was right to leave Cybertron’s only hope of life stranded in the dead of space. His own burden was the Matrix, and his broken bond. The Allspark was all he had left of that bond– a broken promise not just to Elita, but to Cybertron and his Autobots. 

He had failed to stop Megatron from poisoning their home. He had failed to save Iacon and the priceless knowledge in its halls. He had failed to end Megatron’s tyranny before it spread all through the galaxy like a galactic tumour. And until he set those failings right, until Cybertron was ready to welcome him home, the Allspark would remain severed from its source.

And Optimus was the only one who knew where it was. If he died, his successor would inherit the knowledge as well as the Matrix. Primus would choose someone else worthy of saving Him and their people– even if it took thousands of years or millions upon millions for them to emerge, the next Prime would surely do better than Optimus. 

But he didn’t plan on dying any time soon. Elita would never forgive him for joining her before his time. He doubted anyone, not even the workhorse Ratchet, would be awake with him at this hour. He lay in his empty berth, in silence, until he heard footsteps in the hangar.

Ratchet was preparing the energon rations for the day. He didn’t seem surprised to see Optimus awake.

“Good rest?” he asked. Optimus didn’t want to answer, so he offered a different question.

“Did Arcee come back?” He spoke her name softly, wary of summoning her with its sound.

“While you were sleeping.” Ratchet nodded in the direction of the other rooms, which were on the opposite side of the hangar. “She didn’t say anything, but she must have taken Jack home. No-one’s seen him since he went after her.”

Optimus tried to consider that as a good thing. Of any Cybertronian or human, Jack was the only one who could defuse her. He was too fragile for her to truly ever be angry at him. 

Furthermore, they both had ample reason to despise Airachnid. When they learned the truth, it would either unite them in their hatred or tear them apart. Jack might have been able to forgive it, with enough time for a worthy apology to grow. Whether or not he’d ever forgive Airachnid herself was… doubtful. 

The more Optimus tried to think of the best way to tell everyone, the more keenly he knew that it couldn’t be done. There were no magic words he could say that would make the Autobots understand why he’d done it. 

“Our fuel stores are starting to show a dent,” Ratchet was saying at the back of his mind. “We should scout for a mining operation soon to make up the deficit.”

Optimus nodded, though he was only half-listening. Even the existence of a sparkling wouldn’t be enough for the Autobots– Arcee would say he should have taken her and left Airachnid behind. Unlike Ratchet and Wheeljack, she didn’t understand how much sparkling relied on its carrier. 

She might have thought of becoming one herself, when the war still looked like it might have been won on Cybertron. Before Tailgate was taken from them.

“Optimus?”

Ratchet’s hand was heavy on his shoulder. Optimus tried not to flinch from it, and when he turned around he saw that the medic was just as exhausted as he was. The light in his eyes was faint and soft, fueled only by fumes. He must have aged centuries in the last few days of knowing about Airachnid.

“You look awful, old friend.”

“Never mind that,” Ratchet scoffed. “You look worse. Talk to me.”

Optimus wished that he could. 

“Is it Arcee?” Ratchet stood with his arms crossed as Optimus turned away. “You know how she is. Her spark runs hotter than anyone’s, but it cools down faster. I’m sure… when we tell it, it won’t…”

Optimus shook his head. He faced the Ground Bridge, though it was just an empty frame. He could have worked the controls himself, leaving Ratchet to fret all alone. He never would, but the option was there.

“I dreamed about her again.” Optimus sighed. “When I wake, there is a single moment where I believe she’ll be lying next to me. I can almost feel her warmth. And then it leaves me.” 

He looked to his oldest friend over his shoulder, and his vision was blurry. “It hurts, Ratchet. Every time I see Elita, it hurts.”

And this was a hurt that no medic, not even one with Ratchet’s skills, could fix. He would still try, and it still wouldn’t do anything. 

Ratchet was right, after all. He always was. Saving one victim of Archa Seven wouldn't bring another back.

“Moments like this always get worse before they get better.” Ratchet held out something soft to clear his eyes with. “You don’t have to go through it alone, Optimus.”

“I won’t.” The fibreglass cloth soaked up the coolant before it left his optics. “Where is Wheeljack?”

“He sleeps in his ship. Don’t know where he keeps it. If he’s anything like Bulkhead, we won’t see him until long after sunrise.”

Optimus returned the cloth, and the Ground Bridge lever was heavy as he pulled it down. “He’ll know where to find me.”

“Optimus.”

The vortex invited him in, but Ratchet’s voice held him in place.

“Remember that you’re needed here as well. I know it isn’t easy, with… how much we’ve had to hide. But the others still rely on you. You give them something more important than energon. They need hope. And they trust you more than you know.”

Optimus nodded without looking at him. Being distant now would only make the truth hurt worse when it finally came out. He had to prepare them for it. He needed them just as much as they needed him. And he had to know that they wouldn’t hate him so much for it. 

Even if he deserved it. Even though he did deserve it.

✞✞✞

Airachnid reached out for Tarantulas’ claws, but all she grasped was empty space. The sensation of falling through that space hit her before it happened– and then the ground below hit right back. 

Her first thought in waking from the daze was Scorpia. She’d been lashed to her mother’s chest for safety, but if she’d escaped the bindings, or if Airachnid had landed on top of her–

The sparkling cried out, but there was no pain in her vox. She was just as shocked from the sudden crash as her mother was. Airachnid felt her squirming, and could tell right away that no limbs were broken and no more of her legs had snapped off. Her own chassis was bruised and dented– nothing she couldn’t recover from. 

Despite the thick undergrowth, crushed ferns and tangled vines beneath her, the sheer velocity of her fall was enough to rattle her gyroscopes and leave her surrounded by nagging system warnings. She dismissed them all with a weary snarl. The outside world was naught but the distant crash of waves on rock, waves on sand, and the hiss of her breath through her vents just before she finally opened her eyes. Her recharge hammock, weaved together from hundreds of her own web stands, was twisted around itself high above her. Despite her painstaking construction, she’d managed to roll over and fall right out of it.

Note for next time; closer to the ground, more surface area. Perhaps she’d be better off cocooning herself, if she was able to disguise the webs well enough that being encased wouldn’t leave her vulnerable. Or maybe the Prime would conjure a shelter for her. She’d have to hide her new injuries if he visited again. The last thing she wanted was an excuse for him to stick around and monitor her– or worse, more reasons for him to pity her. 

Scorpia whined and shrieked against Airachnid’s chest, still not understanding what had just happened, only calming down when her mother squashed her own spark frequency to a lower pitch. Distress would always mirror distress. The only cure for a scared sparkling was to not be scared yourself.

Airachnid was not scared. Now that there was no way for her to hide it, she wouldn't let herself be. Scorpia was always watching, observing and learning. Her whole world was only what Airachnid would let her see, and she had to be careful in that regard. 

If she was to survive to adulthood, she would have to obey her mother. And if she was anything like her mother, she wouldn’t obey someone she didn’t respect. Airachnid could only hope that, so long as she never encountered her father, she would be nothing like him.

Eventually, Scorpia went quiet. A sparkling was never truly silent, not even while they slept, but their ambient chirps were reassurance that the fragile things were still alive. As Airachnid rolled onto her side, wincing silently as she pushed herself up, she found that something else had fallen down with her. Lying next to her was the deer skull she’d harvested just a few days ago, her one and only collection piece. Its empty eye sockets watched her with a dead mother’s approval, and she put her claws through those sockets to carry it to the beach with her.

On Archa Seven, she’d seen many skeletons– most of them she’d had a hand in creating. She’d always assumed her own rattling under her skin had looked the same; a hard skull, a thousand shards in each leg, a ribcage around her burning heart. It wasn’t until Tarantulas had shown her a dead Cybertronian in his lab that she realised how different her corpse would have been, lying in that lonely jungle.

It had been a long time since she’d thought so much of him. It was inevitable that he’d show up in her dreams. But that wasn’t just a dream– it was a rehearsed memory. Their very first meeting. Who knew how long she would have stayed in that cell if he hadn’t come along to take her out. 

After that he’d rarely left her side, and no-one had tried to make him. She hadn’t realised how lucky she was back then, to have someone watching her. The Decepticon mortality rate was high, even outside of battle. Resources were so scarce and ranks were so important that those who couldn’t fight for their lives were left to die. Generals would be assassinated by their underlings every week only so that someone else would get their fuel rations.

It was no wonder that Megatron quickly resorted to using Vehicons for the bulk of his cannon fodder. But by that point, the damage was irreversible. The only commanders left alive were as bloodthirsty and selfish as the spiders Airachnid had briefly called her family, and she had admired most of them. 

But beyond that, the war had no allure for her. Tarantulas had been too busy teaching her the essentials of survival to spread Megatron’s propaganda, and she doubted that he even believed in half of it. Just because Cybetron was her home did not make her a Cybertronian. She never understood why so many of them sacrificed their sparks for naught– a bulk order of idiotic suicide– any more than she had understood why she was so different from them. What did she care for the fate of a planet that she was dragged kicking and screaming onto, for the fealty demanded by a symbol forced onto her chest, which would rust as easily as any other dead metal on the battlefield?  

The others eventually learned the same lesson during Cybertron's funeral march; when the hollow streets were left for the dead and the sky was choked with the promise of escape, the promise of hope flung out among the stars. And yet only a handful found that hope on Earth. Did that mean all those others were dead, or only that they knew to stay away from Megatron? Airachnid didn’t often wonder about that.

Tarantulas was another one of the hundreds who had deserted the Decepticons when Cybertron finally gave up its last breath. Some banded together and took ships for themselves, others scavenged what they could from the ruins of their war and took flight in desperation. He had told her to find him on Regulon Four, if she had nowhere else to go, and for whatever vain reason she had chosen the opposite direction. 

She’d wanted to prove something. Truthfully, she’d been terrified of disappointing him. She didn’t believe in ghosts, but she did believe he was haunting her. With Scorpia hanging limp in her harness as she walked, she wondered when sparklings were supposed to start having their own dreams. She hoped her daughter’s would be brighter than her own.

Airachnid found the familiar beach by following the sound of the water. It was a slice of the island that she was slowly learning to navigate– only a sliver compared to all the space around her still left to explore. Prime must have given her ample land for a reason, but the only ones she could think of didn’t make sense to her.

If she wanted, she could run in any direction and hide there for days. She could probably hunt one half of the island to extinction and no-one would even realise until months after. It was simply too perfect for her. The only answer she could come to was that Prime really did trust her, which still made no sense.

Well. It was in her best interest to be trustworthy. But she’d never been good at lying. That was the main difference between her and the likes of Starscream; they both hated Megatron, but he could at least pretend that he didn’t when it would keep him alive. Airachnid couldn’t pull it off– she had too much pride that she couldn’t swallow.

But maybe that was exactly why Prime trusted her, if he really did. She didn’t bother putting on a mask. She didn’t pretend to be anything other than what she was, and what she had to be to stay alive. Even if she wanted to kill him, she wouldn’t have resisted the urge for this long.

And even if they were both the only living creatures on Earth, even if Megatron was just a bad dream and her bloodthirst was clawing at her throat, she still wouldn’t be able to do it. She wasn’t so bitter anymore that she would sacrifice her own life to take out a Prime, just to prove that she could. Just to prove that he was wrong to think she was worth saving.

She still didn’t believe it, though. No-one, not the Autobots, not even Optimus Prime, was wholly good. There had to be a catch, something waiting to ambush her. Compassion was nothing more than a trap. Tarantulas’ greatest compassion towards her had been teaching her that fact.

In war, in the Decepticons, no-one will choose to help you. No-one will come to save you. Loyalty didn’t mean much to the dead, and even less to the dying. But death was not a tragedy. In most cases, it was the reward for a life well lived. The only tragedy was a life put to waste. 

That was another reason why she failed to understand Cybertronians. They believed in the Allspark, didn’t they? They knew a paradise awaited them. Why did they mourn when the ones they loved went there? They must have not loved them that much to begin with, to be so jealous of them that they couldn’t be happy for the end of their suffering.

Even to this day, Arcee mourned Tailgate. It had been millions of years. Airachnid didn’t remember how long exactly. Then again, she couldn’t even remember the name of every spark she’d taken under Megatron’s command. And Arcee had blood on her hands as well. Not just faceless Vehicons– on Cybertron, she’d claimed at least thirty different Decepticon lives. Even without the information she’d been carrying at the time, she was a high priority target. Airachnid remembered that much.

Maybe the real difference between Autobots and Decepticons was how well they remembered their kills.

A weight suddenly pulled on Airachnid’s chest, as Scorpia pried at her restraints with all her meagre strength. Two weeks old, and she was already able to manipulate her limbs. After her imprisonment and countless surgeries, Airachnid had taken longer as an adult to make herself useful. 

She freed her sparkling from the harness and set her down on the sand alongside her souvenir skull. The sun was trying to rise, its light not yet blinding on the still waves ahead, and the humid seaspray was like a suspended rainfall around her. It would be another hour until it was above the horizon, and longer still until she expected Prime to appear– if he was able to get away. 

Airachnid would survive a day without refuelling, but though Scorpia didn’t drink much energon in one sitting she did require it more often. Her tiny body was constantly using resources to grow, though her fuel tank would likely be the last organ to increase in size. Eventually she’d have auxiliary stores and batteries that she could pull from– assuming none of her organic ancestry would interfere with her development.

There must have been some benefit to waiting for protoforms to grow naturally over plugging a grown spark into an adult frame, but Airachnid couldn’t fathom what it could be. If she was Cybertronian, perhaps she would have understood why they chose to sacrifice so much time and energy on children when a Well-born spark could be gained so much easier. The Well had existed since the Imperial age, pumping out soldiers for the Cybertronian Empire, yet so many over centuries still chose to procreate the ancient way. 

Airachnid’s own choice to be pregnant had been purely selfish. It hadn’t really been a choice at all. She’d thought it would save her, or at least give her some protection. And it had, in all the worst ways. She was free from Megatron only because he likely thought she was dead. 

What would Tarantulas think of her now, with all the mistakes she’d made? This time, she couldn’t chase the thought away. He was still in her head, digging his claws in deep. He would never go away, and once upon a time that would have comforted her.

There had been so much to learn on Cybertron. So much to teach herself. Decepticon doctors, the likes of Shockwave and Knockout and Flatline, had gutted and swapped out so much of her that she’d had to learn how to walk again. Tarantulas had been with her for every step, on all ten legs. He’d helped her choose her first alt-mode, and he’d shown her how to hide the pain until it no longer existed. He’d never once been disappointed in her because she’d tried so hard to give him no reason to be.

The first weeks had been the hardest. After each series of surgeries she had to stretch each limb, every day for hours, to stop them from locking up forever. She had to do it over and over again until the stitches stopped breaking open, and then start from the beginning.

Tarantulas had shown her a way to make it easier, if only by margins. He would play her music from the Cybertron she’d never known, so that even if she could not stop herself from screaming in agony, at least her voice was not alone. Eventually, she learned to dance, and eventually she didn’t have to keep doing it. But she did, because she wanted to. 

The first time she’d seen herself in a mirror had been long after– when the surgeries and revisions were over, when the Decepticon brand was welded onto her chest. She would never know what she’d looked like before it, how much of her frame had been changed. Tarantulas had only told her that she looked perfect, and when he left her alone she danced in silence, for she had screamed so much that her vox simply shut down.

She hadn’t danced since her ship had crashed on this damn planet. Even on the Nemesis , when she’d thought she might be safe, Soundwave was always watching. Her dance was her own and no-one, not even Tarantulas, was allowed to see it. If she was allowed no privacy, she would at least keep that to herself.

But now there was Scorpia to consider. She was rolling in the sand now, lying on her side as she held the edge of the deer skull in her soft hands. With her mouth near the eye socket she seemed to be gnawing on the bone, as if she remembered how Airachnid had used her own fangs to peel the skin away. It was as morbid as it was touching, and she was sure Optimus and the medic would throw a fit if they saw it, and that much was enough to make Airachnid smile for a moment.

Other than the wildlife hidden away in the forest and shadows and her daughter staring up at her, she was truly alone here. She only had a fraction of the limbs she was used to having, and it had been so long since she’d tried in earnest…

What was the first dance she’d learned? The first song? She had to hum the rhythm in order to remember it, and even then it didn’t feel right. Her feet were clumsy even though she avoided the soft sand, and her arms cleaved through the air with a weight that was foreign to her. 

What a waste of time. She should have been scouting the rest of the island, tracking the native predator and prey species, trying to find a permanent place to return to when nightfall came. She should have been setting traps, in case Decepticons or humans found themselves stranded here like she was. She could have fully submerged herself in the sea for no other reason than to watch the clouds, and it still would have been a better use of her time.

Yet she kept trying. Even though old scars were raking against new ones, even though she stumbled and made a fool of herself. The hum under her vents became whispered, half-remembered words, and at some point she was able to forget the weight of her frame.

It was only a distraction. It was all that it had to be. She was her own audience, and she closed her eyes as she always did. Time became suspended like the rain from the sea, and the sand no longer tried to sabotage her. She almost forgot where she was. 

This was not Earth, or Archa Seven, or Cybertron. This was somewhere far away, where no-one would ever find her. If she just kept moving, she’d never have to leave. If she just kept her eyes closed, she could die here.

But her energy was not limitless. She lost her balance as she faltered, and her remaining back legs snapped out to catch her before she hit the ground. They sank into the sand like fingertips, and when she finally came to a stop she was hovering almost horizontal in the air.

She opened her eyes now, forsaking the brief peace she’d managed to trick herself into. The sky was bright now, the sun beating down above the ocean. And Scorpia was staring up at her, no longer gnawing on the bone. Some seconds passed before the sparkling chirped and clapped her hands together– and then, from behind Airachnid, another pair of hands soon joined in.

Optimus knew she’d notice him eventually. He was only surprised that it took her so long. Scorpia had chirped to announce his arrival, flailing in the sand to greet him, but Airachnid must have been so engrossed in her movement that she didn’t hear it. Now that she’d seen him, she jumped to her feet and just barely avoided falling against the crumbling sand. She looked shocked only for a moment, before her face hardened into something more familiar.

“How long have you been standing there for?” she snapped.

“Only some minutes.” He was lying, though not purposefully. Without checking his chronometer, he couldn’t honestly know. Just as she’d been engrossed in dancing, he was the same in watching her. 

Whether or not she knew he was stretching the truth, she growled as she lifted Scorpia into her arms. “Don’t ever sneak up on me like that again. For your own safety.”

The threat was somewhat muted by the sparkling waving her hands under her mother’s chin like she was trying to imitate a wind turbine. Optimus tried not to smile. 

“You are quite talented,” he said. “I imagine you’d be a sight to behold with the rest of your legs intact. Where did you learn to move like that?”

Airachnid glared at him. “I’ve warned you before about mocking me, Prime.”

One day, she would take a compliment from him without spitting it back out. One day.  

Of course, she didn’t know what the sight really meant to him. She only knew what Elita was to him… what had happened to her. She didn’t know her as every Autobot did.

“Elita was a dancer.” His vox caught on her name, almost tearing it into static. “A singer, as well. Her voice could make a city fall in love with her. But her true passion was in dancing.”

She was famous for her voice, the melodies it could make. But as she gained more fame, she danced so much less. Not where anyone could see, at least. Cybertron could have her songs, could look at her all they wished. But Orion had been the only one allowed to watch her dance. 

And how he had danced with her… her body against his, forever warm. How her protoform had yielded soft under his touch. How he missed her. 

Airachnid did not dance like Elita did. Her movement was less refined, and whatever rhythm she was following in her head was impossible for Optimus to track. But it was no less entrancing, perhaps because of how alien it was to him.

Airachnid was no longer glaring. In fact, she avoided meeting his eyes entirely now.

“...I taught myself. More or less.” Then she scowled at herself for admitting that much. “After the Decepticons found me, they put me through several surgeries. To make me more… useful to them. My mentor encouraged me to find creative ways to exercise.”

She was giving him excuses, assuring him that it was solely a practical hobby. As if the world hunter Airachnid would ever waste her time on prancing around for the fun of it. Optimus didn’t believe her, but he indulged her as he usually did.

“Your mentor?” he asked, seizing a chance to change the subject that she’d surely appreciate. Her face did not change, though a shadow fell across her optics. 

“...Tarantulas,” she said after a pause. “I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”

Optimus did not know what to expect from the answer. Somehow, the mention of the Decepticon’s maddest scientist– more pragmatic than Shockwave, more sadistic than the likes of Vortex, more devious than even Starscream– surprised him more than it didn’t. Airachnid would of course have worked alongside him as a Decepticon, but Optimus hadn’t suspected they’d been put together from the very start.

“I had wondered if you knew each other,” he said, and she rolled her eyes.

“Rather obvious, isn’t it?”

Optimus felt like he had earned her ire this time. She and Tarantulas were, after all, practically the same species. The true danger with Tarantulas lay in the fact that, like Airachnid, he was a Decepticon only for convenience. And, like her, he was a technorganic. He bore no true allegiance to anyone but himself.

“Were you close to him?” he asked, unable to think of a better phrase for whatever relationship they may have shared. Airachnid, as expected, sighed as if she was disgusted.

“I’m certain that the definition of ‘close’ means something different to Autobots.” When she said nothing else, Optimus thought she was trying to avoid giving an answer. But he said nothing as well, and his patience was soon rewarded when Airachnid sat down on the edge of the beach where the sand couldn’t reach her. She let Scorpia go, and the sparkling happily pawed at the ground with deaf ears. 

“When the Decepticons captured me, they turned me into a science project. They wanted to cut me open and label every bit of gore inside of me.” She twitched her claws, acting out the motions of doing so with familiarity. “Tarantulas was the only one of the bastards who thought I might have a voice, and a mind to speak it. He let them turn me into a soldier instead.”

There was a laugh near the end, but it came out of her vents like a wheeze. 

“I think he saved my life. He had his own selfish reasons for it, I’m sure. But at least he tried. Before him, no-one had ever treated me with… kindness. Not until…”

She scowled again, at catching herself revealing too much. Optimus let the silence stretch itself out before he scared it away.

“So you were close.”

Airachnid scoffed, though she didn’t shake her head. “He gave me my name. It wasn’t supposed to be permanent, but I never saw a reason to change it. I suppose that tells the whole story for you.”

It told Optimus a great deal more in fewer words, at least. It told him Tarantulas had been there from the very start, and that Airachnid had been born on his whim. It explained far too much about her. At the same time, he knew he could not blame someone else for all of what she was. 

“A sparking’s behaviour is inherited more than learned.” Ratchet’s voice hissed in his processor, taking up residence in his conscience. Airachnid was no sparkling, yet if she truly had no memory of being a Decepticon before Tarantulas found her… she might as well have been one.

“Haven’t you ever been curious about what your name was?” he asked. “Who you were, before Archa Seven?”

It was a dangerous question, as all important ones were. Alpha Trion had always encouraged them being asked where no-one else could hear, even if he could not answer them.

And for his boldness Airachnid did not glare or spit at him. She didn’t even flinch.

“Why should I be?” she asked back. “It wouldn’t change who I am now.”

“It might not,” Optimus agreed. “Or it might change everything. There’s no way to know without knowing.”

Scorpia chirped as she grabbed at handfuls of sand, throwing them up in the air with all of her scarce strength. The grit rained down on her, and if Ratchet was present he would have thrown a fit at all the particles getting into her delicate seams. Her armour was supposed to be so fragile, but like most sparklings she was still as careless as a Wrecker. 

(He hoped Wheeljack wouldn’t be around enough to be a bad influence on her.)

“Archa Seven changed you too,” Airachnid said. “Didn’t it?”

“...It did.” He knew where this was going, and he couldn’t stop it. 

“And you never thought of trying to go back to how you were before?” she asked.

He had tried to, at first. Denial was the first stage of grief, after all, and it didn’t last nearly long enough. Even then, he’d known it wouldn’t do any good. Even with a war to fight and Cybertron on his shoulders and a hundred Primes in his head, he’d known only one thing; for the rest of his life, he would be utterly alone.

“No,” he said. “I knew it would be impossible.”

He was expecting Airachnid to smile, and perhaps she wanted to. When she refrained, he assumed it was for his sake only.

“And there’s your answer.” She turned away. “Don’t ask me about it again.”

“Very well.” And he was almost glad for it. Scorpia kept on playing, chasing away an uncomfortable silence with her giggles. Optimus supposed that hers would be the only voice he would hear if he chose to stay. 

Right now, he was needed elsewhere. His Autobots would always need him. Even if he was not ready to tell them what they needed to know, he could at least give them his presence.

“I may not be able to visit for the next few days.” Despite Ratchet’s warning, he had pilfered several cubes from the stores and now offered them to Airachnid. “There should be a surplus of fuel here. If you require more, you can reach me via the comm channel.”

Airachnid appraised his outstretched hand as someone less dangerous than her might do with a bear trap. Despite this, she took the cubes by the armful. 

“Preparing your Autobots for the truth at last?” she asked.

“Something like that.” If he secured more rations for them, he could at least ensure they were in a better state of mind to receive it.

“A guilty conscience, then.” Airachnid popped one of the cubes open for herself and drank deeply. “I wish I could see it for myself. The looks on their faces. I would say you’re doing the right thing, but coming from me you might see that as an insult.”

She wasn’t entirely incorrect, though in this case Optimus didn’t think she would appreciate being right.

 “I hope that I might convince them to extend leniency towards others who have forsaken Megatron.” That would be the easy part, assuming Starscream was willing or desperate enough to cooperate when they finally found him. Despite the Autobots’ lack of resources, their only option would likely be to hold him prisoner after all. At least in that case, he could prove himself worthy of joining them in earnest. And maybe then Arcee could learn to forgive him.

A moment after he spoke, Airachnid then laughed in his face. Scorpia even joined in, a chirping echo to her mother’s sneering.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to try and rope Starscream into your redemption crusade,” she spat. He hadn’t even said the Seeker’s name, yet she read him like an unencrypted datapad.

“He may be more inclined than you’d think,” Optimus argued. “When you left him stranded in the Harbinger wreckage, he offered to join us. And he almost did.”

Airachnid stopped laughing. “Almost?”

“While you waylaid us with the Immobiliser,” he reminded her, “we left Arcee to guard him. It was… a poor decision. He somehow escaped his stasis cuffs and attacked her. When we reached her, he was already gone.”

If he had chosen someone else to watch Starscream, things may have turned out very differently. But letting Arcee loose after Airachnid had never been an option. Better to let a Decepticon escape than to let an Autobot perish.

That was the standard he’d set on Archa Seven. Megatron and his survivors had escaped, yet Elita One had still died. The guilt at letting him go then was almost as deep as the guilt of losing her.

“Is that the story Arcee told you?” Airachnid laughed again– just once, enough for the sound to cut right through Optimus’ mourning spark. “For an Autobot, she’s a very good liar. But I saw what really happened.”

Optimus stared at her smirk. “You were on the other side of the crash site–”

“And you and your boys did well to keep me occupied. But I had a vantage point, remember? You left them both near your trailer.”

He did. That was the last he’d seen of Starscream, and though Arcee was injured he clearly hadn’t been trying to kill her before he escaped. Optimus had always assumed that Starscream simply ambushed her, taking the first opportunity to flee. Even if he’d been sincere in wanting to join them, he couldn’t face being their prisoner. The Decepticons were a prison in their own right, but it was one that he could fool himself into thinking he controlled. Even if his title as second-in-command was meaningless now, it meant something to him. It might have meant everything to him.

Vos was the third city to fall, after Iacon and Praxus. The only Seekers who survived were those who joined the Decepticons. Rumours had abounded around Starscream even then– youngest son of the Winglord, brother to Thundercracker, Skywarp and Slipstream. Allegedly he also had some relation to the mad prophet Sunstorm, who lost his mind to Vector Sigma.

No-one knew if he’d sold out Vos, on the promise of ruling Cybertron alongside Megatron’s trusted lieutenants, or if he’d simply been so naive that he thought Vos would be spared if he surrendered. Starscream himself would never confess to either. If he truly had sacrificed so much to join Megatron’s side only for the warlord to throw him aside, he must have hated the man now. And if he had lost his city on a bad gamble, he would have hated him all the more. 

Without his insecurity holding him in its vice, there was no reason for Starscream not to join the Autobots... not unless someone had stopped him.

Optimus silently asked Airachnid to continue, and with her fangs showing she obliged.

“I couldn’t hear what was said, but I could see the way she was threatening him. Starscream was cowering. He was terrified of her. I almost felt sorry for him… almost. She kicked him, while he was still cuffed. Then she gave him the key to his restraints. I assume she wanted to make it a fair fight.”

“I’m sure she told you she acted in self defence. If she wasn’t an Autobot, she might have killed him outright. She probably should have.” Airachnid looked at Optimus as she swirled the dregs of her energon. She might have been pitying him, and if that was how he often looked at her he now understood why she hated it. 

“He… killed Cliffjumper,” he said, the only thing he could think to say. “He admitted to it.”

“And that excuses her from attacking your prisoner?” 

It didn’t. Optimus didn’t need to say so for her to know. 

“I suppose a better question would be, is her anger worth losing a possible ally over?” Airachnid pushed herself to her feet, echoing the same ease that she danced with. “What do you value more, Prime– a sorry spark being given a second chance, or one of your own being allowed her revenge?”

Revenge was not something Optimus allowed himself to entertain. A Prime acted for the good of their people, never for themselves. But with all their losses, that was too much to ask of even the most virtuous of Autobots. 

Arcee was allowed to be angry. She was allowed to hate the people who killed those she loved. But what she did with that anger was the only thing Optimus could try to control. And if he could not control it…

“You’re sure this is what you witnessed?” he asked. Airachnid shrugged, as if she was also not a sorry spark that might be lost if she was telling the truth.

“What reason do I have to lie? If you confront Arcee with this information, she certainly won’t take it well. And it’s in my best interest that your other Autobots don’t hate me as much as they should.”

Scorpia, now bored with her sand showers, pawed at her mother’s peds. Airachnid propped her up with the end of one remaining leg, allowing her to scoop the child into her arms without leaning down. She was becoming quite practised at holding her daughter, and it almost didn’t seem like a strange sight to Optimus anymore.

“I am grateful for your honesty, Airachnid.”

“That was the deal we made, wasn’t it?” she scoffed. “I’m not allowed to lie anymore. Not if I want your help.” 

Scorpia yawned in her grasp, going limp as Airachnid cradled her. It seemed she was also getting used to the type of person her mother was, if she was able to be so relaxed in her presence.

“You’ve been forthcoming with me thus far, Prime,” Airachnid admitted. “I am simply extending the same courtesy. Do with it what you will.”

If it was supposed to be cold, Optimus didn’t hear it as such. Then again, his attention was seized by the familiar starship entering the horizon. Wheeljack had either been informed of his absence from the base, or wanted to torment Airachnid regardless.

“I will see to it that you remain undisturbed until my return,” Optimus told her, ready to intercept the Wrecker when he landed on the other side of the shore. Scorpia let out a low coil-whine, but was too tired to call for him.

“Prime!” Her mother however, was not. Optimus turned toward her as the Jackhammer began its descent.

“It is admittedly… dull around here on my own,” Airachnid said through gritted teeth, as if such a confession was giving her pain. “Unless you want me to amuse myself by killing off all the native wildlife while I wait for you, I would consider finding a means for me to occupy my time.”

It was a fair point– more than fair, even with the threat. Optimus was honestly a little affronted at himself for not considering it sooner.

“Do you have something in mind?” he asked.

Airachnid shifted Scorpia in her arms and her own weight on her peds. “A datapad would be… appreciated. Even if I can’t access any communications through it… I’d like to read more of those stories you keep telling me about. Maybe you know of some that Scorpia might enjoy as well.”

She was hiding her face as she trailed off, as if hoping Optimus would not hear her. But he did, and he knew exactly what a sparkling would enjoy seeing. He even had a fair idea of what Airachnid might appreciate.

“Consider it done.” Datapads were the one thing they had in plentiful abundance, though Cybertronian media on them was unfortunately scarce. The Autobots all had their own favorites– music, films, books and artwork– stored on their personal devices. Optimus had neglected to save more than the most precious texts from the Hall of Records…  

Earth was sure to have its own share of worthwhile indulgences. Maybe the humans would have some suggestions, and maybe Airachnid wouldn’t be terribly offended at being offered them. 

Optimus reached the Jackhammer just as Wheeljack was disembarking, and he promptly caught the Wrecker on the shoulder with his hand.

“Good timing, Wheeljack. We have a mission to undertake.”

“Mission? What?” He craned his neck around Optimus to look for Airachnid and Scorpia in the distance, but the Prime once again moved to block his view.

“The Autobots are in need of energon.” 

“Wow. That’s shocking. Here I thought you were swimming in the stuff.”

Optimus chose to overlook his sarcasm– Airachnid was helping him build up a tolerance to it. “Therefore, you are going to assist me in finding Decepticon caches we can raid with minimal risk.”

“Am I now?” Wheeljack challenged, crossing his arms over his chest. He wouldn’t object to harming the Decepticons, of course, but he would only do so on his own terms.

“It is not an order,” Optimus assured him.  “I am simply assuming your cooperation. You would be entitled to a share of the fuel, after all.”

And with that, Wheeljack suddenly relaxed. 

“Well. You’re better at negotiation than Magnus, Prime. I’ll tell you that much. Alright. Guess I’ll annoy our prisoner some other day.” 

He headed back inside the ship with Optimus behind him– Prime turned to see if Airachnid was still in sight, but she’d wisely taken the chance to flee while they were talking. No doubt she was still watching them from a vantage point, though. 

“You know this planet and the slaggers on it a lot better than I do,” Wheeljack said, “so I’ll assume you have a plan in mind.”

Optimus had a notion. An idea. He knew that he was doing the right thing, at the very least.

“The Decepticons dedicate themselves to secrecy as much as we do,” he said. “If they suspect humans are encroaching on their mining operations, they will abandon them for another day. We use that to our advantage.”

Wheeljack settled himself in the pilot seat, leaving Optimus to cram himself into the passenger side. “That’s something I’ve been wondering about. You work with the humans, and the ‘Cons know it. And don’t get me wrong, I like Miko, but her kind ain’t exactly… well-equipped to defend themselves. So what’s stopping Megatron from just torching the whole planet from the Nemesis ?”

“Nuclear retaliation,” Optimus informed him.

“Ah.” Wheeljack clicked his tongue. “My favorite kind.”

They ascended the jetstream with that grim thought in mind. The humans had made it clear from day one that if there were ever any hint of Autobots or Decepticons in the public eye, their response would be swift and lethal. Even if Decepticons would not be harmed by the radiation of nuclear warheads, the impact alone would spell their end. And though it would finally mean the end of war, it would also devastate the planet that Megatron saw fit to conquer. It was a classic stalemate, leaving Autobots and ‘Cons alike to fight their war the only way they knew how.

Sometimes Optimus doubted that the humans would do it, though. He’d read up on their own history, devouring textbooks and every corner of their networks he could find. They threatened each other with warheads ever since they learned how to make them, but no country was yet willing to use them even against the aliens on their doorstep. Even if they did take the risk, would they do it in time to stop Megatron before he rendered them extinct? 

Optimus tried to think about something else.

“What fuel does this ship take?” He wasn’t able to see much of the Jackhammer from the seat that was definitely not constructed with a Prime in mind. “You can’t possibly have enough energon reserves to keep it flying every day.”

“You’re right,” Wheeljack smirked over at him. “I don’t. Ever since I touched down, this bad boy’s been running on solar energy. Earth’s atmosphere means over half of what the sun gives for free goes to waste, so I need a few hours to charge the batteries in between jaunts. But I haven’t run flat yet.”

Solar was a dependable backup to fuel-grade energon. The Ark ’s entire shell had been covered in panels to convert background radiation to energy– enough to power the lights and comm arrays at least. The engines themselves still required energon, though the Jackhammer didn’t have to cross light years on Earth which would have reduced its demand dramatically.

“So why waste that energy flying to and from the island?” Optimus asked.

“Cause it’s worth it to torment her,” Wheeljack grinned. “And to check on the kid.”

Though when he turned back to the controls, his grin didn’t last long in his reflection.

“I didn’t get to see Strongarm when she was that young,” he revealed after a pause. “When I picked her up, she was already halfway through her first year. I wish I could’ve.”

Optimus could hear the yearning in Wheeljack’s vox, no matter how he tried to smother it. “You never said who her carrier is.”

“Sure didn’t.”

Optimus waited, but no other answer came. “Why the mystery?”
Wheeljack shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Optimus could still scarcely believe that he even had a child in the first place. Then again, Airachnid hadn’t been a likely option either. Perhaps that was another reason why Wheeljack spent time with her– they were two people who absolutely should not have been parents under any circumstances, and they had to live with it.

“Optimus,” Ratchet’s voice, now no longer in his head, cut through Optimus’ comm line. “Where are you?”

“I am with Wheeljack. Is there a problem?” 

The Wrecker glanced over at the sound of his name, and he stalled their ascent in anticipation. 

“We need you here. There’s… it’s difficult to explain. ” Ratchet gulped over the line. “You’ll have to come see for yourself.”

It took an hour to reach Nevada with the Jackhammer, and in that hour the base had turned into an interrogation chamber.

“Optimus, where the frag have you been?!” Arcee ambushed him the very moment he emerged from the elevator, and Bulkhead and Bumblebee stood behind her, eyeing their leader with suspicion. 

“...Good morning to you as well, Arcee.” Optimus was at a loss of what better way to greet her given the sudden tensions. If the worst had happened in his absence, then Arcee wouldn’t have been greeting him with words at all. 

“You guys having another party without me?” Wheeljack, almost hidden entirely behind Optimus in the elevator, now emerged with just as much confusion as the Prime himself had. 

“No-one knew where you were, Optimus,” Bulkhead said slowly, and it was only now that Optimus noticed his weapons were deployed. “Not even Ratchet.”

Bumblebee let out a quick affirmation in Chipquick, though even his beeps were tinged with distrust. Looking to Ratchet himself gave no clear answer for everyone’s sudden change– the medic only turned his eyes to the humans, and to the only adult standing among them. 

“I’ll let you explain, Agent Fowler,” Ratchet said.

The agent was shaking as he gripped the metal railing. Optimus hadn’t seen him so perturbed since their very first meeting, when he saw proof of alien life for the first time standing before his eyes.

“An hour ago,” Fowler exhaled, “I almost got flattened by an eighteen-wheeler. No driver, no licence plate… nothing but a big ol’ Autobot badge right on the front grill. And it looked just like you.”

And then a dozen spotlights fell upon Optimus, hot and accusing. Only Wheeljack spared him from his glare.

“Well, it wasn’t him,” the Wrecker scoffed. “I’ve been with Prime all morning.”

“And what exactly were you out doing together?” Arcee wheeled on the mech, crossing her arms as she stared up at him. Height differences meant very little to someone who had her powerful gaze.

“We were scouting for possible energon leads,” Optimus said, sparing Wheeljack from any more of her ire. “Wheeljack’s ship allows us an unprecedented aerial advantage. I had hoped… that we might lighten everyone else’s burden with our findings.”

He didn’t have to fake the guilt that crept into his words. Arcee’s eyes fizzled, and with the anger gone it was clear that she hadn’t slept at all the previous night.

“That… makes sense,” she sighed. “I’m sorry, Optimus. I should’ve… we should’ve known it wasn’t actually you.”

She wasn’t the only one relieved– Bumblebee sagged with it as he shook his head, and Bulkhead finally lowered his weapons.

“So who the hell was it, then?” he asked. “Or, what was it?”

“There’s only one possible explanation.” Miko jumped down the metal stairs and brandished a pointing finger. “You’ve got a long-lost evil twin, Optimus!”

“Miko,” Jack called down at her, “you were saying Optimus himself might have been evil this whole time just before he–”

“Shut up shut up shut up!” Miko hurled one of her belt’s keychains up at him, managing to hit him square on the forehead. Just as the impact hit, Agent Fowler’s phone chimed a second before it was at his ear.

“Fowler… what? Well that can’t be him, cause I’m standing right here looking at him! No, I did not– do not engage! Let the Autobots handle this, they’re–”

The other end must have cut out, leaving Fowler cursing under his breath.

“God dammit… there’s a base near the Mexico border under attack. By Optimus Prime .”

“There’s a copy of you and your alt-mode driving around?!” Arcee exclaimed.

“Evil twin!” Miko jumped up and down. “I told you!”

“Give us the coordinates,” Optimus ordered. “We will investigate at once.”

Fowler grimaced, but soon the location was loaded into the Ground Bridge.

“It’ll be like a shooting gallery over there,” he warned. “Be careful.”

“Think you’ll need backup?” Wheeljack asked, uncharacteristically cooperative (then again, he likely just wanted an excuse to fight something).

“The offer is appreciated,” Optimus said. “But this is Autobot business. I’m sure Ratchet and the humans will enjoy your company.” 

Fowler was on another phone call, shut behind a door that did little to soften his yelling. Miko was trying to retrieve her keychain while Jack held it just out of reach, and between them poor Rafael was just trying to get on with his homework. Ratchet, most of all, looked like he wanted to strangle Optimus for the suggestion.

Wheeljack shrugged. “Suit yourself. Good luck.”

Optimus led the charge through the open Bridge, and emerged into a cloud of debris. There were humans shouting all around him in the dirt and the familiar sound of his own weapons firing– but he couldn’t even see his own teammates, let alone any sign of the imposter Prime. 

Under most circumstances smoke and dust on Earth was no problem for Cybertronian optics, not unless it was specially designed to obscure all forms of vision. Only Decepticons could pull off something like that… or someone who could replicate their technology.

“ I can’t tell what’s happening!” Bee was frantically chirping somewhere in the dust cloud. “Optimus, is that you?”

Even when this smoke cleared enough to see through, there was little to be seen. It was a small outpost by US military standards, and it had been reduced to rubble. The buildings were nothing but black shells, surrounded by non-sentient cars bathed in flames. The only intact vehicles were the helicopters now circling the scene like vultures, and they’d soon be on the Autobots with as much ferocity.

Even as Fowler’s warning rang in Optimus' head, he scanned the wreckage for any sign of what might have caused it. The Autobots were searching for anyone trapped who could be saved; but even with their efforts, after what just happened the humans approaching would still see them as a threat.

Tire tracks were scorched into the hard sand, marking years and years of military transport. But only one set marked a possible escape– veering through a hole in the only fence still standing, leading out into the desert.

“I will follow the trail,” Optimus announced. “Autobots, do not engage with the humans. Return to base without me.”

“You’re not going out there on your own–!” Arcee was shouting after him, but he’d already shifted from legs to wheels. He couldn’t slow down for backup, not when the attacker already had a head start and the helicopters were closing in. Even if they tried tailing him, they would hopefully sight the true aggressor on the horizon and set their sights on them as well.

Then again, much like some Autobots, humans were more likely to shoot the first thing in sight. Optimus pressed his engine to its limit– even though the desert was a wasteland around him, all he could see were tumbleweeds in the wind and mesas towering in the distance. The trail of tire tracks was quickly lost in the scrub and the stones kicked at his plating, dust and sand flooding his vents at all ends, but he still pressed on. He couldn’t hear helicopters behind him, and he didn’t waste time checking for them. The only way he would go was forward…

And then he found a shape waiting on the horizon. The engine must not have been as powerful as Optimus’, or something had caught in the tires and brought it to a halt. For whatever reason, it was now making pitiful progress over the rocks, and Optimus would be upon it within seconds.

“You cannot outrun me,” he called out through his radio, easing his acceleration only so he didn’t crash into the vehicle. “Reveal yourself.”

The other truck, which was indeed his exact model and make, started to turn around before it disappeared in a mass of shifting plates. For the first time, Optimus viewed his transformation sequence as an outsider; his legs emerged first, the wheels still spinning at each side, then his arms unfolded from the doors, and finally his head snapped up from within the cabin.

By the time Optimus was once again standing on his own legs , he was crashing his fist into a standing mirror. There was no EM field, no spark signature, no life behind the cold yellow light of its eyes. Yet it was undoubtedly him– it caught his fist with ease, with his own strength, and from behind his own mask it started to speak.

“Well, well.” The man– Optimus recognised the laugh immediately– might have been clapping somewhere with his own human hands while the robot ones held Optimus’ attack at bay. “I’ll admit, I was hoping the brass would be a little more gung-ho about taking you out. That’s how we used to be. Shoot first, ask questions later. It worked, until some desk jockey decided that it didn’t.”

“Silas.” Optimus dropped his fist and resisted the overwhelming urge to draw his weapons, only because his copy would just do the same. “You want the humans to destroy us. Why? Are you in so deep with the Decepticons that you would betray your own kind to them?”

Silas scoffed, though the body he was speaking through made no motion. “Autobots, Decepticons– it’s all the same to me. Whether you know it or not, Prime, your war is now our war, and the only side that matters is mankind.”

An engine rumbled under his words, though it was behind Optimus rather than right in front of him. SIlas, assumedly controlling the fake Prime from somewhere inside the frame, moved the head so that it was looking over Optimus’ shoulder.

Optimus didn’t need to look to know who was coming. He always forgot how fast Arcee could go on two wheels.

“We’ll call this one a draw, Prime,” Silas declared. “Next time, only one of us will be walking away.” 

He shifted the robot onto wheels again, and the sequence must have loosened whatever was giving the engine trouble because by the time Arcee caught up to Optimus’ side, he was long gone across the sand. The only reason Optimus didn’t shoot after him was the fact that he didn’t know if Silas was inside the machine– but there was nothing to stop Arcee sending some plasma bolts chasing the wind. They would never reach him anyway.

“What the hell was that?” she asked, her vents roaring from the exertion of driving out so far.

“I believe it was MECH’s latest experiment,” Optimus answered. “I told you to return to base.”

Arcee did not wither under his eyes. “And I told you we’re supposed to be a team, Optimus. We’re not allowed to go out on our own, so neither should you.”

He was almost grateful for the lecture. If he had to choose between her being angry or disappointed, at least the latter was less likely to get her killed.

“Perhaps you are right.” She absolutely was, but he couldn’t admit that to her.  Not with all that he was hiding. And that was only one of the uncomfortable conversations he would have to subject her to.

Optimus had to know the truth about Starscream, from her own mouth. Even if Airachnid was being honest, even if she had no reason to lie, Arcee deserved a chance to defend herself.

“Arcee…”

She hesitated before facing him, still staring after the cloud of dust Silas was leaving in his wake. She was looking tired again– it was probably easy to hide it from the humans, and even Ratchet would eventually leave her alone if she took some energon to refuel. 

But Optimus had always known her to push herself beyond her limits. He knew why she stayed on Cybertron in the first place. Why she couldn’t bring herself to join the others on the Ark, not after what happened to the Allspark. The only thing he didn’t know was what kind of Autobot she really was… and he had to know.

But he had enough enemies to deal with at that moment.

“Thank you for ignoring me on this occasion,” he said. “But I do expect you to obey my orders in the future.”

Arcee rolled her eyes. “If they’re not stupid ones, sure.”

“Your next order will be to get some rest.”

“Like that. That’s a stupid one.”

“Arcee.”

She sighed as she kicked at the sand, skidding a rock somewhere in Silas’ direction. “Fine… when we get back home.”

“By ‘home’,” he asked, “do you mean the base? Or Cybertron?”

Arcee chose not to answer. She probably meant the former. She very likely meant the latter. Optimus could hardly scold her for it without being a hypocrite.

✞✞✞

Back in Nevada, the others had already deduced what he had seen with his own eyes. He walked in on Bulkhead giving Wheeljack everything he needed to know about MECH. Replaying his encounter with Silas for everyone only confirmed their worst suspicions. 

“It’s what they’ve been working towards this whole time,” Bulkhead insisted. “When they captured Breakdown, they didn’t just take his optic. They scanned his whole body, right down to the endoskeleton. They would have taken all of him if I hadn’t stopped it.”

“And then they snagged Starscream’s T-Cog,” Jack added. “That must have been the only thing they couldn’t make themselves.”

“Starscream doesn’t have his Cog?” Wheeljack smirked as he whispered to Bulkhead. “Damn, I’d pay good money to see that bastard crying over his wings.”

“So they plugged it into their drone, and they’ve been taking it out for a test drive,” Miko added onto Jack, pretending to turn a steering wheel as she veered side to side. “He’s like your… Mecha Prime! Like Mecha Godzilla with... wait, you’re already mecha. Hmmm.”

“What about Metal Prime? Like Metal Sonic?” Rafael spoke without looking up from his laptop.

“Same problem, Raf. The regular Prime’s already metal. Damn, why are all the cool evil clones always robots?” Miko sank into the couch, deep in thought.

“It doesn’t matter what we call the thing,” Arcee declared. “It’s gonna be scrap metal soon enough.”

“I just wanna know how they got it to look so much like Optimus,” Bumblebee said, with Rafael translating. “It’s not like there’s a lot of pictures around for them to use.”

“The alt-mode would have been easy,” Ratchet reasoned. “It’s not exactly a rare vehicle. The root mode, however… when we first encountered them, Optimus, you were there in person. They must have created a 3D scan of you and held onto it this whole time.”

“No matter their means,” Optimus said, “the fact that they have accomplished this at all is deeply concerning.”

As he finished his grim thought, Agent Fowler emerged from the small office space; this time, he looked more sheepish than shaken.

“I tried fighting your corner, Prime, but they won’t listen. As of now, official orders are to shoot all bots on sight. They’ll be planning to storm this place soon if we can’t prove you’ve been framed.”

“What do you mean ‘storm’ the place?” Wheeljack asked for everyone present.

“I mean,” Fowler snapped, “that there’s a lot of idiots higher up the chain of command who want to wipe you guys off the face of the Earth. And they’ll take just about any excuse to do so.”

“Great,” Wheeljack deadpanned. “Remind me again why you guys chose to stay here?”

“This is what Silas planned all along,” Arcee sighed, though she was probably asking herself the very same question. “He wants all Cybertronians gone so he can take our technology for himself.”

“And he wants us to do the dirty work for him,” Fowler agreed. “So what’s the plan? We know it's MECH behind all this, but how do we bring them out of hiding?”

“I think I know where we can start.” Rafael looked up from his laptop for the first time that day, and Ratchet was quick to move out of the way so the human could hook up the display to the base computer.

“As well as keeping on top of all the sightings you guys get on conspiracy sites,” Rafael said as he typed, “I’ve also been keeping tabs on hits that look like MECH targets. Tech heists, high-profile hacks, things like that. If their guys are as good as I am, they can access information from anywhere in the world. But for getting physical resources, wherever they steal from will need to be pretty close to wherever they’re based now. On top of that, the places they’ve hit so far with the Optimus clone will have to be within driving distance of wherever he runs back to.”

The result of all his hard work was a radius just next to the Mexico border covering some hundred miles– much easier to search within than the entirety of North America. Agent Fowler seemed somewhat disturbed that a twelve-year old boy had managed to access so much sensitive information without tripping any alarms, though he was also impressed as he spoke under his breath.

“MECH has silos all over the world… but if Silas himself is driving the drone, he won’t want to be far from it.”

“So Anti Prime has to be somewhere in this area!” Miko pointed up at the map on the screen, right in the middle of the overlay Raf had specified.

“Keep working on that name, Miko,” Bulkhead said.

“Reverse Prime? Negative Prime?”

“Good work, Rafael.” Optimus pieced together a plan of action in seconds. “It is imperative that we find their base as soon as possible. Bumblebee, Bulkhead, maintain vehicle cover as you scout the border. I will cover the north. Arcee, you will remain here to recover your strength.”

For once she didn’t argue with him, though he didn’t know if she was just too exhausted to try.

“I’ll take her place,” Wheeljack offered. “If finding this guy means we won’t have more humans swarming the place, then I’m in. Er, no offence, kids.”

“I take offence to that,” Fowler said.

“I’m sure you do,” Wheeljack said back. Fowler rolled his eyes and turned to Optimus instead.

“I can take the central area. Assuming the higher-ups will let me borrow a replacement car–”

“I have to advise against your involvement, Agent Fowler,” Optimus interrupted. “The danger is too great.”

“I didn’t get into this line of work to stay safe, Prime,” the human scoffed. “MECH are some sick sons of Sam, but they’re still human. You deal with Silas’ science project, and I can deal with the man himself. I know people like him. And I’ve been waiting a long time to knock some of their blocks off.”

He made a fist against his palm, almost subconsciously, and despite his obvious tension with the human Wheeljack seemed to nod in approval.

“I admire your courage, Agent Fowler. But in good conscience, I cannot allow it. I will not have you become a target of your own kind.” Optimus turned away before the human could protest further. “Ratchet, take us to the centre. We will move out from there.”

“Go on, Optimus!” Miko cheered as the Ground Bridge came to life, contrasting Fowler scowling next to her. “Kick Nemesis Prime’s ass!”

Of all the names Miko had thrown out thus far, that one at least was accurate.

✞✞✞

Optimus had a slightly unfair advantage over the other three mechs. He knew that Silas had been driving north from the border when he made his escape. There was a chance it had been a false trail, but Silas clearly hadn’t been expecting Optimus to catch up to him. He wouldn’t have been thinking to lead him astray, not when Arcee had been barrelling towards him. 

It was approaching sunset now as Optimus thundered down the dirt road. He used to enjoy driving by himself in these deserts, but now more than ever he knew that it was only a temporary escape from his ghosts. In this instance it couldn’t even be that; he had to stay vigilant for any sign of humans, either MECH or military. 

“Think we’d have better luck trying to bait them?” Bulkhead asked over the shared comm line. 

“That’s your answer for everything, Bulk,” Wheeljack said (Optimus assumed Bulkhead had given him the comm link key… without asking for permission first). “It only works cause you’re such a huge target.”

“Who you calling huge?”

“I’m just saying, there’s a reason everyone wanted you on their team. You could hide a whole squad behind your aft.”

Bumblebee joined in with teasing chirps, and Optimus muffled them all behind his sensors. He was glad they were distracting themselves– if and when he found SIlas, he could deal with him himself. 

As for what that would look like… it would depend solely on whether Silas was in the driving seat of his creation. It was difficult to tell, though Optimus doubted SIlas would put himself in danger unless he had no other way of controlling it. MECH were too smart to not build something remote-controlled.

If Nemesis Prime was just an empty shell, there was nothing stopping him from destroying it. But first he’d have to overpower it… and find it. He expanded his sensor array, dipping into infrared to try and pick up on human heat signatures, and with his vision swamped in blue he almost drove right past the outpost on his left. 

It was utterly abandoned at first glance– no cars, no floodlights, the perimeter fence pitted with holes from rust and wind. Even infrared showed that it was ice cold. But when Optimus switched back to standard vision, he found the same tire tracks on the road right next to him. 

It had to be a trap. But if he ignored it, he might not find them again so easily next time. Even if he called for backup now, the others were too far away to reach him. Silas would flee again at the first sight of other Autobots.

So it had to be Optimus, all on his own. At least he was used to it by now.

They must have been watching him from somewhere his eyes couldn’t reach. As soon as Optimus rolled past the fence, he was greeted by his mirror at the other end of the road. Silas didn’t charge, or even bare his weapons. He waited for Optimus to shift on his own terms.

“This ends now, Silas.” Optimus let his sword drop from its sheath, its blade catching the last light of the sun before it disappeared.

“Indeed.” Silas followed his lead, and the clone held its own stainless steel knife by its side. “It’s been over twenty years since you let yourself in and made your war at home on Earth. Twenty years too long.”

Optimus brought his sword to his own neck, and was almost knocked sideways by the parry. Preserving his momentum, he brought his foot up to the same target and managed to glance off of the shoulder. When he regained his footing, he found Nemesis standing behind him as if he hadn’t moved at all.

“I was there when you first came here, Prime.” The voice echoed from within the shell, emphasising how hollow it was. “Standing out with all the other generals and jarheads, while they argued over how to send you back where you came from.” 

Optimus didn’t let himself be distracted– with his empty fist he aimed for Nemesis’ chin, feinting at the last second to slam into where its spark would have been instead. Silas caught the fist and pushed it away, but couldn’t stop his drone from staggering back from the impact. Even so, he kept on talking.

“Believe it or not, I was on your side. You know why they didn’t shoot you down as soon as they saw you? Because we voted on it, and I was the only one who said no.”

This time he made the first move, cleaving his sword towards Optimus’ abdomen. He had to jump back to avoid the slash, pivoting so his fist could drive into the side of Nemesis’ head. Something cracked inside it and its yellow eyes seemed to rattle in their diodes, but the damage did nothing to the relay that housed Silas’ voice. And there was a sudden venom in it that even Airachnid would have been impressed by.

“That changed when Megatron came after you. When you told us why he was here. Why you were really here. A refugee.” 

Silas struck from down low, sweeping his blade at Optimus’ legs. He couldn’t maintain his balance, but managed to catch his frame with his hand before he hit the ground. He was wide open for an attack that SIlas didn't take– in fact, the human actually stepped back as if to admire his hard work.

“Really, though, I should be thanking you,” he laughed. “MECH wouldn’t exist without you, Prime.”

“And Earth would be a better place for it.” Optimus almost spat behind his battle mask as he straightened his frame.

“Don’t try and pretend to care about my planet, Prime. You’ve got nothing to prove to me.”

Before Optimus could retort he was blindsided by his own foot– Silas moved the drone faster than Optimus could even perceive, driving him sideways into the dirt. 

“You’ve already lost your home, after all.” Silas’ vicious taunting hovered above him. “What does it matter if someone else loses theirs? What does it matter if a whole species dies under your feet, because we got in your way? I know people like you, Prime. I’ve known them my whole life. I admire you, truly.”

This time Optimus took advantage of his position– while Silas was reveling in his own monologue, he grabbed both of Nemesis’ legs and pulled them out from under. And as he stood over Nemesis’ prone shell with his shotgun, a buzz that could only be a comm pulse shocked through his receptors.

‘Of all the times, Airachnid…‘ She knew it would summon him immediately, just as it had done last time. She was either testing him again, or Scorpia was giving her grief, or she was simply bored. For whatever reason, Optimus couldn’t go to her this time. Yet it kept ringing in his head as he faced SIlas down.

“You don’t know the first thing about me.” The gun was heating up, almost steaming in the evening desert air. But there was no fear in Nemesis’ dead eyes, or in Silas’ voice.

“Maybe you’re right,” he admitted. “I’d thought you were a bit smarter, after all. So much valor. So much integrity. Yet you still don’t know a diversion when it’s hitting you right in the face.”

The comm pulse came again. Then another one, and then another. Airachnid was sending one every second, if not even more frequently. It was impossible to ignore them now.

“I tell you what I do know, Prime,” Silas chuckled. “I know your little secret.”

He almost refused to believe it. Even with the cold seizing his spark, and the proof of danger making a cacophony in his head, he couldn’t. 

How did they know? How did they find her?

What was worse than MECH getting their hands on a full-grown Cybertronian? He knew the answer when he heard the smile in Silas’ voice.

“I know about your pet spider.”

Getting their hands on a child.

Just before Optimus let the shotgun fire, Nemesis Prime kicked himself free. The shot went loud into the sky, scaring the stars back into hiding. But there was already another one ready in Optimus’ second hand, making itself known through the burning hole in Nemesis’ chest.

“Ratchet, I need a translocated Ground Bridge immediately!” Optimus couldn’t waste time confirming the kill. “Origin is my location, destination is the island!”

“ The island?” Ratchet was whispering in Neocybex, obviously trying to hide the comm link from the others left behind with him. “Optimus, are you sure–?”

“MECH is there! Get a Bridge here now !” Configuring a Bridge to go somewhere other than the base was difficult, but not impossible. Ratchet didn’t like doing it, but Optimus didn’t like yelling at him either. No-one was going to be happy that evening.

A second later, the Bridge was in front of him, and less than a second later he was through it.

The island was swarming– not with insects or birds or other scattered fragile life, but with soldiers. Optimus could hear helicopter blades slicing through air currents overhead, and the hum of deep voices deeper in the undergrowth.

All the evidence of MECH, yet there was none of Airachnid. There were no more comm pings from her, no trace of her webs or signs of a struggle, no hum from a pair of frantic sparks nearby.

Right in front of Optimus, a tree suddenly evaporated into a hail of splinters.

“Good aim,” the voice behind him praised, the smoke trail from the smoldering wood leading straight to his weapon. “But my engineers know better than to put all the vitals in the chest. That’s a familiar weakness to the both of us.”

Optimus faced the voice with his weapon. Despite the hole blown right through his chassis, Nemesis Prime was still walking as if he was fresh out of the factory. He must have followed Optimus through the Bridge.

“Where is she, Silas?” The mask over Optimus’ mouth did nothing to dampen the force of his vox.

“My men tell me she ran off before we could secure her,” Silas admitted. “This is a big island, Prime. She could be anywhere. But don’t you worry. We’ll find her.”

His gun started glowing, the split-second warning to get out of its way. Optimus threw himself into the rest of the undergrowth, and he felt the heat of the bullet as it grazed past him. It wasn’t plasma like his own, likely crude ballistics that all humans used in their firearms. But even if it wasn’t superheated energy, an object travelling so fast would do some damage even to a Titan, even to a Prime.

“You know, we were only guessing that you were working with her.” Silas couldn’t keep his laughter out of the transmission. “One hell of a coincidence though, if she wasn’t. Occam’s razor likes to cut us all down to size.”

Optimus hadn’t had time to think of how MECH even found the island, or what made them investigate it. He still didn’t have the luxury of trying to figure it out. If Silas was telling the truth about not knowing Airachnid’s location, Optimus had to put as much space between himself and him as possible before he could even try to track her down– the last thing he wanted was to lead the human right to her.

He tried to think of what he knew of human technology; despite how much MECH had managed to steal from his kind, there were some aspects that simply couldn’t be replicated. The T Cog, the intricate EM sensors that allowed tracking of familiar spark signals… 

Furthermore, humans could only natively see into a narrow spectrum of light. They could expand that range with mechanical assistance, dipping into infrared and ultraviolet. Optimus imagined that Nemesis Prime would have been fitted with such capabilities– but how useful would they be in a humid, dense jungle, against a being that could vent his heat as quickly as it was generated?

“She really is desperate enough to make a deal with anyone, isn’t she?” Silas was hardly moving his drone, more focused on watching for signs of Optimus’ movement in the ferns. “First us, and now you. She and Starscream are two sides of the same coin. What did she offer you, Prime? Decepticon secrets? A pinky promise to be on her best behavior?”

He seemed to be making a game of it. If Airachnid was nearby, she might have been amused to see a human acting so much like herself. Or, more likely, disgusted. Optimus relied on the choking vines and wide palm fronds to hide his movement as he made his escape.

But even when he left Silas’ line of sight, he could still hear him.

“Hell, for all I know, she’s your answer for relieving tension . I know all about your biology, after all. You're really not so different from us, under the hood. And Arcee, well… she doesn’t seem like your type. But there I go again, making assumptions. I’m curious, do you Autobots all take turns with her?”

The plasma bolt was gone before Optimus could stop it, fired on instinct towards an object of repulsion. It tore through his cover, making a straight line towards the source of Silas’ mockery, and though it managed to graze Nemesis Prime’s shoulder it hardly left a mark.

“Oops. Hit a nerve, did I?” Nemesis prime had no mouth, yet Silas’ grin was palpable as he assessed the miniscule damage. Optimus had sworn to never harm humans– for the very first time since then, he was now regretting it. If he could only once make an exception…

“Hate to cut this short,” Silas called to him, “but I’m needed elsewhere. Maybe we should take a bet on who will find your spider first.”

Whatever it was must have been more important than silencing a Prime. Silas didn’t even try one last shot towards his location before his drone started stampeding in the opposite direction. Had they found Airachnid already…?

A comm tore through Optimus’ senses. But it was not, as he’d dared to hope, from her.

“Optimus, where are you?” Bulkhead’s voice held a kind of despair that mimicked Optimus’ own only on the surface. “We’re at the last place your signal pinged.”

He hadn’t expected them to notice his absence so quickly. He would have commended them at any other convenient time.  

“I have lured Nemesis Prime to another location,” Optimus said, telling as much of the truth as he could. “I will keep it busy. Silas is controlling it remotely– return to base, try to find the source of the transmitter signal.”

“Optimus, tell us where you are,” Bulkhead insisted. “ You can’t face him alone–”

“Focus on finding the signal. That is an order.”

He closed the line before Bulkhead could argue. If it was shut off at the source, then Nemesis Prime would be an empty shell. That would at least only leave him with an army of MECH soldiers to deal with…

If they were Decepticon drones, it would have been simple enough. But they were humans– delicate, ambitious, stupid humans just following orders. He couldn’t fight them, and he couldn’t hurt them. 

But he knew Airachnid would not share the sentiment. With that in mind, he set out looking for a blood trail.

✞✞✞

The hardest part of managing a translocated Ground Bridge wasn’t maintaining the integrity without the stabilising frame on one end. It wasn’t the risk of losing control of the tear by overcompensating for the radius. It wasn’t even the fact that, if the timing was just one second out of sync, whoever was in the Bridge could end up on the other side with parts of their body missing.

No, the hard part was trying to explain to everyone else around you why you opened a Bridge without telling them about the secret Decepticon family you were trying to hide.

“Did you open a Bridge for Optimus?” Rafael, more attentive than even the most workaholic scientists of Crystal City, noticed immediately when the medic was at the controls. “Where did he go?”

Ratchet considered pretending not to hear him. But Rafael always got a sad look when he was ignored and… no. He couldn’t bear to do it.

“He’s getting Silas’ drone away from populated areas,” he answered. “He’s gone somewhere remote.”

And if anyone asked him where, he didn’t know. The coordinates meant nothing to him. Optimus’ comm line was shut, the Bridge malfunctioned,, the position of the Earth’s moon was throwing off calculations…

The excuses kept piling up even as Bulkhead and Bumblebee both pinged for a Bridge home. They would have noticed Optimus’ absence. They would have questions, and Ratchet would have to pretend to have answers.

“And that’s the others on their way back.” He tried to sound relieved, and in a small way he was– at least none of them had been near Optimus during the warp.

“Why didn’t Optimus wait for our backup?” Bulkhead stormed through the portal with Wheeljack close behind. Bumblebee was trailing, his small eyes fluttering with nerves.

“You can track him can’t you, Ratchet?” he asked. “Why not Bridge us over to him?”

Ratchet forced some delay before he shook his head. “It’s not on me to defy his orders. For whatever reason, Optimus wants to deal with it alone.”

“Ohhh, I get it.” Standing beside Rafael, Miko was nodding very sagely to herself. “It’s personal. He wants to defeat himself all by himself!”

“Sure,” Ratchet muttered. “Something like that.”

“He’s gonna get himself killed!” Bulkhead growled, and just before he slammed his hands down onto the Bridge console Ratchet managed to swat him away.

“Will you keep it down?!” he snapped back. “I don’t want Arcee hearing this commotion. Do you know how hard it is convincing her to go recharge, even when we’re not having a crisis?”

Ratchet didn’t have to fake his frustration– Arcee had been running on fumes ever since the previous day, when she’d returned from whatever heart-to-spark Jack had had with her. Ratchet had spoken with her only briefly then before she went to her room, but he doubted she’d slept at all. He knew the look very well by now from seeing it enough times on Optimus.

Even though she’d agreed to stay behind, Ratchet still had a hell of a time getting her to actually go rest. She was intent on sticking around to see what came of the MECH hunt, right up until she almost crushed Jack by falling sideways on him. That was the incident, along with Jack walking her to her room, that finally convinced her to go get some sleep. 

In spite of all that, Bulkhead still scowled. Behind him, Wheeljack was making strange faces at an angle that only Ratchet could see. For some confusing seconds it was as if he was trying to perform sign language with nothing but his scowl and his eyebrows. 

Then he did something with his hands, something that still only Ratchet could see; spreading the five fingers of one out and tapping them against the flat open palm of the other. In the most charitable interpretation possible, it looked like a spider. 

Ratchet, in desperation that had never been matched before in his whole life, nodded at him.

“Well, no use standing around,” Wheeljack declared. “I’m gonna head out.”

“I’ll come with you, Jackie.” Bulkhead was already following him towards the elevator.

“Uh, better that you stay here, Bulk,” Wheeljack called back. “In case Prime comes to his senses and calls in.”

“But I–” His protest went unheard when the elevator doors clamped shut, taking Wheeljack away to his ship. Even if he tried to follow his friend, by the time the platform came back down Wheeljack would already be in the sky.

“He’s right, Bulkhead.” Ratchet never thought he’d admit such a thing about Wheeljack– but ever since he’d learned of Airachnid’s daughter, he’d learned to have no expectations from then on. “The best place for us to help Optimus is right here.”

Bulkhead gritted his teeth as he looked after the elevator door and whispered, “Bullshit.”

“ Oh, Arcee taught you that word too?” Bumblebee chirped.

“Yeah, but I’m not allowed to use it around Miko,” Bulk admitted. “Ms Darby got real mad last time…”

“Just be patient,” Ratchet sighed. “I’ve been tracking the drone frequency this whole time. We’re just waiting on the isolation algorithm…”

Rafael had helped to optimise it, but it could still take several minutes to complete– minutes where Optimus was all alone with Silas’ weapon. If it was really a carbon copy of him, it would be an exercise in mental strength as well as physical. Ratchet had tried so hard to squash Optimus’ self-loathing ever since they lost Elita, and every second spent fighting Silas would be threatening that hard work.

The only person who could fight Optimus was another Optimus. Miko had no idea how accurate she really was. 

“Here.” Ratchet almost jumped when he heard the indicator sound, drawing his digit like a magnet to his monitor. “That’s where we’ll find Silas.”

It wasn’t far from where Optimus had first found the drone. Was there a limit to the receiver range? Ratchet could only hope.

“Good work.” Agent Fowler had been assessing the situation from the sidelines in silence until now. “Now open that Bridge.”

He was standing right in front of the portal with his arms crossed, and Ratchet stared at him with disbelief.

“Agent Fowler, Optimus was very clear that this is too dangerous for humans–”

“I’m not just a human , Ratchet. I’m a soldier too. A former Ranger. I’d still be one, if Uncle Sam hadn’t had other plans for me. And look, I understand Optimus doesn’t want anyone else getting hurt. I understand he thinks we need protecting. I understand he’s… not something humans can really understand.” 

Agent Fowler had dropped his crossed arms as they formed fists at his sides. 

“But he’s given so much for us. You all have. For my people, my home here on Earth. So if there’s a chance that I can help him then God dammit, I’m gonna take it.”

Primus alive, this human was as bad as that one Autobot who kept making speeches at every skirmish on Cybertron. What was his name, Hot Shot? Hot Rod? Whatever it was, he’d clearly wanted Optimus’ job for himself. Ratchet couldn’t recall what happened to him, which was good in a way. He usually only remembered deaths if they were particularly gruesome.

“He’s got a point,” Bulkhead said, and he seemed somewhat impressed by Fowler’s conviction. “We’ll back him up, if it’ll make you feel better.”

“It will not make me feel better,” Ratchet snapped. “Right now, I’m just one transmission away from my fuel pump going into overdrive.”

The only thing that could possibly make him feel better was if he opened his eyes and found himself back on Cybertron– no war, no humans. For the first year on Earth, he’d held out hope. But now, living halfway through year four, he knew better.

He could talk to Optimus if the base was clear, at least. And taking out Silas would make everyone’s lives a whole lot easier.

Ratchet sighed. His own desperation was starting to scare him.

“Fine… I can drop you just outside the point.” For the human’s sake he almost wished the Bridge would malfunction, but the vortex tore open the air as it always did. Bulkhead and Bumblebee went ahead, and Fowler was right behind them.

“Use utmost discretion, Agent Fowler,” Ratchet warned.

“Please,” Fowler scoffed as he passed. “I’ve kept you guys secret for the last few years, haven’t I?”

Ratchet hoped he would hesitate. Something would stop him– a comm from Optimus, a sudden surge of common sense. But the human didn’t even pause before the vortex consumed him.

Ratchet’s regret was immediate and suffocating. He couldn’t help but wonder if Optimus had felt something similar in the last week. “Rafael–”

“Already tracking his location,” the smaller human said, typing furiously behind his laptop. “We can pull him out in seconds.”

Ratchet nodded his thanks with tired eyes. Rafael would have made a good Autobot– him and Fowler both, for such different reasons.

✞✞✞

The first helicopters had landed on the beach, as if they knew she’d be there. Airachnid recognised the MECH colors on them only once they were out of the air.  

The first dead soldier was a frenzied statement. She’d killed him with a single spear through the chest, efficient despite her panic. Unfortunately, his friends had failed to get the message. She’d had to take her time with them, making a show of their innards. The gore would have made it easier for the stupid ones to find her, so she took care to throw their limbs far off her trail. 

All the while, Scorpia was whining in her cocoon. She didn’t know what was happening, didn’t know what gunfire sounded like until today. Airachnid couldn’t even chastise her for it, not while she was still running. She could only scold herself for not doing the sensible thing and scouting the rest of the island while she had the chance– now she was blind in the bush, only knowing that she had to get to the other side of the island. 

Unless they were waiting there too. If they were smart, they would be. But if they were smart, they wouldn’t be chasing her in the first place.

Surely Optimus was trying to find her too. He would find her, somehow. Primes could do fantastical, impossible things like that. She couldn’t stop to tell him where to find her over comms because, truth be told, she didn't even know where she was. All the trees looked the same. The radiation that was supposed to shield her only served to corrupt her location metrics– her coordinates kept shifting even when she was standing still. 

And Scorpia was still crying. Airachnid strongly considered webbing her mouth shut, just as she heard the voice that cut through the buzz of insects around her.

“Show yourself! I come in peace.”

It was the Prime’s voice, that much was unmistakable. The delivery was strange, the words not like what she would expect from him. But the sound was enough to give her relief. Then she heard his footsteps, and found his shadow cutting through the midday sun, and the relief made her feel numb. 

Airachnid moved toward him until Scorpia whined, forcing her to stop. The child still thought they were in danger, and Airachnid couldn’t risk the wail of her vox drawing a swarm of humans on top of them.

‘It’s Optimus. He’s safe. He’ll help us.’ Airachnid mouthed the words as they came to her mind– if Scorpia couldn’t understand her, she could at least feel the reassurance from her spark.  

But the sparkling shook her head. Whenever Optimus was around, she was like a saint in a child’s body. She was never this frightened…

So it couldn’t be Optimus calling out for them. Whatever it really was looked and sounded just like him, but Scorpia could sense there was something missing.

“Show yourself!” The command was repeated, beat for beat. It wasn’t Optimus saying it, just an echo of his voice. MECH was trying to draw her out with a fraud… and it had almost worked. How embarrassing.

Airachnid fled to the trees above. The shape that wasn’t Optimus was moving slowly, assessing everything around it, but if it knew where she was that would surely change. She could use that.

Her webbing was running low, but she had enough stored to lay at least one trap. Someone of Prime’s size would cause some damage if he were to lose his balance. Scorpia was still keening, but her nerves seemed to have calmed while her mother worked in swift silence.

When it was ready, the imposter was still scanning the undergrowth. Airachnid worked venom into her mouth as she called out to it.

“Over here!”

She jumped to another branch just as the sound left her vox, and the fake Prime’s head snapped towards her. The eyes were glowing yellow– no trace of Autobot blue. Without Scorpia’s warning, she might not have noticed that until it was too late.

But when it moved, Airachnid could tell it wasn’t alive. There was no urgency or caution. It was an object following a fixed path towards a destination. It was, ironically, what humans thought Cybertronians were– robotic and empty.

She was disappointed. There’d be no fun in killing it. But it had to be done. 

She was right above it, waiting for it to walk into the line of web stretched taut over its path. But it stopped just short– had the light betrayed her? It was too late to change the plan. 

She had to leave Scorpia’s cocoon secured to the tree as she threw herself into the ambush, using the limbs she still had to grab onto the dark plating. Her claws sank in deep, much deeper than native Cybertronian armor would allow, but the object didn’t cry out or even flinch. It thrashed to try and throw her off, and her talons went for its eyes in turn. 

How were you supposed to kill something that wasn’t alive? No arteries to pierce, no bones to break. Even Cybertronians had weak points in their armor seams if you knew how to find them. Airachnid tore her claws at anything she could reach, but her enemy couldn’t feel pain. 

When it was clear that she couldn’t be thrown off, it took a different strategy; with all of Optimus’ mass, it started throwing itself against the ancient trees to try and crush her. Her head was ringing, her own fangs rattling in her jaw, but the force of the attacks wasn’t what concerned her. Scorpia was still in the branches, and if the impacts dislodged her cocoon–

“Airachnid!”

The crashing stopped so suddenly that she was almost thrown free of her quarry. She held onto the grooves her claws left in the shell, waiting for the ringing to stop, not seeing the hand held out to her until it touched her shoulder.

Optimus– the real one– helped to peel her off of the imposter’s torso. The rest of it was still standing, severed in half by a great force with a sharp blade. Optimus only put it away when he was sure it was no longer moving.

“What on Earth was that thing?” Airachnid could see the detail of it up close now that it wasn’t trying to kill her, but the only thing that came to mind was that it was Prime’s long lost evil twin.

“MECH’s experiments have reached new lows.” Optimus examined the thick oil that was splattered across his frame in the attack; thicker than energon, noxious and greasy like adipose tissue. Then, as if it was a reflex action, he used the weight of his frame to crush the fake Prime’s head under his foot.

“I came as quickly as I could,” he said, and his battle mask retracted to show a frown. “What happened here?”

Airachnid looked at the broken circuitry and wires, entranced by cybernetic gore as much as organic. Would her own head look the same with her protoform peeled back? Would Optimus’ look the same, if he’d been defeated trying to save her?

The thought of that made her sad. She soon shook herself free of it.

“I saw the helicopters first,” she said. “I thought they were going to pass by. They didn’t… so I ran.”

“Did they see Scorpia?”

“No. I don’t think so.” With the mention of her daughter’s name, Airachnid ascended the trees to find her. The cocoon was right where it had been left, but the commotion below would have been hard to ignore. She was silent as she cowered in its grasp. Airachnid took her with a warm spark, but Scorpia hardly stirred. 

One of the tried and true sparkling survival instincts, employed only under threat of death, was pretending to already be dead. The only real sign of life was the softest whistle of her vents, and the fact that Airachnid’s spark wasn’t in crippling agony for the second time. She tried to compose herself before she faced Optimus on the forest floor again.

“We need to get you out of here.” Prime was scanning the surroundings, but when he reached for Airachnid’s arm she pulled it away.

“I’m not leaving,” she said, curling her venom-laced lip. Now that the danger was gone, stronger feelings were beginning to surface. “You told me this would be a safe place. I believed you.”

It was another petty thing, blaming her benefactor for what humans chose to do. It was all she really knew how to do. And even though he had no good reason to, other than what she threw at him, Optimus made himself look guilty.

“We were intercepted. I didn’t know… I don’t know how it happened. But we can’t risk Scorpia being seen.”

“So we’ll kill them all,” Airachnid said. “End the threat right here.”

She’d probably already wiped out half their elite soldiers just running from them. They were just a warm up. The rest would be worth the effort, almost worth endangering her daughter for. Scorpia would have a front row seat to the slaughter, and she’d learn from the very best.

Optimus grabbed her arm, but it wasn’t to guide her to the humans. There was a brittle steel in his vox when he spoke. 

“We will not.”

“Why?” Airachnid tore herself free only because he allowed her to. “Because they’re humans ?”

She didn’t even need to ask. If someone killed an Autobot right in front of him, he’d probably forgive it if a human pulled the trigger.

“I will not allow them to come to harm on my watch, Airachnid.” He stood in front of her, as if he could block her from leaving. “I understand what you’ve done thus far was in self-defense–”

Airachnid laughed in his face. The organic blood was still on her claws as she balled them tight. “I killed them because they deserved it, Prime! They’re a menace to this planet. Even other humans won’t mourn them.”

Optimus stepped towards her. The space between them was minute, and with such little breathing space she could feel the heat in his vents, the disturbance in his EM signal. 

The most worrying sign, though, was that she couldn’t see his mouth anymore. His battle mask was in the way again.

“The people you killed have families of their own,” he informed her, biting each word as it came out. “Children, parents. They will be mourning their whole lives from today because of you.”

Scorpia was still silent, her eyes not daring to reach him. This was another Optimus that she didn’t recognise, and Airachnid was feeling the same.

If she didn’t know better, she would have thought he was trying to scare her.

“Maybe they will,” she admitted, “until they learn why they died. So give me one reason why I should care. No, better yet, tell me this–”

She stepped away from him, away from his icy EM field, and his glare lost its impact across the distance.  

“Why should we hide Scorpia from them? One of our own young? What will they do to her, if they know she exists?”

It was a question that didn’t need answering. It was a question that Optimus wouldn’t want to answer. But Airachnid hoped that he would at least try, try to lie to her. She wanted to see how far Autobots would go to keep themselves in the right.

But Optimus didn’t lie. He didn’t say anything. He was, for once, showing intelligence in refusing to argue with her.

“Exactly,” Airachnid snapped. “You know the true threat. You know what they’d do to us, given the chance. What they’d do to my daughter. And you expect me to show them mercy?”

She laughed again, but it caught on a surge of bile from her throat. The disgust was thick like lead on her tongue, sticking to the bottom of her mouth. It was like going days without water or blood, in the early days when dehydration almost killed her before anything else on Archa Seven. It was like being told to play nice with her food while she was starving to death.

“There are other ways to stop them.” Optimus’ anger was burned out, leaving only a pathetic plea that didn’t suit him nearly as well. ”We don’t need to kill.”

In most interactions, she knew what the cruelest possible thing to say would be. Even so, she rarely ever used them. They were saved for special occasions, for people who really deserved them.

Of course she didn’t restrain herself this time. Of course she had to hurt the only one on Earth who’d ever been willing to help her.

“Thinking like that,” she snarled, “is why you lost Cybertron.”

Optimus Prime didn’t strike her for it. He didn’t even speak. She would have preferred either over the silence that followed.

‘ At least if they kill you first, he won’t have to mourn you.’ The voice in her head sounded like Tarantulas, the exact words he would use to console her. But without him here, they didn’t work.

“I’m tired of running.” Airachnid shoved Scorpia’s cocoon into Prime’s chest before she could change her mind. “Take her. I’ll deal with this myself.”

She turned her back on the two of them and jumped, ready to perform her disappearing act into the trees.

“Airachnid, wait!” Optimus’ voice down below was a sonic boom, neither angry nor sad. It would have alerted every MECH soldier in a five mile radius and its sheer force stopped her mid-flight, forcing her to look back.

He was holding Scorpia, and the sparkling almost seemed to be herself again in his arms as she squirmed. But he paid her no mind, forcing Airachnid’s attention on him just as his was on her. 

His battle mask was gone, and his face was heavy in its absence. If he had anything more to say, it refused to come out. Airachnid pitied him. If losing his Elita hadn’t taught him what needed to be done to protect what he claimed to love, then nothing ever would.

“This is my home now,” she told him. “My sanctuary. And if you won’t protect it, I will.”

She disappeared again, and this time he could not stop her.

It was the input lag that ruined it. Even with the extender relays in place, there was only so much control Silas could have over a machine that was so far from the control pod. He had to work with what he had, and what he had simply wasn’t yet good enough against Optimus Prime.

But it didn’t have to be. Version one had served its purpose– any trust that the Pentagon had in the Autobots was now hanging by a thread. Version two would be the one to cut it. All he needed were the materials to build it…

Some of the original could be salvaged. Airachnid’s corpse could make up the rest.

“The prototype has been destroyed.” Silas handed off the now-useless controls to the soldier nearest to him. “Ensure its remains are recovered and deploy a jammer on all radio frequencies below our band for communications.”

“On it, sir.” When one man left his side, another two arrived to replace him– an engineer and a soldier, distinguishable only by the weapons holstered at their sides. 

“Have you found the spider?” Silas asked, knowing at least one would have the answer.

“Not yet, sir. But we have found something of greater interest.”

“Have you now?” Silas was skeptical, but he still took the time to examine the tablet that was presented to him.

“There’s a faint signal in this area that we believe is Cybertronian,” the engineer explained, pointing to the glowing radar graph at the top of the screen. “It doesn’t align with any others we’ve detected, but it’s unlikely to be anything else. It’s our understanding that its source is somewhere underground.”

Silas’ interest was piqued, only slightly outweighing his anger. “She does like to dig tunnels. Maybe she’s hidden something down there. Get my chopper ready, and get it found before we land.”

“Yes, sir.” The engineer scurried off, and the remaining soldier relayed orders to prepare Silas’ chariot for immediate liftoff. But in the middle of his spiel, another panicked voice came through– just as something crashed outside the thick steel walls.

“There’s Autobots right outside, sir,” the soldier said. “Two of them.”

Silas fought back a smile. If only they’d been a few minutes earlier, they might have been able to catch him. 

 “So they’ve tracked us down at last.” His sigh was deadpan. “A shame they can’t fly after us. Evacuate the building and wipe all hard drives. Stall them, if you can.”

He had to wonder why they’d bothered to track him down, while Optimus was left to fend for himself with Airachnid. There was a story there that he unfortunately didn’t have time to figure out. And Airachnid herself wouldn’t be able to tell him when she was dead.

…

Bulkhead was careful to only let off warning shots. But Bumblebee, a little too eager to make himself useful, ended up causing a chain explosion when one of his plasma bolts ripped through a whole rank of parked trucks. It took him some precious seconds to even register the firestorm coming towards him, while Bulkhead threw himself against him to pull him out of the way.

If there were any humans caught in the fire, the Wrecker struggled to muster up any worry for them. He’d seen what these MECH creeps had done to Breakdown first-hand. Even if he was a Decepticon now… he didn’t deserve that. None of them did. 

Well, Megatron was probably an exception. But that wasn’t something for Bulkhead to consider. Bumblebee sprang out of his grip, barely registering the heat around him as he scanned his guns across the only part of the base he hadn’t yet destroyed.

In all the chaos and excitement, it was far too easy to lose track of the one human around who Bulkhead did worry about.

“Hey Bee? Where the hell did Fowler go?”

The mention of his name was what finally made Bumblebee stand down. This time he kept his guns stashed away while he scanned the ruined surroundings. There was no sign of any humans living or dead. Bulkhead swapped his sensors over to heat maps, but all he could see were the red-hot remnants of the explosions. 

“ Uh, Bulk? ” Bumblebee let out a two-tone chirp as he pointed above him, just before his vox was drowned out by a thunder engine. The black helicopter that emerged overhead screamed its ascent, climbing hundreds of feet in seconds. With his heat sensors still running Bulkhead could detect at least seven humans in its chassis. One of them was at the very back, as if they were hiding from the rest.

‘ Fowler, I will throttle you with my own jumper cables when I find you.’ Bulkhead’s threat rattled in his vox as he activated his T Cog, wasting no more time in trying to chase the copter down. Bee followed suit without question and quickly overtook Bulkhead with his lighter frame, keeping pace with the copter for miles. The MECH soldiers piloting it– with Silas likely alongside them– must have noticed the Autobots chasing them, but they didn’t try to launch deterrents. They just kept flying in a straight line, letting Bumblebee and Bulkhead wear their cogs out trying to keep up…

Until it finally crossed over water, leaving both mechs stranded on the shore and Fowler trapped onboard. Bulkhead shifted to his peds with only a light tap on his breaks, but by the time he oriented himself the copter was long gone. It was heading west, but it was impossible to tell where it was actually going to land.

“ Who do you think’s gonna be more mad at us? ” Bee asked, once his vents had some air to spare. “ Ratchet, or Optimus? ”

“Optimus doesn’t get mad,” Bulkhead sighed, still dreading the call he’d have to make to Ratchet. “He gets disappointed.”

“But that’s even worse! ”

“Yeah… I know.”

✞✞✞

Without Scorpia weighing her down, Airachnid carved a path to the beach in mere minutes. If there were humans in her way, she didn’t register them as anything more than sacks of blood. They disintegrated under her claws, so weak and disgusting. 

The only worthwhile things about them were their skeletons. She could feel how strong the bones were when she broke them, how difficult it was to find a crack in the muscles that would allow her to cleanly slice a limb from its socket. Most of them would probably survive, if they managed to stem the blood loss. She didn’t have time to finish them off. She hated them for forcing her to do it, for making her be so messy and vulgar with her work, and she hated Optimus for almost making her pity them.

Airachnid could hear the ocean coming near, and the stench of humans and gunpowder in the air was stronger than the salt. She was right at the edge when a sudden vibration almost knocked her off her feet, shaking the foundations of the island itself. And it didn’t fade– the erratic resonance only grew stronger as she tried to crawl away from it. She couldn’t pinpoint the source of the disturbance; her first thought was that it was the MECH helicopters, but the frequency and force was too much. She knew what her own rotors sounded like, and they didn’t sound like this. Was it an earthquake? Volcanic activity nearby? There was no way to know in her current state. 

If it was some trick or counterattack set up by MECH, her only option was to retreat. She tried going back along the path of bodies– as she’d expected, most of them were still alive and moaning to themselves as she passed over them. And as she did so, she couldn’t decide if she wanted to leave them to suffer or end the horrible noise with a mercy killing. It would have been an easy choice, not so long ago. Once again, she blamed Optimus for making a simple thing far too complicated.

The path she took didn’t help her predicament in any case– the grating vibration was no weaker in the jungle. She stopped moving only to cradle her aching head, and then the thrumming stopped as well. She was still disoriented in its absence, but its fading echo gave her some clues to its source.

The other side of the beach. MECH had gathered all their people and resources on one side, so they must have had something worth protecting beyond their barricade. If Airachnid could find her way through the tangled jungle without losing her head to the wretched noise, she might have been able to reach it. 

 As for what she’d find there… it couldn’t possibly be worse than anything the Decepticons could come up with. Humans were hardly innovative with the few threats they could pose to someone like her. 

There was a gurgle next to her. One of her victims, still clinging to life with one hand while the other tried to grasp for his weapon, looked at her with bleeding eyes. His fingers grazed the handle of his gun, but with his legs served from his body he couldn’t make up the meagre distance. 

His family wouldn’t be able to bury him in this state. His friends would likely banish the gory details of his demise from their brains. He must have known it might come to this. He must have known there’d be no glory in taking arms against beings that would never be his equal. Yet he still glared at Airachnid with fear and agonising pain, like so many dying animals she’d seen before.

There was only one key difference with the human; in those blank animal eyes, there was hatred too. Seething, admirable hatred. It always looked the same, no matter the species it came from.

Airachnid crushed his skull until his eyes were in pieces on her claws. It was the only mercy she knew how to give. The viscera was thick on her claws, and it would be a nightmare cleaning them when she had the chance. She didn’t like such dirty work without even having a trophy at the end–

Her trophy. The doe skull. When they stormed the beach, she didn’t have time to carry it and Scorpia at once. It was probably shattered by now, gone to waste. 

A human skull would be a worthy replacement. But this one, what remained of it, wouldn’t do. She wanted to know the name of her trophy, and she wanted its name to be Silas.

✞✞✞

Wheeljack didn’t have the island in sight yet, but he was already dodging bullets that pelted off of the Jackhammer ’s hide. The ballistics were weak enough that they couldn’t quite tear through the reinforced plating, but with enough of them hitting at once they could easily wreck the outside sensors. He was blindly jumping across tailwinds, unable to detect where the hailstorm was even coming from, and of course he couldn’t comm Optimus for guidance because he didn't have access to his frequency. 

(He’d fix that if he managed to find the bastard alive.)

Then the island came into view, and he found an army waiting for him on the beach. MECH had all but colonised the coastline; helicopters and trucks were bristling with turrets, and every human outside of them was armed to the teeth. They saw him at the same moment he saw them, and their assault only intensified– the hail of bullets became a torrent in seconds. 

With no plans to commit suicide just yet, Wheeljack had to swerve around the jagged edge of the island and make his own landing zone in the middle of the dense jungle. It was a crash-landing in the literal sense–he could hear the trees snapping around him as the Jackhammer ploughed right through, though its power quickly stalled when it met huge trunks that couldn’t be cut down so easily. Wheeljack was wincing even long after the ship finally came to a stop. The engine was still showing as optimal; everything else was flashing at him, indicating that at least one part in every system had gone horribly wrong. 

The Jackhammer had survived being set on fire by the magma pools of Darkmount, being crushed under Devastator’s legs, being flash frozen when the generator died in the middle of uncharted space. It would survive this. It would survive even worse than this.

Even so, Wheeljack was very careful in extracting himself from the pilot’s seat. The key difference between now and then, when the Jackhammer and its captain had suffered the most, was that, back then, he hadn’t had much of a reason to stay alive. Back then, Strongarm hadn’t yet been born.

  Wheeljack was still alive when he reached the docking ramp, and miraculously the mechanism still worked. When he lowered it, he found Optimus waiting for him outside.

“Perfect timing, Wheeljack.” He was standing at the edge of the destruction, with a sparkling in his arms. If it was anyone else waiting for him, Wheeljack would have slugged them in the chin. Even with Prime, the instinct was still there. Only the presence of Scorpia made him hesitate.

“Had a lot of practice, with how often I bailed out Autobots back on Cybertron.” Wheeljack jumped down and forced himself to look at the Jackhammer to assess the damage. It was wreathed in a fine trail of smoke that was slowly climbing into the sky– which explained how Optimus was able to find him. 

“The doc is keeping your boys busy in Nevada. He couldn’t tell me much with them around, so mind telling me what the hell is going on here?” He talked while he scanned the ship’s shell, making a mental tally of all the repairs he’d need to do to even get it back in the air.

“MECH have swarmed the island,” Optimus said. “They know the Airachnid is here.”

Wheeljack kept his curse lodged in his vox. “Where is she? You’ve got the kid, she must be nearby–”

“She ran off. We… disagreed over how to deal with the humans.”

“I bet you did.” Wheeljack had to commend how diplomatic Optimus could be in a crisis. Though, maybe it was only because a Prime had to be. Even Scorpia was more agitated than someone her age should have been; she struggled in Optimus’ grip, restless and whimpering. Being with her mother, wherever she was now, probably would have only made her worse.

Wheeljack opened his comm frequency, intending to plug into the Jackhammer’s wide receiver and try to contact the Nevada base through it, but all he heard was painful static. He shut it off with a wince at Optimus.

“Scrap… are your comms jammed too?”

Optimus’ eyes furrowed, and when they squeezed shut it was clear he was also being assaulted by a scrambler. “They were working when I arrived… MECH must have deployed a device to block transmissions.”

These humans had thought of just about everything. If Airachnid was planning to wipe the floor with them, Wheeljack couldn’t help but hope she succeeded.

“I must find her before she causes more destruction.” Optimus held the squirming sparkling out with two hands towards Wheeljack. “Make sure no-one sees Scorpia.”

The Wrecker accepted her without thinking, before he realised Optimus was now running in the opposite direction. “Wait, wait, I didn’t come here to be a babysit–!”

He didn’t hear the protest. Or he just pretended not to hear it before he was long out of sight. Wheeljack stood outside his broken ship, in the middle of a war zone, with a sparkling that wasn’t his, and wanted nothing more than to smoke one of his final cy-gars. 

The only thing stopping him was the kid. He wasn’t going to poison her just because her carrier was a nightmare on eight legs. It was the first time he’d held a sparkling since leaving Strongarm behind. Scorpia was a lot lighter than her, but then again she was also a lot younger. 

“Still young enough to have no clue what the hell’s going on,” Wheeljack told her with a sigh. “You have no idea how lucky you are, little lady.”

She chirped up at him, just before she started nibbling on his hand. She didn’t have her mother’s fangs yet, so it was a very gummy sensation. He took her inside the Jackhammer and let her bite away while he pulled out ancient schematics for every patchwork part of the ship. Most of them had been torn in half and repaired several times, but he couldn’t store them on the computer when that was more likely than anything else to break down by itself. 

Most importantly though, hard copies couldn’t be hacked. With bastards like Dreadwing and Soundwave on Earth, he wouldn’t be making that mistake ever again.

✞✞✞

Airachnid took her time through the jungle. This was a true hunt, and it wouldn’t be rushed. The thumping, the drilling, was still piercing through the island as she stalked the undergrowth. But soon there was a new sound as well, and this one she recognised with a jolt in her neglected T Cog. The helicopter was an ugly, bloated thing that struggled to hover in place with all of its thick armor plating. She knew who’d be inside it even before it landed– with her patience on a razor edge, she sat in cover and waited for the soldiers to emerge onto the sand. 

“How deep is the signal?” His voice was unmistakable– Silas had to shout over the copter engine and the vibration of the drill, and still Airachnid wouldn't have heard the words if she hadn't focused her sensors with pin-point precision.  

“Another few hundred feet. A Cybertronian ship was sighted in the sky not long ago, sir. Seems like it landed somewhere in the jungle. Should we send a team out to find it?”

“The Autobots don’t have ships. Leave it. Focus on the underground operation. Time estimate?”

"Our drills should reach it in the next ten minutes."

“Slow them when we’re close. We don’t want to risk damaging the specimen.”

Airachnid shut the voices out. She didn’t need to know why Silas was here. She knew how many people were around him, how many guns she’d need to deal with. She wanted to leave her trophy for last.

The hideous helicopter worked to her advantage– where it was parked, she could use it as cover for her advance. She could sense a heartbeat inside it, most likely one of the soldiers guarding the entrance. If they had sense, they’d stay where she couldn’t see them when the screaming started.

Another earthquake hit as she was scanning the ground ahead. She was getting used to the vibrations now, able to brace herself when they rumbled through so she could stay upright. But this one was the strongest one yet, as if the force was reacting to Silas’ unwanted presence. But the man himself was hardly registering the disturbance– he stood with his bodyguards and his boots planted in the sand while the quake passed through, only moving when there was a break in the waves. 

There were six of them in total including Silas, and they were heading for the trees. Airachnid waited until they were across the threshold, into her domain. 

And it seemed they’d learned very little from the last time they’d come across her.  Silas took the lead, leaving the others spaced out behind him. If she was silent, they wouldn’t even know they were being watched unless they turned and found their numbers decimated.

It felt almost too easy, picking them off one by one. She didn’t want them to feel safe. She wanted them to know they were going to die.

She targeted the one at the back, firing a thin trail of web at his spine– just enough for him to feel it, just loud enough for the rest to have warning. Her victim turned towards her, staring right into the razor of her leg before it pierced his chest. The others were quick to react, letting loose with automatic rifles, but they were only allowed two seconds of free fire before the spasming body of their comrade went crashing into them. Airachnid was impressed when some of them kept firing at her through the poor soul’s body– not that he had much chance of survival even without bullet holes. But it was still a poor shield against her claws.

If she still had all of her legs, it would have been much quicker for them. Unfortunately her talons were growing dull after so much use, and their ragged wounds would leave them suffering before they died. 

“Still relying on your inferiors to watch your back, Silas,” Airachnid hissed to the only man left standing. “Humans never learn.”

There was a second of shock before his hand went to his side, pulling out a human-sized handgun. To his credit, he didn’t waste time in launching his attack– as pitiful as it was. The bullets, pinpricks that barely dented her armor, shattered into microscopic pieces in a glittering hail of shrapnel and powder.

“Now you’re just trying to piss me off.”

Silas threw the empty magazine aside, but kept the useless firearm it was attached to. Heat was pouring from him. He pulled his goggles aside, and his eyes were the only part of his face free of sweat. 

“Look, Airachnid, let’s be reasonable–”
“Do I look like someone who can be reasoned with?” There was a dead body dangling on her leg, its entrails clinging stubbornly to the tarsus that hovered over her right shoulder. She flung it aside with a flick of her muscles. 

“We’re not here for you,” Silas argued– he somehow kept the tremor from his voice, though Airachnid could hear his heartbeat in his throat as he scrambled back in the brush. “We didn’t know this was your territory.”

“I don’t care,” she snarled. “ You never cared. If you could, you’d scour Cybertron for whatever was left behind.”

She could have killed him in a second, leaving his guts to rot with the rest of his people. But it had been too long since she’d savoured her kill. The weight of something’s life came solely from its potential, its sentience, its fear at being destroyed. And Silas’ life in her hand was a heavy weight indeed.

He finally stumbled. Still gripping his gun, he couldn’t catch himself when he tripped and fell backwards into the undergrowth. It was a harsh slope that would tenderize him in his descent, but just before he disappeared either desperation or happenstance made him fire one last round, one still trapped in the chamber, towards her. 

It glanced off of her face, where the protoform was left unarmoured to allow for emoting, and skimmed her optic. She flinched from the new blindspot– her hand snapped to the wound by reflex and covered the eye. Her HUD warned her of a fuel line bleed, but there was no catastrophic optic damage to report. Even so, she was hesitant to pull her hand away in case there was still darkness. 

If Silas blinded her like he did Breakdown… she’d take both of his eyes along with his skull.

Her palm was covered in energon, and she could taste the runoff around her mouth. But she could see it, and that was a relief. 

Silas, however, was not in her sight. She’d only hesitated for a few seconds, and that had been enough for him.

“We’re not lowly vultures like you, Airachnid,” he called out– from where, she couldn't yet tell. “We have no interest in dead technology. It’s in our interest to keep at least one of you alive.”

“Funny,” she growled, scanning the undergrowth for his heat signature. “I have no interest in keeping any of you alive.”

“Am I correct in assuming Saint Optimus hasn’t sanctioned your attack?”

At the sound of his name, Airachnid’s venom turned sour on her tongue. She’d managed to forget about him until now. She’d managed to forget about her daughter. For just a few precious minutes of slaughter, she had been allowed to be herself once more.

“He’s a fool who doesn’t know what needs done,” she snapped, suppressing the static in her vox. “He doesn’t know what kind of scum you really are.”

“And yet you still made a deal with us. You knew what we wanted from the beginning. And you didn’t care either. You used to be so much more interesting, Airachnid. Now you’re just one of them. What a pity.”

His voice was close. If he was trying to ambush her this time, she’d like to see what damage he hoped to do. He had no people left, no bullets that could pierce her armor, no reason for her to leave him alive–

She saw his shadow, then the whites of his teeth bared like a predator. And then something hit her that wasn’t a bullet. The green puck latched onto her chest, right over her spark chamber, digging metal fingers into her. Then it unleashed a storm of interference– the arcs of electricity singed the undergrowth, fizzing all over her frame.

Airachnid felt it… tingling. Her mouth was on fire, and her arms spasmed before she took control back. It passed over her in less than a second.

When Silas found her still standing before him, his grin vanished. 

“How…? You should be comatose.” He stared at the heavy gun in his hands as if it was a live snake. “That voltage took down a mech over twice your size–!”

“So that’s how you got your hands on Breakdown,” she mused. “Electromagnetic pulse. Clever. But, I'm sure you know, it doesn’t work on organic lifeforms.”

Silas shook his head. “You’re not…”

“Technorganic,” she corrected, pinching the discharged puck and throwing it at his feet. “Shows how little you really know about what you’re dealing with.”

Her razors were still glistening with gore as she raised them high. She could cut the head off clean with them. The angle was perfect, the neck left unguarded where he would bleed the most.

But then something swept her off her feet. She didn’t hear the footsteps because her sensors were still focused on Silas, and she couldn’t brace herself against the force that slammed into her. This was no vibration or earthquake– this was Optimus Prime and his horrible sense of timing.

“Airachnid! Stand down!”

When she did need him, he came too late. And when she didn’t need him at all, he showed up anyway. Typical Autobot behavior.

“Get off of me!” Airachnid thrashed in his arms– her own arms were pinned back, but her legs were free to kick at the air. The two rotors she had left struck blindly behind her, trying to pry her body away from Prime’s, and their armour plating screamed as it scraped together.

Somewhere behind the struggle, a human's voice hissed out from a radio unit. “Sir, we have secured and tranquilized the specimen.”

“Get it loaded now!” Silas barked, his voice fading fast. “Evacuate all personnel on the east beach!”

In desperation, Airachnid resorted to a base instinct– with her teeth around Prime’s hand, she bit down until she could taste energon, and even deeper until her fangs were scraping hard metal. He flinched and that was enough for her to free herself, sprawling away from him.

“I almost had him, Prime, you idiot–! ” Her fists were balled, but Optimus caught them both as they came towards him.

“If you kill him, Airachnid, you leave me with two options.” He didn’t let go as he spoke to her, emphasising each word with a weary growl. “Either the humans will have to know of your existence, or I will have to take responsibility for his death.”

“You should be proud of that,” she scoffed, pulling her hands free with disgust. And it was only then that she realised Optimus’ were empty, and only then that panic seized her spark in a sickening vice.

“Where is my daughter?” Why the hell did she leave her with Optimus in the first place? She was her only weakness now, and she’d handed her right over without even thinking–

“Safe,” Optimus told her. “With Wheeljack.”

“With Wheeljack?! ”

“She will be out of sight.” Optimus turned away before her claws could reach for his neck.

“That is not my concern, you left her with–!”

“We will capture Silas alive.” His vox was a physical force, stopping her in her tracks again. “And we will hand him over to the authorities. You can help me in this endeavor, or you can search for Wheeljack and retrieve your daughter. The choice is yours.”

He kept moving without her, as if it made no difference to him what she chose. Maybe it really did.

She didn’t want Scorpia left alone out of her sight. But she didn’t want Silas to be left alive either. If he was to be apprehended soon, it may be her only chance to take him. Following his evacuation order the sky above the canopy was now buzzing with aircraft and helicopters. MECH was finally retreating, and Silas would be joining them if they didn’t hurry. 

So Airachnid followed. Silas’ path was easy enough to track because he’d fled back to the same beach he’d arrived on. Optimus held her back at the edge of the sand, and she obeyed only because she knew one soldier was still left behind waiting.

Or at least, there had been one. The heaviest helicopter, Silas’ ticket to freedom, was now hovering three hundred feet off the ground with the man himself still stranded below.

“Who is piloting copter AM-84?” Silas was barking into his radio, climbing into one of the few vehicles left behind. “Land immediately!”

Airachnid surged against Optimus’ barricade, but he still wouldn’t let her through. It was almost as if he didn’t trust her to leave him alive. A rare moment of intelligence.

“Come in, soldier! You do not have authorization to pilot that craft.” Silas’ commands were interrupted by a hail of gunfire from the hijacked helicopter as it razed the beach, flying not over the water with the rest of MECH’s fleet but back over the jungle. The betrayal made little sense, and it mattered even less to Airachnid. She was right behind Optimus as he left the treeline, finally baring his guns on the human.

“Your men have abandoned you, Silas.”

The human scowled, still sitting in the vehicle as if it could protect him. “They know their priorities. That’s just how I trained them.”

His hands were on the steering wheel, and a second later they were pulling a lever. The truck dropped its front grill, revealing two mounted miniguns that immediately started spitting fire towards Optimus and Airachnid. It wasn’t just a land vehicle– it was a turret, and unlike the weak hand-powered weapons humans usually favored, its bounty could chew right through their protoforms.

Optimus didn’t dive for cover, instead he made his own from the other vehicles left abandoned. He kept his back to the gunfire, shielding Airachnid in turn as he dragged two other trucks in front, forming a makeshift barricade that he was barely able to crouch behind.

It was the best he could do, and it would hardly last a minute under the assault. There was no knowing how many bullets Silas would get through before he ran out, or if they’d survive until then.

“You should have let me kill him while I had the chance!” Airachnid had to scream over the sound of the gunfire, and she would have screamed anyway from frustration. Their only escape route was back into the forest, and they’d be trapped there. 

Optimus was wincing, trying to hold the second truck in place against the hail of hollow points with an array of holes all over his back. Energon was oozing from each one, forming a slick pool at his feet, and ter was a thick film of pain over his vox.

“I’m going to distract him.”

“You’re going to get yourself cut to pieces–” Airachnid snapped, though that was all she said before Optimus handed the burden of their cover’s weight to her. Her extra limbs allowed her some better purchase, but she lacked Prime’s sheer strength. 

“Be ready,” he warned, catching her eyes with his own. “As soon as you see the light, run towards him. You must capture him– alive. ”

“What are you talking about? What light?”

Optimus said nothing more before the assault paused; the guns either needed reloading or a chance to cool down. They couldn't risk running out without knowing how long the break would last for.

“I applaud your ingenuity, Silas,” Optimus called out. “You managed to fool everyone with your copy of me. But despite all your efforts, it still lacked the crucial burden that all Primes must carry.”

The sound waves from the bullet storm were still heavy in the open air. Silas’ laugh was a dull thud under them. “And what would that be, Prime? Your failures? Your dead planet?”

“No.” Optimus breathed deep. “The light of the Allspark. Now, Airachnid!”

She still didn’t understand what the hell he was doing when he threw himself from cover. Not even when he had one knee in the sand, his hands at his chest, pulling the deepest plates open–

And then she remembered. He was a Prime. He held the Matrix next to his spark. The Allspark, what was left of it, was reflected within him.

It was a blinding light. It was a horrible light.

And as she looked on, it was speaking to her.

“Look away, monster.”

“This light is not for your eyes.”

“This spark is no longer yours.”

A hundred different voices in unison. A hundred flavors of disdain and disgust.

She looked away– not because she was told to, but because to look on any longer was unbearable. The Matrix was a scornful thing. It was as much a beast as she was. 

And it scared her.

Wherever Airachnid had run off to, and whoever she was killing on the way there, her daughter wasn’t having a good time of it. At first Wheeljack thought she maybe just didn’t like him– genetic dislike, something like that. But even when he left her to rest while he did his repairs, she was still whining.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry. What’s wrong?” He offered her an energon crystal, small enough for her to eat in one bite, and she turned her face away from it. Strongarm would have taken his whole finger off for the same snack.

‘ But she’s not Strongarm. Strongarm’s far away from here, and better for it.’ Wheeljack had to keep telling himself the same. As much as Scorpia reminded him of his daughter, he couldn’t expect her to act the same way. And as much as he missed Strongarm, he wouldn’t want her to be anywhere near Earth. Not with sick bastards like Silas and Megatron crawling all over it.

Scorpia rolled onto her front, still flailing as if she was trying to move without walking. Wheeljack had to pick her up before she hurt herself, but from how she wailed he might have been too late. He held her like he was taught– under her arms, supporting her spinal strut with his fingers while his thumbs resting on her abdomen, and she yelped as if he’d just pinched her. Even when he shifted her into a cradle on her back, she still fought against him with tears in her eyes.

He didn’t realise what he was doing wrong until he held her abdomen again, and this time his finger pressed against her endoskeleton. Scorpia squealed again, and he pulled his hand back with a shock.

“What happened here, huh…?” He set her down on her back on a flat surface, letting her calm down without his interference. He hoped Airachnid couldn’t sense her pain, otherwise he was a dead man walking. Once she stopped squirming, he used the lightest touches to search for any other areas causing her pain. The back of her head seemed to have a growth of thin wires, just above where her strut connected. She didn’t react when he touched them, so he left them alone. 

Wheeljack soon realised it was her armor. Strongarm’s  had been a healthy four inches thick by the time she was able to walk, able to cushion her from anything short of a ten foot drop. Scorpia’s own outer layer, even in the areas that didn’t make her cry when poked, was hardly thicker than an inch.

The formation of it had seemed normal from the outside. It looked black at first, like her mother’s, though when the light hit it the reflection was a dark purple. But despite how sturdy it appeared, it flexed under the slightest pressure. The weakest areas were her belly and the plating over her spark– thin as a razor, the worst possible place it could be.

‘ That’s… not normal.’ Of course, she wasn’t a normal sparkling. But she was still Cybertronian. She still needed that armor to protect her protoform; the metallico was malleable, able to flow into any shape as growth demanded. The armor was permanent, and it dictated the kind of alt modes that could be scanned. It could change form and split apart into different configurations, but there was no way to get more or less mass without complex surgery– the kind that the Decepticons specialised in.

 The way Scorpia was now, her armor layer might as well not have even been there. How the hell had Ratchet not noticed this? Was it only recent?

He’d interrogate the doc later, when his ship was fixed. And he’d interrogate Prime now– he could hear the big lump stamping around outside, and he didn’t even turn towards the ship door when he heard it open. Scorpia needed his attention more than anything else.

“You ever pull this crap on me again, Prime,” he said over his shoulder, “and I swear I’ll make Arcee look calm when you finally–”

“Wheeljack?” 

That wasn’t Prime’s voice. That wasn’t any Autobot’s voice. Wheeljack was sure he was hearing things before he turned around and saw the human for himself. 

And of course it was the annoying one.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” The human beat him to it, though really Wheeljack had much more right to be in his own ship than any human did. 

“I’d ask you the same, Faller.” He said the name wrong to buy himself some time to hide Scorpia, closing the door on the cargo bay and stepping into the cabin with the human. 

“It’s Fowler! Agent Fowler! I’m here for the same reason I bet you are– cause MECH needs an ass whooping.”

Wheeljack had to stop himself from warning against using language like that around a sparkling– Fowler hadn’t noticed her yet, and he was going to keep it that way.

“Yeah, sure, let’s go with that.” Wheeljack locked the cargo door just to be safe, and thought of a thousand ways to get Fowler the hell away from it. “How did you even get here?”

“I hitchhiked on Silas’ copter. He ended up here– wherever here is– and I know for a fact Optimus is here with him. I hijacked his vehicle while it was empty and followed the smoke trail in the sky… which turned out to be your crashed ship.”

He pointed at Wheeljack as if it was all his fault. But if the human was telling the truth, he was actually impressed at how reckless he was. 

“So you saw Optimus?” Wheeljack was quietly relieved– both that Optimus was still kicking, and that Airachnid hadn’t been spotted with him. “Why didn’t you stay with him?”

“I stopped Silas from raining bullet hellfire on him. Thought there might be someone in trouble out here… or at least some MECH guys I could detain for interrogation. No such luck. Looks like they all abandoned Silas at the same time.”

“Sounds like something Decepticons would do.” Wheeljack walked past Fowler, expecting the human to follow him out into the undergrowth outside. “What now, then? Gonna call in the cavalry to clean up the mess?”

“I would , but deserted islands aren’t known for having great cellphone signal.” Fowler did not in fact follow him. He kept on standing at the loading bay as if he was rooted there, yet another old damn tree like the hundreds of others pressing in tight. Coolant was running down Wheeljack’s hands in a river.

“This place used to be a military base, didn’t it? You didn’t leave behind any infrastructure just in case?” There was little point trying to use the Jackhammer ’s own comm array while every other frequency was blocked, but surely the humans would have a way around their own barriers.

“...How do you know that?” Fowler asked.

“Know what?”

“This is just an island in the middle of nowhere to me. How do you know things like that?”

For the second time in recent memory, Wheeljack’s big damn mouth just ruined everything for everyone else. 

“I mean… why else would MECH be here?” He tried to shake the sweat from his hands without gulping. “Must be a place for them to hide out.”

It was a lame excuse– not even Springer on a good day would have bought it. But Fowler was suddenly too preoccupied by his own comm unit to question it further.

“If that’s true, there should be a relay I can jump onto…” He was muttering to himself as he keyed something in, still standing in Wheeljack’s damn ship, way too close to the vulnerable sparkling lying just a few metres away–

“Yes!” The human almost fell over as he sagged with relief. “Two bars, good enough.”

“Cool, great.” Wheeljack was fighting the urge to pick him up in one hand and throw him out of his ship, resorting instead to shooing him the hell away. “So I’m gonna stay here and patch up the Jackhammer , you go out and save the day. Have a party back in Nevada.”

He got Fowler halfway down the ramp before the human dug his heels into the metal. “I’m not leaving here without Silas in handcuffs.”

“Sure you’re not. So go find him and do that.” If Wheeljack could just get him off the damn ramp, he could lock everything up and leave Optimus to deal with–

“Did you hear that?” Fowler heard Scorpia crying at the exact same moment Wheeljack did. This wasn’t the kind of crying that would stop on its own, and any respectable sire wouldn’t let it go on for a second longer. Wheeljack had no choice but to go to her, regardless of Fowler’s presence or confusion.

“Shh, shh, I’m sorry.” Wheeljack held his hands near her, just close enough that she could sense the EM field of a caretaker. “You don’t have to cry, I’m here.”

“What is that?” The human stood at the top of the loading ramp, but came no closer. “What the hell is that?”

“What, you’ve never seen a baby before?” Wheeljack asked.

“A bab -? What the hell is going on here?!”

“Go find Optimus. He’ll tell you the whole story.”

That must have been the final straw– not the MECH attack, or the surprise alien baby. Fowler, like many important humans, did not like being told what to do.

“I’m not a damn errand boy! I am a federal employee of the United States, and I deserve to be treated with some damn respect!”

“You wanna stay here with a crying baby instead,” Wheeljack offered, “then be my guest.”

Fowler’s mouth was still open, though little was coming out of it. He seemed to be choking on something in the air. Scorpia was still crying, though her wails had morphed into stuttered sobs. Wheeljack could dampen the sound with his receptors, but humans had no such capability.

Finally, Agent Fowler took the hint and turned tail, jumping down the ramp and into the bushes. If his copter was still functional, he’d have an easier time getting back to the beach. Otherwise, he’d be left walking. Neither option was Wheeljack’s problem. By the time the human found Optimus or Silas again, the fight would be long over. 

He did hope Airachnid went easy on him, at least. The human wasn’t that annoying. Silas, on the other hand…

“I shouldn’t be rooting for your momma, should I?” he asked Scorpia. She whimpered once, before she curled into his elbow and hide her face away. A few seconds later, she was sound asleep. Wheeljack wished he could sleep nearly so easily.

✞✞✞

Optimus had opened the Matrix for only five seconds. That was how long it took to blind Silas, and how long he could bear to have it released. Any longer, and he would have burned to cinders. In those few seconds his spark was amplified thirteen-fold, and then hundred fold– every Prime before him bursting forth with their light.

It was exhausting. It was terrifying. In his desperation, it was all he could think to do. And he hoped they would forgive him.

When the font was closed and the weight of his predecessors eased, he couldn’t see Silas or Airachnid ahead of him. Had she not heard his command? Or had she taken the chance to tear him apart while he couldn’t stop her? He tried to turn but his body sagged in the sand, and he felt many sharp claws holding him up. She hadn’t moved at all from their cover, and her own frame seemed to be shaking from supporting him.

“Airachnid. I need you to take him… I am too weakened.” Even speaking was too much for Optimus, his vox whining like a dead battery. Very few people had seen him so physically vulnerable, only ever fellow Autobots until now. Airachnid could have sliced his fuel lines with a flick of her talons. She could have laughed in his face as she ripped Silas to ribbons and peeled the flesh from his skull. 

But with the weight of his trust pressing down on her, she only nodded before she let go. She propelled herself to the other side of the beach, dragging out Silas from his gunpost. Optimus managed to catch himself on his hands, crushing the sand between his fingers as he balled them. For every second asked of the Matrix’s light, it would take a full day to recover the strength it demanded. Optimus was not looking forward to the next week.

“A nice parlor trick, Prime. Do you do children’s parties?” Silas didn’t struggle in Airachnid’s grip, with one hand caged around him like prison bars and the other holding the back of his neck. His hands were bound in front of him by thick strings of webbing, ensuring that even if he broke free he wouldn’t be able to defend himself. 

“What you witnessed was the totality of my ancestors’ power.” Optimus forced himself to his feet, hiding his exhaustion with slow steps and slower words. “The same light that we were born from. You are fortunate that you survived it.”

Truthfully, Optimus didn’t know what effect the Matrix would have on someone not beholden to it. To Silas, it likely was nothing more than a blinding light. And if there was anything more to it, he didn’t expect Silas to say so.

“You needed all that to distract me? What an honor. We’ll be sure to have a closer look at it when we finally get a hold of you, Prime. You’ll likely be the only one left.” Silas winced halfway through the threat– Airachnid must have been pressing her claws into a sore spot. Optimus saw anger in her face, but there was something off about it. Her optics, one still bleeding energon tears down her cheek, were deadened and unfocused. She wasn’t looking at Silas as she scowled. 

“So you are not content with stealing our bodies,” Optimus said. “You want us extinct as well.”

Silas laughed, though it was a wheeze through his blood-soaked lips. 

“It’s nothing personal. I’m sure you thought nothing of all the other aliens you wiped out, fighting out your little war. Humans were always going to be one of them. As a species, we’re not very good at defending ourselves. We’re too kind . Too selfless . We need evil, selfish bastards like me to make the hard decisions.”

“You think you are evil?” 

“I’m sure you think I am.”

“You’re assuming I think about you at all.” Optimus was struggling to speak and move at the same time. But he needed to know what kind of man Silas really was, what humans could be at their worst. He’d learned long ago that Decepticons were not the worst thing one could find themselves against in a fight. 

“Ah, there’s the Optimus I’ve been waiting so long to see,” Silas wheezed again. “Something familiar. The commander. The one and only hope for his species.”

Optimus bit back a scowl. Even when there was no advantage to it, the human still wanted to see him angry. Because he knew that no matter how far he pushed Optimus, he would survive it. He’d lost the fight, but he still had his pride and something to prove, if only to himself. 

“The only difference between me and you, Prime?” Silas craned his neck up at Optimus, even though he was leaning his jugular right into Airachnid's claws. “You don’t see anything wrong with what you do. Your people don’t, either. They’ll love you no matter what. People like me? We do the dirty work. We’re hated for it, but we do it cause someone has to. No-one wants to take responsibility. No-one wants to die, but no-one wants to kill either. There’s blood on my hands, because I’m trying to keep the rest of the world clean.”

Optimus had heard the same words a very long time ago, from someone he’d once might have agreed with. Someone who had orchestrated terrorism across Cybertron. Someone who had helped him write poems to impress Elita, when he was still so sure she needed convincing that he deserved to be with her. Someone who had brought a loaded gun into the Senate chamber, with no intention of not using it. Someone who was once his brother. 

The Senate, the caste system, the hordes of his fellow starving and dying miners had never been the problem to Megatron. He didn’t hate the rules. He hated that he wasn’t the one writing them. And Silas only hated Cybertronians because their war wasn’t one he could win for himself.

“You talk too much,” Optimus told him, and though Silas didn’t wheeze this time there was a grinning shape around the blood in his teeth.

“You’re the one stalling here, Optimus. Go ahead. Get some blood on your hands. It won’t be the first time, I’m sure.”

Optimus shook his head, now close enough that he could take hold of Silas himself. But Airachnid moved faster, wrenching the human sideways and holding him down in the sand.

“He’s right, Prime,” she snarled, guarding her prey. “He won’t stop unless you kill him. The answer is right there in front of you, and you still won’t take it.”  

Her claws were still on his neck, and one wrong move would bleed him out into the ocean. And for the very first time, Optimus saw fear in the human’s face. Fear was the same no matter the species, no matter the person feeling it. 

“I do not take pleasure or pride in killing,” Optimus told her. There were times that he wondered if that lack of pride was the only true difference between himself and a Decepticon. Many Autobots, some of them his most loyal soldiers, would boast of taking out Megatron’s generals because it was the only thing they had to be glad of. He didn’t begrudge them that– but he had to be better. He had to do better.

“Maybe you should,” Airachnid snapped. “Most of us deserve it. You should have learned that long ago.”

There was a thorn of static in her vox, and the saliva running from her fangs burned the sand below her into tiny glass shards. She was a cornered animal, but she wasn’t fighting for her own life. Her only concern was ending someone else’s.

“That is not for us to decide,” Optimus insisted. “Least of all, it is not for me to decide.”

Airachnid blinked at him– the light was blazing in her eyes now, and whatever had dampened her before had been thoroughly washed away. Then she pulled her claws away from Silas, but not before kicking him out of the way. She was disgusted at the human as if he was already a rotting carcass, and she turned that disgust back onto Optimus.

“You’re supposed to be Primus’ will, aren’t you?” she asked. “The hand He reaches out to do what needs done. If you can’t decide who deserves to live, then who can? That human is a wretched lowlife, a parasite to his own ecosystem, but he’s right about you. You’re just looking for an excuse to keep your own hands clean. So I’ll do it myself–”

Silas had been trying to roll away from the edge of the sea, unable to prop himself up with his bound hands. Airachnid seized a flailing leg, and her talons cut right through the fabric shielding them, right into his skin with a scream.

“Airachnid, no!” Optimus’ exhaustion was not cured– it was only smothered by the wave of terror at what he might witness if he didn’t move. He grabbed her shoulder, but when he pulled her away her claws were still stuck deep into Silas’ flesh. He was free, but his limb was gouged as if a thresher had taken hold of it. 

“He deserves it, Prime!” Airachnid thrashed against Optimus, trying to leverage herself away from his grip. “You know he does!”

“I will not allow it!”

“But you know you should. You’re pathetic! ”

“Airachnid, stop!”

Her claws grazed his face just before his battle mask came down, scraping a long chasm of stinging metal down the side of his head. She likely didn’t mean to target him. Her bloodlust was so blinding that she didn’t care where she was hitting him or the damage she was doing. She was as dangerous in that moment as she always was, no more or less.

But in that moment, as a Prime, she was registered as a lethal threat. Optimus let her go– throwing her aside, away from her victim with such force that she rolled almost to the edge of the trees. She cried out when her body first hit the ground, and the sound was stretched into a low coil-whine as she lay sprawled in the dirt.

Now she and Silas were mirror images on either side of the beach– in between his strangled gasps, the human struggled to keep his leg away from the salt water waves at his back. From what Optimus could see he was bleeding heavily, but he’d live for at least another hour without medical attention.

Airachnid didn’t try to get up. Her back was pointed to him, and if she’d still had eight legs she would have cracked more than a few of them in the fall. Other than the two over her shoulder, the rest were still only nubs that would not grow to length on their own for many more months. She wasn’t moving, wasn’t making any noise. 

She was in that cave again, helpless with her sparkling, surrounded by people who wanted them both dead. And in a fleeting moment of anger, Optimus had inadvertently joined their ranks.

Too much force. Too much fury. Too much regret.

“I… I did not intend to harm you, Airachnid.” Optimus approached her with haste, as much as he could manage with such a heavy spark. “Are you alright?”

She finally turned towards his voice– her lip was bleeding, her own fangs likely being the cause. The energon hid the true shape of her mouth, but her eyes were sad before they found Optimus’ face. She spat a clot of curled fuel and acid out, letting it land just shy of his feet. 

“And here I thought you’d grown a spine,” she growled. If he really did hurt her, she would never let him see it. What she would show him would be the same either way– disgust and disappointment.

“What would you have me do?” he asked her– it was a genuine question, yet it came out like a whip of barbed wire. “Become like Megatron? Slaughter every Decepticon, every threat to the Autobots? Every threat including you?”

“And what about Megatron?” she needled, forcing herself to her feet and failing to hide the pain it caused her. “Will you spare him as well?”

Optimus knew what the wrong answer was. It didn’t stop him from saying it. “If I am able to.”

Airachnid’s laugh was a single hoarse shout thrown at him. “Of course you will. You’re a fragging coward, Prime. A selfish, masochistic coward . You’ll lose Earth along with Cybertron if it means keeping your conscience–!”

“He was my friend !”

Optimus didn’t recognise the voice that came out of him. But it must have been his own to explain the ache in his vox. Airachnid was on her feet now, but how she flinched almost made her stumble and hit the ground all over again. Even Silas, still moaning into the sand far away behind him, had gone silent in the wake of the Prime’s anger.

Airachnid was just like the human she hated so much. She just wanted to see where a Prime’s limits lie. How far she could push, until he finally gave up and left her on her own, for no other reason than to prove that she could.

“He was my friend,” Optimus repeated, biting down on a word that had no meaning anymore. “Before… he was Megatron. Before I was Prime. Before the war changed us.” 

Airachnid knew it already. She’d seen Orion, or at least a fleeting glimpse of him. Optimus didn’t remember any of his time as Orion Pax on the Nemesis , and perhaps that was for the best. But he knew Airachnid had allowed it to happen, knowing full well that Megatron was lying to him, because she simply didn’t care to stop it.

“Yet despite that,” Optimus went on, “when you called him a monster, I believed you. You lied to me, about what he did to you. And yet I am still here.”

Airachnid flinched again, and her voice was a very small thing crawling out of her. “I didn’t…”

The small thing died before it could finish, and she wasn’t looking at him anymore. Optimus went on anyway.

“When you called me, I came. I threw everything aside to attend to you. I betrayed the trust of everyone who depends on me. For you. Because of you.” 

She’d be very proud of herself, getting him to admit the true extent of her manipulation. He knew it all from the very start. He knew what it would cost him. He knew it all, and it hadn’t stopped him. It likely never would have. He had nothing and no-one to blame but himself, and his need to save everyone, and her, and her unchangeable nature.

The frog was screaming at the scorpion, begging her to be something, anything else. And the scorpion was crying even as she stung him.

“I…” Airachnid gulped, and her fangs framed a forced scowl. “I didn’t ask for anything that you didn’t offer–”

“And I asked for nothing at all,” he snapped. “Nothing in return… I only wanted to help your child, and you’ve thrown it all back in my face. Do you enjoy making this difficult for us, Airachnid? Do you truly hate me for keeping you alive? Or does telling yourself that you hate me make you feel better about your situation?”

He didn’t expect her to have an answer. He expected her to spit at him again, or run off into the trees, or simply walk away and leave him to stew. She defied all of them by doing nothing. She was frozen, as if someone had ambushed her with another Immobilizer. The only movement was in her eyes, energon and coolant welling at the edges, and her quivering bleeding lip.

There was fear there. The same that had taken hold of Silas when his life was in her hands. She’d gotten exactly what she wanted, and she was scared of it. Optimus didn’t know what to do about that. He hadn’t wanted to scare her, of course. He just wanted…

He wanted her to understand that the universe wasn’t an awful place. That she didn’t have to be awful in turn just to survive in it. 

The frog would never hate the scorpion as much as the scorpion hated herself.

Optimus knew he’d have to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. Even when he tried to summon them, someone else interrupted him.

“I got your back, Prime. Take her down!”

It was a strong voice, and its source was standing behind Airachnid aiming a pistol at her back. Agent Fowler of all people was standing in the dirt, covered in leaves and mud, yet he faced Airachnid as if he was clad in bulletproof metal. There was no hint of how much he’d heard of the argument, if any of it, or how he’d even found his way so far from Nevada.

Airachnid turned towards him– though Optimus couldn’t see her face, he saw her shoulders tense as she stepped back. Fowler was as much a danger to her as a petrorabbit was, but she was taking him seriously. As if she really did believe Optimus was going to hurt her. 

A long moment passed. Fowler kept aiming his gun, but he was throwing frantic looks of confusion at Optimus that couldn’t be placated. There was no way out of this that didn’t involve some very uncomfortable truths.

When it became clear that Optimus wasn’t going to follow the order, Airachnid finally relaxed with a sigh.
“I’m getting very tired of people pointing guns at me today, Prime.”

Fowler’s grip on his weapon faltered, and his eyes darted between the two behemoths towering over him. “You… Prime, you’re working with her …?”

The look in his eyes was only a shadow of what the Autobots would face him with. And even then, Optimus struggled not to avert his gaze.

“It is… a rather long story.”

Fowler opened his mouth, but then his hurt eyes narrowed when he saw the shape squirming on the shoreline. “Is that Silas?”

“What’s left of him,” Airachnid scoffed.

Fowler glared up at her for some long seconds. “...I’ll call in a medevac.”

He trudged through the sand towards Silas’ body with as much urgency as he deserved. He was still alive, just smart enough to not waste any more blood trying to move. Airachnid watched after him with a curl on her lip, sucking back the last of the energon from the puncture wounds. 

“One of your pets?” she asked, though her eyes refused to meet his own.

“Agent Fowler. Our liaison with Earth. He works for the army that used to own this island. He isn’t supposed to be here.”

He must have been the one piloting the only helicopter that didn’t leave, the one that fired across the beach. Which meant he must have somehow infiltrated the MECH fleet from their base. Somehow, Optimus knew that Ratchet was involved.

“A long story, Prime?” Fowler hadn’t spent long checking Silas over– he was already running  back to corner Optimus. “Well, we’ve got time before anyone else shows up. Start talking.” 

Optimus opened his mouth without knowing what would come out, but Airachnid spoke first.

“I’ve defected from the Decepticons. The Autobots are… holding me prisoner.” It was a smooth lie, even if only half of it was actually a lie. Optimus expected nothing less from her.

Fowler glared at her again, but at least his gun was holstered this time. “When did this happen?”

“A week ago,” Optimus answered. That was another lie– it had actually been the longest two weeks of his entire life. “We have been monitoring her since then.”
Fowler split his disbelief between the two of them in equal measure. Then he shook his head.

“So that’s why you wanted to know where else we staked out to hide you away…” He sighed and pressed his empty hands to his head. “Okay, two questions. Why the hell didn’t you tell me? And how the hell did Arcee agree to this?”

Optimus didn’t feel equipped to answer either. He especially didn’t want to address Arcee’s side, and Fowler instantly knew why even without seeing Airachnid’s sudden tremor.

“...She doesn’t know, does she?”

“Only Ratchet and Wheeljack are aware of Airachnid’s situation,” Optimus confessed.

“And speak of Unicron,” Airachnid muttered, turning away from the treeline as yet another arrival emerged on the scene.

“Oh, good.” Wheeljack stood with his hands on his hips, looking far too pleased with himself, with Scorpia secured in a capsule held across his chest. “You all found each other.”

“What the hell are you wearing?” Airachnid snapped, marching over to him with as much speed as her four legs would allow.

“Sparkling harness.” Wheeljack tugged on the straps that came down from his shoulders– from what Optimus could see, the sparkling within seemed unbothered. “Some of us can’t make webs, so we have to carry our kids the old fashioned way.”

“Give her to me. If I ever catch you with her again, I’ll cut your hands off.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Optimus had hoped to explain the sparkling to Fowler at a later time, but Primus was rarely ever forgiving with His lessons. Though the human didn’t seem nearly as shocked as he was expecting him to be.

“The kid. Or… whatever that thing Wheeljack was hiding,” he asked. “It’s hers?”

So he must have found Wheeljack first somehow. That surely would have made the revelation even worse, but Optimus was open to small mercies with how long the day had been. “Scorpia is a sparkling. An infant Cybertronian. She was born–”

“I don’t even wanna know.” Fowler waved his hand furiously, then sighed again as he covered his mouth. “God dammit Prime, what the hell have you dragged me into?”

There was no use in apologising. There was too much to apologise for, and no words would fix any of it. All Optimus could do was try to ease the human’s burden. “This is not your jurisdiction, Agent Fowler–”

“Like hell it ain’t! You told me she hunts species to extinction for fun! That humans were next on her hit list!” Fowler had been hissing under his breath, but his anger made his voice carry over to Airachnid. 

“That’s a gross exaggeration,” she scoffed. “Besides, I have other priorities now.”

The other priority was wrapped in her cocoon at her mother’s back, and though Wheeljack was taking Airachnid’s threat seriously he was still staring intently at the child from a distance. 

Optimus would need to tell Wheeljack what had happened here today. He’d need to stop him from visiting the island somehow. 

Airachnid… he’d been wrong about her. He’d always been wrong. And he didn’t yet know what to do about it. 

He could already hear Ratchet saying ‘I told you so’. He could almost hear Elita asking him what else he’d be expecting. 

“You know I have to tell the Pentagon about this, Prime,” Fowler said, a dull voice amidst a hundred others still droning in Optimus’ head, the one living being in the sea of ghosts. “The Autobots are your jurisdiction– fine, I’ll leave you to deal with them. But my superiors need to know what’s going on. That’s the deal we made with you.”

Optimus closed his eyes as he nodded. “I understand. I only ask… that you exercise discretion. Airachnid will not be a danger, so long as no-one interferes with her.”

Fowler scoffed. “This island is one of ours, isn’t it? We have to have some surveillance over it, if she’s really staying here… but I’ll do what I can.”

A distant drone undercut his weak pledge. Both Fowler and Optimus turned towards it– above the setting sun, a swarm of helicopters and light aircraft had filled the sky, ugly black strokes across a watercolor canvas. 

“That’s my people,” Fowler grunted. “Your prisoner might want to hide for now.”

Optimus agreed, but when he turned away from the oncoming armada he only saw one person standing where there were once two.

“Where did Airachnid go?” he asked Wheeljack, and the Wrecker shrugged.

“You think she’d tell me? While you and the suit were gossipping, she just took Scorpia and scrammed.”

Even without the army in sight, she would have done the same. With no more bodies to gut and nothing more to say, there was no reason for her to stick around. Optimus struggled to feel relieved. 

“When are you gonna tell the others?” Fowler asked. Given the choice between another deadly debate with Airachnid and justifying his own cowardice, Optimus almost wished she’d chosen to stay.

“Soon,” he answered, knowing it wasn’t an answer at all. “When tensions are… not so high.”

Fowler laughed without any humor. “This is Airachnid you’re talking about. Tension is all you’re ever gonna have.”

The army fleet was almost at the beach, their downdrafts causing the waves to push harder against the shore where Silas was still stranded. Fowler answered a call, confirming the situation, but turned to Optimus one last time.

“If you want my advice, the best time to tell them would have been a week ago. The second best time is right now.”

He left him with that before he went to coordinate the cleanup of Optimus’ mess.

To the humans’ credit, their efforts were swift despite the confusion– MECH’s frequency scramblers were destroyed, their leftover vehicles seized and flown away along with their comatose commander. Fowler did his best to field any questions; he was just as exhausted as Optimus, surely, but the man’s work ethic rivalled that of many past Primes.

“I’m gonna fly back to Nevada.” Wheeljack had taken the time away from the humans to finish his emergency repairs. The Jackhammer still had no business being in the air in its current state, but its pilot would keep it there through sheer stubbornness. “You coming, Optimus?”

“It would be better if we arrived at base separately. I will use the Ground Bridge.” Optimus had been putting off contacting Ratchet– even though the comm unit was functional now, he knew that as soon as he opened the line it would be the end to any peace he had left for that day. 

“Suit yourself. What about you, pencil pusher?” Wheeljack looked down at Fowler, who had managed to change into more appropriate clothes for the climate. “I got a kid rig that might fit you in the passenger seat.”

Fowler rolled his eyes. “Very funny.”

“I’m not joking. Only way to stop Strongarm crawling all over the cabin.” But Wheeljack didn’t argue any further, leaving the two commanders to their mutual impending doom.

“We can take it from here, Prime,” Fowler sighed. “We’ll likely have to come back soon. They know not to go deep into the forest… most of them don’t know why, but they’re not stupid.” 

He paused when a call came through his unit, a terse voice on the other end made his eyes furrow.

“Apparently about a mile away there’s a ten foot wide hole in the ground that isn’t supposed to be there. You know anything about that?”

Optimus didn’t, though he knew it was nothing good. “More of MECHs work, perhaps.”

Fowler grunted again, and relayed the negative. After hangingup, he was quiet for some long seconds.

“... We’re both probably gotta get a court martial, what with the whole evil clone thing and now this. That’ll be them letting us off easy.”

There was no anger in the statement. Even if he was feeling it, he didn’t have the strength to show it anymore.

“I am sorry for the circumstances of this predicament, Agent Fowler.”

Fowler shrugged. “It’s your war. Your people. If you say one of them might not be so bad after all… well, you’d know better than any human. Just do me a favor and warn me in advance next time. Crap like this is why I have to take blood pressure pills.”

He stalked off before Optimus could put his health at any further risk. And now there was nothing stopping him from the difficult call home.

Ratchet answered immediately. “ Optimus. Please tell me what’s going on in short words.”

His vox was shaking, and he wasn’t cursing. He only ever sounded like that when there was a dead body on his operating slab– or if he was preparing to receive one.

“Silas has been detained.” Optimus' voice was immediately smothered by the medic’s sigh of relief flooding the line. “Agent Fowler… is now aware of the situation. I assume you were involved in his presence here?”

Ratchet choked. “ I… I didn’t think… dammit. He wanted to go with Bulkhead and Bumblebee. I shouldn’t have let him.”

“We will discuss the ramifications later. How are the others?”

“ Worried sick, not knowing where you are. Luckily Arcee missed all the excitement. She only woke up half an hour ago.”

“Tell them the good news. Then send a Bridge when you can.”

At least Fowler would help his story with the Autobots. They’d both taken Silas and his machine down, and for now that was all they needed to know. 

But the other problem loomed ever closer. The best time to tell them would have been two weeks ago. But telling them only now, when he’d realised the mistake he’d made? 

He already had to beg forgiveness for lying to them. But for putting them all in such danger, for a betrayal that had gained him almost nothing in the end…

Almost nothing, only because Scorpia deserved so much better.

“Do you hate me now, Prime?”

He hadn’t heard her approach. She was hidden in the branches, out of sight of the humans. She didn’t even seem to register them. Scorpia’s eyes hovered below her own, which were now shedding neither coolant or energon.

The Ground Bridge split the world apart at Optimus’ back. He entered it without answering her.

A week had passed since Dreadwing’s return to the fold of his master. A week had passed since his appointment as second-in-command. A week had passed since he last allowed himself to rest. 

He couldn’t afford a moment offline; not while Skyquake’s killers still plagued Earth’s surface, not while the wretch Starscream still stalked the furthest shadows like the coward he was. And, most pressing of all, he would not dare miss the arrival of his fellow lost Decepticons from deepest space. 

…But it was taking longer than he’d expected. When he’d sensed the demise of his brother, he was five thousand light years from Earth. It had taken him two months to travel the distance, not including his plot against Wheeljack to find Earth’s location. Other Decepticons would not be nearly so far away– even a rudimentary spacecraft with a sufficiently loyal pilot could make the journey from any major hub in less than a week.

When the first ones arrived, he would greet them with open arms. He would witness them pledge their loyalty to Lord Megatron. And then he would listen to them explain why they had fled during the Exodus. Why they hadn’t sought their lord out sooner, waiting for someone else to find him first. Even Starscream had made the choice to join Lord Megatron on Earth. There was little excuse for anyone else to not have followed him.

Megatron needed his soldiers, but he deserved better than those who would wash up in Earth’s orbit. Dreadwing would take the burden. He would find the ones who deserved to be Decepticons. And the rest…

They would not be disposed of, like Autobots. They would at least have the honor of being recycled as drones. 

But none of that could be done before any of them appeared. Dreadwing had devoured as much of Earth’s intelligence from the Nemesis databanks as he could stomach. The human territories and their leaders held little interest to him– they were petrorabbits swarming in their warrens with no concept of the world above them. Even the ones the Autobots had explicitly allied with, some of them mere children , gave him nothing but disgust. 

The energon mines were operating at full efficiency. There had been no reported sightings of the treacherous Starscream for Dreadwing to make use of. As the second-in-command, without anyone to command, there was little he could do…

He found himself at the sparring deck, at the highest level of the Nemesis . It saw less use than the shooting range for obvious reasons– the drones were almost useless at hand-to-hand combat even with practice, thanks to their manufactured plating and delayed reaction times. If they ran out of ammunition, their only effective strategy was to overwhelm the opposition with numbers alone. But with energon and its by-products as precious as they were, it was vital that all true Decepticon soldiers knew how to use blades as well as bullets. 

Dreadwing was sure that knew this fact better than any other soldier, hence his surprise when he found the deck occupied not just by a fellow officer, but by Vehicons as well. Breakdown was going through various motions, putting on a performance for a gathering of drones in various states of attention.

“And that’s how you can catch them off-guard. Autobots are a lot more likely to hesitate, so if you can hit them first you have an immediate advantage. Even better if you– oh!” Breakdown spun on his heel when he caught sight of the new arrival, trying to counteract the weight of his hammer swing. “Dreadwing. Didn’t see you there. Sorry, am I taking up too much space?”

The Vehicons all turned their attention on Dreadwing as well, and their collective posture snapped to a concrete line of obedient machines. There was no telling them apart.

“I am content to watch,” Dreadwing said. “Continue.”

Breakdown hesitated before he nodded, and though he picked up where he left off the stiffness never left his frame, or that of his audience. Dreadwing watched out of the corner of his optic as he examined the available practice weapons– most were hardly used, which was to be expected, though they were not blunted in any way. He was pleased to see that Megatron’s chosen were expected to fight against real weapons in all situations– and that it would be all too easy to ‘accidentally’ dispose of a disappointing soldier in a practice fight gone wrong.

He hadn’t seen Breakdown since his supposed secret meeting with Knockout on the flight deck. He hadn’t forgotten what he’d said, when he thought no-one else was listening… and though Dreadwing tried not to dwell on the allegation that Airachnid had been carrying before her desertion, he did still wonder how she was able to leave without anyone stopping her. 

If Breakdown had sympathies towards her, as much as Knockout implied, then he was the most obvious suspect.

“You associate quite heavily with the Vehicons, Breakdown.” Dreadwing waited until the demonstration was over and the drones went their separate ways to approach him.

“They work as hard as the rest of us.” Breakdown shrugged. “Makes sense to help them be as useful as possible.”

It was a safe answer. Or perhaps Breakdown truly believed that Vehicons were equal to those with full sparks. It was not a traitorous notion, only a foolish one.

“Have they informed you of when the Ground Bridge will be repaired?” Dreadwing asked. He assumed that was another reason for the lack of mobilisation– those who could not fly could only travel so far without assistance. 

“The Bridge? Oh, it’s been fixed for the last few days.”

“What?” Dreadwing snapped. “Then why has it not been under operation?”

“Megatron hasn’t ordered any missions outside of vehicle range.” Breakdown shrugged again, and if he did it again Dreadwing would threaten to sever his servos from their joints.

“I would hope that soldiers under Lord Megatron’s direct command would show more initiative,” he growled.

“What, like Starscream?” Breakdown scoffed– and obviously realised his mistake a second after the sound left his vox. 

“I would take great care in mentioning his name so impertinently,” Dreadwing advised.

“Right… of course. I just meant… I’m only following orders. Lord Megatron knows best.”

Dreadwing held his gaze, and to his credit Breakdown managed not to flinch. Eventually, he allowed the dust to settle when he turned away.

“I grow impatient waiting for the rest of us,” he said. “Knowing that Autobots infest this planet’s surface… while we sit here and do little else than grow our fuel tanks fatter. It sickens me.”

There was a sound behind him– Breakdown had re-racked his practice blades and sat down, attending to his built-in weaponry. “Well, he has Soundwave working hard on the Iacon database. I’m sure Lord Megatron will have work for the rest of us soon. No point in wasting energon. In the meantime, I’m keeping myself busy. Ready for a fight any time I need to start one. Hey, d’you think any more of Menasor might show up? I’d love to see the others again…”

Dreadwing was faced with a hammer that might have weighed as much as Breakdown’s whole body, yet somehow the mech was able to lift it with one arm. He was sure there was a matching weight hidden inside the other arm, though it was currently occupied by a buffing cloth that Breakdown thoroughly scraped over his most deadly metal.

“Those hammers are your only weapons?” Dreadwing asked.

“Never could afford a ranged weapon mod back on Cybertron,” Breakdown confessed. “Then when I was in the Wreckers… well, my hammers were good enough for them.”

Then he winced– he likely hadn’t meant to mention his former alliance with the Wreckers. Though they were not officially Autobots, and would stubbornly insist so at any opportunity, they only ever fought in Autobot battles. Dreadwing knew he’d defected from the army long before the Exodus– despite his suspicions of the mech, he didn’t expect any sympathies to linger after so long.

“I was not criticising, Breakdown,” he assured. “Only observing. I too prefer to dispatch my enemies up close.”

At this, Dreadwing unveiled his own blade from its metal sheathe. From a distance, it looked no different to any other sword– no obvious marks of Autobot or Decepticon craftsmechship, because it was made by neither. At its hilt was a wide hollow space that crackled slightly whenever Dreadwing gripped it, and along its steel length lay a carved line of indecipherable glyphs. They were Cybertronian, but any other understanding of them had yet to be found.

“Never seen a sword like that before.” Breakdown did not hide his awe– his remaining optic practically glittered as it took in the details.

“I would expect you haven’t.” Dreadwing suppressed a proud smirk. “If you manage to defeat me, I might tell you of how I obtained it.”

He wasn’t planning on harming Breakdown, not yet. But the best way to achieve the measure of a mech was to fight against him. And, truth be told, Dreadwing needed the practice. If he could not yet fight Autobots or traitors, then he would prepare for when he could.

He took up the starting position with his sword held aloft, and some seconds passed before Breakdown realised he was being challenged. The other mech deployed his second hammer and mirrored Dreadwing’s pose, though his feet were spread much further to keep his weight rooted on the floor. 

The heft of the hammers was their liability as much as it was their strength– if Dreadwing could move fast enough, they would never hit him. With this in mind, he enacted the first blow. He grazed Breakdown’s shoulder as the mech swerved aside, and his momentum allowed him to swiftly turn and catch the mech’s other arm with the tip of the blade. There was no blood drawn yet, but the armor was left gouged where the sword met its mark. 

When Breakdown’s swing finally stopped he was left standing on the other side of the ring, almost right against the wall. With his eye cast over his shoulder, it went wide when he noticed the fresh scar. He gritted his denta before he took a running charge, bringing his hammer up from the bottom. Even if Dreadwing couldn’t see it coming from a mile away, he would have just as easily dodged it. 

This was truly the best that Lord Megatron could find? A lumbering drone-sympathiser, a negligent medic; a pathetic Seeker and vile techno-organic of equal treachery? And yet these were the only ones who found their way to Earth, intentionally or not. Of all the thousand Decepticons misplaced during the Exodus, these were the only ones Lord Megatron could muster.

‘Where were you during the Exodus, Breakdown?’ The question was at the back of Dreadwing’s mind as he brought the flat of his blade down across his opponent’s arm– if it had been turned to one side, it might have sliced through the joint just as he’d silently considered doing not long before this bout. Had he chosen to join Megatron out of loyalty? Or only because he had nowhere else to go? 

He wouldn’t have been the first Decepticon to do so.

‘Where were you during Airachnid’s escape?’ Dreadwing didn’t allow him time to recover before he kicked his spinal strut– Breakdown sprawled aside, managing to catch the floor with a shifted hand at the last second, using his remaining hammer to deflect the next incoming strike. Dreadwing jumped back as his blade skimmed off the metal, righting himself with a hand pressed to the nearest wall. 

Before he could end it, before he could stop himself, he found the hand forming a fist again, and he found a dangerous thought bursting forth through his gritted teeth.

‘Where were you when my brother was killed?’

That was the thought that betrayed him. The distraction allowed Breakdown to do the impossible– all he needed was one hit, and one hit was exactly what Dreadwing allowed him to have. His hammer crashed into Dreadwing’s core, and he crumpled. A hundred warnings slammed his HUD in blaring red, but even without them covering his vision he knew there was no point in trying to stand.

“Good fight.” Breakdown’s whirring fans told the truth of his praise, despite how Dreadwing cursed him under his vents. “Now pay up.”

Dreadwing hid his face while he pulled himself upright, letting the warnings fade one by one.

“I said,” he bit down the hatred with each labored word, “that I might tell you.”

“Aw, come on! You can’t tease a cool story and not share it!”

For not seeing the way Dreadwing struggled, for not hearing the anger curdling his vox, he really was an idiot. It was hard to truly hate an idiot. But Dreadwing was a man of many skills. 

His grip had lost his sword in the humiliating defeat. It lay beneath him, showing his warped reflection above the hollow in the hilt. In the right hands, faced with an unwinnable battle, the hollow was supposed to hold the power of a spark. That was how the ancient tale went. That was what Dreadwing had been promised from the mech he took it from.

So be it. He would give Breakdown his story wrapped noose-tight around a warning.

“Very well.” Dreadwing’s digits cracked around the hilt as he stood, banishing all emotion from his face before he dared to show it. “Are you familiar with the mech once known as Deadlock?”

“Sure, I’ve heard of him.” Breakdown’s one optic creased. “Didn’t he die?”

Dreadwing shook his head. “I encountered him not long after the Exodus, far from Cybertron. When I did… he was no longer one of our own.”

“He joined the Autobots?!” Breakdown hissed the vile accusation with such conviction that it alone might have convinced Megatron of his loyalty. Dreadwing was not so easily swayed.

“No. He had abandoned the war entirely. Even his name had been discarded. When I found him, he called himself Drift. And his new home was the Circle of Light.”

“The Circle….?”

“Claimed to be descendants from the original Dai Atlas,” Dreadwing explained. “ Claimed to be. I digress.” 

The blade lay flat across both of his hands as he spoke, and he watched his own twisted reflection speak his words.

“When I found the truth of his defection, I did what any Decepticon should do when faced with a traitor. I challenged him to a duel.”

…

“Wouldn’t be much of a fair fight, would it?”

Deadlock had the gall to smile as he asked, despite the blade hovering over his tainted spark. And Dreadwing had the nerve to keep it there, despite the fan of knives bristling all around him in response.

“A duel is between the challenger and the traitor,” he said, condensing his anger to a simmer. “Your numbers do not threaten me.”

“I’m not talking about that.” Deadlock pulled at the sword sheathed across his back, then shook his head. “My weapon against yours… there is no comparison. I would destroy you.”

Dreadwing would have spat in his face, if his mouth hadn’t been left so dry from his burning spark. “Such bold words from a coward. As a former ally, I would have a modicum of respect if you only admitted your weakness.” 

“It will only be a duel if Drift agrees to it.” One of the mechs, another spoke in the so-called Circle clad in grey and gold, stepped forward to be known. “If it is not a duel, then it is murder. And we will not allow it on our sacred grounds.”

Dreadwing did not shift his gaze from his enemy. “I will not disgrace my cause by leaving you alive, Deadlock.”

Deadlock sighed, staring down the length of Decepticon-forged steel, and shrugged in its gleam. “Then we’re at an impasse.”

“I can kill you long before your allies can do the same to me,” Dreadwing pledged, and he felt some pride at how the others bristled in response all around him. Deadlock shook his head again, and the shadow of his face was hiding a smile.

“I’m honored that one of Megatron’s most loyal hounds thinks I’m worth dying over. But if that was true, we wouldn’t be talking right now. We’d both be dead on the ground.”

Dreadwing grimaced as he weighed his options. The traitor was right, and he would only admit that much because he’d once known Deadlock to be a mech of some intelligence. He did not relish the prospect of exchanging his own spark for a traitor’s, not when there were so many Autobots waiting to meet his blade. He would die for the cause one day, this much he knew for a fact. But there was no honor in throwing his life away before it reached its full potential, especially so far from Megatron’s eyes.

“Might I make you an offer instead, Dreadwing?” Deadlock held open empty hands in a mockery of a peace offering.

“You have nothing to offer, “ Dreadwing hissed, “except your wicked spark, as payment for your betrayal.”

“My spark is more than just the fire in my chest. You could take that, if you truly wish. But you’d be missing all I’ve learned. The secrets of the Circle, passed down to us through Dai Atlas, through Star Saber, through Prima himself.”

“Drift, what are you doing? You can’t possibly think–” One of his allies, an angled mech standing to his left, stepped forward to grab his arm, but Deadlock answered with the same action.

“You mentored me, Wing,” he said. “You and the Circle. You took me in and made me better, even when I didn’t deserve it. And now it is my turn to do the same.”

“Enough with these riddles.” Dreadwing finally lowered his blade, only from frustration. “Speak plainly– what is this offer you think will save you?”

“I’m saying that I wish to mentor you, Dreadwing. And then, when you’re ready…you may have your duel.”

Dreadwing almost laughed, taking great effort to stop himself. It was the most ridiculous notion he’d ever heard. As if a betrayer had anything worth learning from, as if any Decepticon would allow a deserter to be their superior in any way.

And yet… if it was the only means to dispatch him, Dreadwing would be a coward if he did not take it. Worse than that– he would be allowing an apostate to live and spread his infection elsewhere. He would be no better than a traitor himself.

“...How long will that take?” he asked, keeping his sword by his side. Deadlock’s optics flashed, but they didn’t seem concerned at all by the weapon. Even the mechs around him chose to stand down, retreating to the outskirts of what would one day be their refugee’s tomb.

“That depends entirely on you,” Deadlock said. “You can stay for as long as it takes. You can leave whenever you wish.” 

And now he unsheathed his own weapon, pulling the giant slab of metal from the sheathe at his back in one long swipe. Even without an edge, its heft alone would have knocked a legion on its back.

“But if you want to start a fight with me,” he declared behind its shine, “I must first be convinced that you can survive it.”

…

“...So you actually stayed?” Breakdown had seated himself to hear the story, no longer bearing weapons on his hands. Dreadwing attended to his own as he relayed his memories.

“I did. I spent five years in their seclusion. Of those years, I spent every day training with them. And while they conducted prayers and meditation, I trained without them.”

If they were not truly taught by Dai Atlas, then they were taught by a mech who was at least equal to him. Three years into the ordeal, Dreadwing had allowed himself to admit that their skills were worth learning. And only then did he truly start to learn them.

“So what happened after that?” Breakdown asked.

“The traitor at last agreed to our duel.”

“Did you win?”

“Of course I did.”

“Did you… kill him?”

Dreadwing considered lying. But then that would have compromised the warning that was to come. He turned the sword over on his knee, finding the other side marred with the smallest spots of rust. He set to work on them as he finished the story.

…

Dreadwing challenged him in the morning, and he accepted without argument. When he was finally defeated, the third moon of the Circle’s sanctuary was climbing to its apex across the night. 

It was a marathon, spectators faded in and out around them without remark. No-one stepped in to stop it. No-one could bear to watch for long. No-one witnessed the final blow, when Dreadwing finally disarmed the traitor and left him kneeling in the sand. His mighty sword was well out of reach, far away from the moonlight, and Drift did not even try to reach for it. Coolant had bubbled all over his scarred frame, bursting forth with wisps of steam from his choked vents. And yet, with his face to the moon, he was still smiling.

“A fair fight.” His words were almost completely devoured by the static in his vox and the roar of his broken fan blades. “Well won. You’ve finally earned the right to take my spark, Dreadwing.”

Drift closed his optics, sunken into the floor, already dead to the world. Dreadwing struggled to stand even in triumph– the fight had left him as a sorry mirror of his opponent.  Even so, he could have pried Drift’s chest plates apart and taken his life in his claws. He considered it. He imagined its weight in his hand, the sting of the EM force trickling down his fingers. And Drift would surely still be smiling the whole time. 

Dreadwing sheathed his blade and turned away.
“Keep it,” he grunted. “Consider it payment. For being my mentor.”

There was no joy in putting down an exhausted animal. No pride to be had. He was given his duel, and that was all Dreadwing needed. To take the mech’s life would only sour the victory.

Still sprawled in the sand far behind him, Drift laughed while coughing up static. “Well then. In that case… consider this a gift. To take back to Megatron with you.” 

His vox groaned as much as his plates did. Dreadwing heard him shuffling, and when he turned back he found the discarded sword in its sheath laying on the ground between them both. Drift was kneeling again with his empty palms toward the open sky. 

“If you truly believe in your cause,” he said, “then in your hands, this sword will be as powerful as it is in my own.” 

Even when he was wheezing them, the words took on the significance of a ritual. Dreadwing knelt towards the sword–he had observed it not just during their duel, but for the last five years spent preparing for it. He knew every detail of its creation, or so he thought. Where there was once a perfect white orb in the hilt, now there was only an empty space. Perhaps, other than for a trick of the light, it had been empty all along.

“How powerful can it be,” he asked, “if I was able to defeat you in spite of it?”

Drift shook his head, and the moon cast a deep shadow on his stubborn smile as well as the hollow of the hilt. “You misunderstand, Dreadwing. I was not truly using the sword during our fight. I was only using the blade.”

Dreadwing scoffed, as he lifted it with both hands– yet despite its size it weighed no more than any other Decepticon blade. “Speaking nonsense again. No wonder you abandoned us. You’ve clearly lost your mind somewhere along the way. I’d kill you anyway if I didn’t pity you so.”

“Not into mercy killing, then? Maybe you are a Decepticon after all.”

Dreadwing turned away again, closing his fists around the weapon. There was no-one around to stop him from leaving, no-one to take the prize away. He left Drift bleeding in the moonlight and found his ship left in the same place it had always been. His final act before leaving the Circle’s refuge was to bolt the sword to his back, in the same fashion as its previous owner. 

He would never decipher the language inscribed on its length, nor learn who had forged it. He did at least learn that something was missing from the empty space, a quality that gave the true weight of its steel. It took him far too long to realise what it was.

…

“I allowed him to live,” Dreadwing revealed, “and he allowed me to take his weapon. It was not until I left the Circle far behind that I realised… it was a true Great Sword. I assume you’ve heard of them?”

“Spark swords?” Breakdown whispered. “I thought they were a myth…”

“Outside of the Circle of Light, they are. In his hands, the sword was linked to his spark. And as we fought, I could feel his conviction.”

‘His regret.’

“His strength.”

‘His disgust towards me.’

“His anger.”

‘His fury towards himself, for what he once was.’

“When he surrendered it, the link was severed. It can never be reforged. And yet its blade still holds power. I keep it as a trophy as well as a tool to enact our Lord Megatron’s will.”

With its story told, Dreadwing finally housed it at his back once more. And now came the warning.

“That was the only time I have ever allowed a traitor to live, Breakdown. It will be the only time. Do you understand?”

Breakdown remained seated, his one eye as blank as glass. If he knew he was caught out, he was far too good at hiding it. 

“I… think so.”

“Let me make it clearer for you, then.” Dreadwing placed his claws on the mech’s shoulder, over the place where the Great Sword would have easily severed the limb if it had been angled ever so slightly on its axis. “From now on, I will expect that any… unsavory comments regarding our liege be reported to me, regardless of their source. There will be no more defection under my watch. And anyone who is thought to have assisted in such acts will be punished accordingly.”

His claws pressed into the soft armor without his meaning to. Breakdown winced when they pulled away, and this time there was energon pebbling from the grooves.

“Of… of course,” he gulped. “I would never think otherwise.”

Dreadwing didn’t believe him. But there was still time for Breakdown to prove him wrong, before someone else came along who might be able to replace him. “We will be seeking out new energon deposits tomorrow. I’ll expect you to be prepared with an appropriate contingent of mining drones.”

Breakdown didn’t meet his eyes when he nodded, and did not rise even when Dreadwing took his leave. If soldiers were not smart enough to be loyal, then fear was the only hope for them. 

To be feared was far more effective than to be hated or loved. Dreadwing had discovered that during his fight with Drift, when he felt one become the other. When Drift believed that he truly might die, despite his bravado in defeat, that was when he felt fear over hatred. That was when Dreadwing realised traitors could still prove useful before they were disposed of.

Perhaps that was why Lord Megatron had allowed the likes of Starscream and Airachnid to flee with their lives. Airachnid still had potential as a weapon against the Autobots, regardless of the rumors around her. But Starscream…?

He should have been terminated long ago. When the time finally came, Dreadwing would be glad to do the honors.

The Autobots’ relief at Silas’ defeat and detainment was all that spared Optimus from interrogation. The true interrogation lay in the evening– Ratchet, Wheeljack and Fowler gathered in a circle in the med-bay, waiting for the Prime to debrief them on the disastrous day they’d just endured.

But for once, even Optimus was lost for words. The men looking at him, so alike and unlike in species and temperament, were united in their unease. They were waiting for Optimus to give them a reason to trust in his leadership, and at that moment he could not.

Everything he had done until now had hinged upon the hope of Airachnid being worth protecting, not only for her daughter’s sake. Now the hope was gone, and Optimus could not even bring himself to apologise for being so wrong.

“I’ll go first then, shall I?” Agent Fowler, despite being the smallest in stature of them all, dominated the space in the med-bay when he stepped forward. “Silas is currently in a medically induced coma. They’re trying to save his leg from amputation.” 

“Why bother?” Wheeljack asked. “He doesn’t deserve it.” 

His scorn was squashed by Ratchet slamming his elbow into his side– jokes at a patient’s expense, even an enemy patient, weren’t appreciated by most medics. Even though he’d seen it for himself, Optimus hadn’t realised the damage Airachnid inflicted had been so severe. Then again, any human was lucky to walk away at all from an encounter with her.

“When he’s declared physically fit,” Fowler continued, “he’ll stand trial with my superiors. He’s looking at twenty years minimum in a federal prison. As for the rest of MECH, they’ve scattered across the country. We don’t know if Silas had a second-in-command. Hopefully, without their commander to reign them in, they’ll be tearing themselves apart in a few months.”

Optimus had hoped the same about the Decepticons, during the Exodus. Megatron had been forced to shed so much of his ranks just to keep up with the Autobots when they abandoned Cybertron. But without their leader, the Decepticons left behind evolved into something far more barbarous. Megatron’s presence, somehow, had managed to contain the worst impulses of his followers. Without him they could no longer pretend that their atrocities were for a good cause, and they no longer cared to. 

“That’s the good news,” Fowler sighed. “The bad news is I still have to justify to the top brass of the United States why we have a Decepticon living on government property.”

“Former Decepticon,” Optimus corrected, allowing the words to remain small in the hope that they wouldn’t be noticed. But Fowler did, and he of course scoffed at them.

“You think that makes much difference to them? I didn’t even get a chance to tell them about the kid– hell knows how I’m supposed to explain that .”

“Get the Doc to tell them how it happens,” Wheeljack said, “he has diagrams and everything.” Then grunted when Ratchet elbowed him again, this time using the sharpest corner of his armor.

Fowler rolled his eyes just before they landed on Optimus. “You seriously told him about all this before me?”

“It was not by choice, Agent Fowler,” Optimus assured. “Wheeljack came across our prisoner by accident, much as you did. Our intent was…” 

He trailed off, struggling to find a reason that was both truthful and believable. The prospect of informing the Autobots and the children had been so daunting that he honestly hadn’t even considered the impact on the humans that had offered them sanctuary. It would have been inevitable, of course. The humans assumed that all Decepticons were the enemy without exception– that was what Optimus himself had taught them.

“We wanted to ensure that Airachnid would not be a liability.” Ratchet stepped forward to fill the agonizing silence. “Then we would inform everyone of her situation.”

“A liability ?” Fowler almost sounded like he was laughing. “That’s the nicest thing she possibly could be!”

Ratchet said nothing. He looked to Optimus, leaving him to defend himself, and Optimus would expect no more from him. If Wheeljack had anything to add, he was keeping it silent.

“...I stand by my decision,” he said, addressing Fowler directly. “You humans can change immeasurably in your relatively short lives. Why is it so hard to imagine that we can as well?”

At first Fowler seemed to flinch; most organic species did not like to be reminded of how impermanent their lives really were, especially in the presence of immortals. He quickly overcame the apprehension with another roll of his eyes.

“Yeah, sure, you can change– into a truck or a car or whatever. But that doesn’t mean a killer will stop killing just because you ask her nicely.”

“I agree. Which is why we are not asking nicely.” Exhaustion had introduced a far-too-natural growl to Optimus’ vox. “Her survival, and that of her daughter, now depends on us. And she is very aware of that.”

He didn’t know it for sure, but Airachnid was too intelligent not to be. Even if she hated everything Optimus did, everything he stood for, she couldn’t afford to truly cross him. Optimus hated that he’d been reduced to such tactics. He had been so set on changing her that he hadn’t considered how she would change him in turn.

Fowler’s expression changed. There was no defiant scowl left behind, and as he took a step back he seemed to be flinching away again. It was similar to how Airachnid herself had reacted, when Optimus finally took a stand against her that was too little, too late. He had scared her, but it had changed nothing. He had likely scared Fowler as well, and it would likely change nothing.

There was movement at the corner of his eye. Optimus turned towards it, finding Wheeljack with a hand stretched upwards like a child asking for permission to speak. It was far too polite for him, and Optimus was immediately worried by it.

“Yes, Wheeljack?”

“About the kid…” Wheeljack scraped his denta across his scarred mouth. “I noticed something weird with her. Something wrong. A sparkling her age should be forming her first armor plates. But she looked like she was still all protoform. That’s what I thought, at least. The armor is there, but it’s so thin that it might as well not be.”

While Optimus listened with trepidation, Ratchet’s optics bloomed into blue novas.

“The protoform,” he asked, “was there… a glow to it? Under the surface?”

Wheeljack narrowed his own eyes in response.

“I didn’t notice it,” he eventually answered,  “But it sounds like you already know what's wrong with her.”

Ratchet shook his head. “Only a theory. An idea… a horrible one. But it’s the only obvious one.”

He had to clear the static build-up in his vox before the revelation would come loose. Optimus didn’t even know what to expect. But as soon as it was spoken, he knew what a fool he was to not suspect it at all.

“...dark energon poisoning.”

The silence that followed was a strangling weight. Even Fowler knew not to make it worse with heavy questions.

“You knew about it?” Wheeljack repeated. “This whole time?”

Optimus would have asked the same, and he would have struggled to remain charitable about it.

“I… had suspicions,” Ratchet confessed, eyes hidden from view.

“And you didn't say anything?” Wheeljack pressed.

“I was hoping I was wrong.” Ratchet didn’t snap– he sounded too weary to put the effort into his vox. “That… that it was just part of her biology. We’ve never seen a child like her before. How was I supposed to know what to expect?”

No-one could answer him. Optimus had kept so many secrets in the last few weeks, he could hardly blame his friend for doing the same. 

“We know that Megatron has tainted himself with Unicron’s essence,” he said. “Even after his resurrection, it still lingers in his spark. And so, anything born from that spark…”

The effect of dark energon on an adult Cybertronian was already devastating. Even a trace of it within a child’s body could destroy it from the inside. And if the child was incubated in it? If she was born from the poison, infected in every cell of her frame? 

It would be a living hell. If she even lived long at all.

“Hold up, hold up.” Fowler marched to the center of the gathering, shaking his head furiously. “ Megatron is the father?!”

“You had instructed me not to indulge you with details, Agent Fowler,” Optimus reminded.

“Well, forget I said that! I didn’t know Megatron was wrapped up in this!” Before Fowler could work himself into even more of a frenzy, his hands scrambled to retrieve the ringing phone from his jacket. 

“William Fowler here. Yes… yes, I understand. I’ll be there ASAP.” When he hung up, he appeared to have aged another ten years in the space of seconds. 

“The court martial is in three days, Prime. We’ll need you there… if we’re lucky, they might actually listen to you over me.”

Optimus highly doubted that, but he nodded regardless. “Understood.”

The human hesitated for another second, but whatever else he wanted to say was quickly let go as he turned away. Ratchet released the seal on the med-bay door for him.

“I’ll be in the Jackhammer up top.” Wheeljack started to follow Fowler through the door. “If Bulkhead’s still awake, send him my way.”

Like Fowler, he too seemed to stop himself from speaking as he passed by Ratchet. There was little else he could say that would make the medic feel any worse about Scorpia’s fate.

“Do you think Airachnid knows?” Optimus waited until the room was empty to speak, and Ratchet seemed to wait for an eternity to give his answer.

“There are two possibilities,” he sighed. “She knows, and tries to deny it. Or she doesn’t, and when she’s told…”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence. The certainty that would follow was gruesome enough to imagine.

“She deserves to know.” It slipped from Optimus’ vox without him even registering it, a somber thought forcibly dragged into the light. 

“Why do you offer her so much more grace than your own Autobots?” Ratchet asked it, and immediately regretted doing so. Optimus could tell from how he looked away while still speaking. 

Even so, it could not be ignored. He had the right to ask. Optimus couldn’t pretend that he was wrong, and he wouldn’t insult his friend by trying. If an Autobot had committed half of the atrocities Airachnid was known for, they wouldn’t be an Autobot for much longer. Even the fact that he couldn’t hold her to the same standard as one of his own only highlighted the question of why she was worth helping in the first place.

His own hypocrisy held Optimus’ vox in a vice. What eventually came out of it was more of an excuse than an answer.

“If she hurts me in return,” he said, “ultimately it hurts less.”

He didn’t expect Ratchet to believe him. He didn’t really believe himself, but it was all that made sense to him. If there was any sense left in sacrificing himself for her. 

Both mechs left the med-bay behind in sterile silence. It wasn’t until the hum of the overhead lights faded in their wake that Ratchet spoke again.

“Optimus. What happens next? I mean… aside from MECH. Even if Fowler is right, the Decepticons are likely waiting in the wings for us. As well as… everything else.”

Optimus knew what Ratchet was doing– shifting the subject without shifting the weight of it, one uncomfortable reality swapped for another more manageable one. At least the answer to this one did not have to be whispered.

“We continue the fight. As we always do. And I will take full responsibility for its consequences.”

He left before he could dig his grave any deeper.

✞✞✞

Ratchet considered following Optimus, just to make sure he was actually going to his quarters. Even if he found no rest there, knowing he was somewhere nearby was better than imagining him anywhere else. 

He doubted Optimus would go outside the range of the Bridge, knowing he’d need assistance to return, but that still allowed him a wide range to hide within. The only place he couldn’t go was the forbidden island– and from what Optimus had described, Ratchet doubted he’d willingly go there so soon after his debacle with Airachnid. 

If he was anyone other than a Prime, Ratchet would have said “I told you so”, and he would have done it gladly. What the hell else could he expect from someone like her? But Optimus’ kindness was never stupidity. Far too many Decepticons had mistaken one for the other, and they’d lost their sparks for it. Nothing would have stopped Optimus from doing what he thought was right. Nothing could prevent the tragedy that was to come.

“You two aren’t as sneaky as you think you are.”

He heard Arcee before he sensed her EM field right behind his own. The tragedy was already here to ambush him.

“Arcee… how long have you been standing there?” he asked, a simmering panic barely concealed under the static clinging to his vox. It was only his centuries of practicing the delivery of bad news to patients that allowed him to keep up the act.

“Never mind that,” she snapped, charging out of the shadows towards him like a rocket on fire. “I can’t believe you, Ratchet. How long has this been going on for?”

His mind flashed through the last few moments with Optimus; they hadn’t mentioned her name, they never did outside of the med-bay. But what if the door seal wasn’t perfect? What if Arcee had been waiting to be seen all this time, able to hear everything they said? What if the only reason she wasn’t even more furious was because she’d had so long to calm down, while waiting for the chance to confront him?

But when Arcee finally spoke again, it wasn’t the explosion Ratchet had braced for.

“I’ve been asking myself over and over again– what the hell has been going on with Optimus lately? Why didn’t anyone tell me he was doing this bad?”

Relief shuddered through Ratchet with the same intensity as his guilt. She’d only heard enough to know just how far Optimus was unraveling, and she surely would have noticed it herself before long. It would have been far better if she hadn’t heard anything at all, but this was at least manageable. This was a bomb that could be defused, if only temporarily.

“He’s doing better than any of us,” he tried to reason, “considering the weight on his shoulders.”

Arcee laughed without humor. “And he won’t let any of us share it. That’s the problem! Just because we’re not Primes doesn’t mean we’re weak!”

He’d been ready for the detonation of a warhead, but what he saw now was only the steady burn of a plasma torch– focused, controlled, designed to carve through armor and flay the soft skin beneath. Not cataclysmic, but no less painful. At least the warhead would kill you before you could even feel it.

“He doesn’t think you’re weak, Arcee,” he said. “You wouldn’t even be here if that was the case.”

Her eyes went from blazing blue to white in a second, and they soon matched the frown that was left of her scowl.

“...I know,” she said softly, as her hands fell limp to her side. “I know. But what else am I supposed to think? He smiles, nods, gives orders like he’s fine– but he’s not. He hasn’t been for a long time, has he?”

Ratchet didn’t know if he should answer, but his hesitation on its own was enough for her.

“If it carries on like this…” The sound of her fans on overdrive almost buried her wavering voice. “I’m scared he’s gonna break. And when he does, I don’t think we’ll get him back.”

‘ He’s not the one you should be worried about.’ But even as Ratchet told himself that, he knew that she was right to be. He only wished he could tell her that any sympathy she had for him would end up very short-lived.

If Optimus had only lingered for a few more seconds, he could have finally told her himself. Ratchet couldn't do it for him, not without him here to defend himself. The only chance they had of her understanding his choice would be from his own vox.

But maybe there was a way to prepare her for it. To lighten the blow, if only by a razor’s margin.

“Do you know how long it’s been, Arcee?”

She blinked across from Ratchet, stubbornly keeping her eyes away from his own. “Since what?”

“Since we lost Elita.”

And then her eyes clamped shut, while a sudden understanding hissed through her. “So it’s about her… of course.”

It was as much of the truth as Ratchet could bear to give her, and it was as much as he himself could find. Everything that had happened since leaving Cybertron behind all stemmed from losing her. And of all the Autobots on Earth, she was the only one who could understand that pain.

“Thirty million years,” Ratchet answered himself. “Almost exactly. It won’t feel that long to him, though.”

“Has he… talked to you about it recently?”

“In his own way. He drops hints. I do my best to decipher them.” His job was to stitch up the wound whenever Optimus insisted on tearing it open. Like most things that required practice, he’d become very good at it.

“...I just wish he trusted us to help him.” She crossed her arms over her chest, hiding the fists against her plating. “That’s what a team does. That’s what we’re all here for.”

“Did you trust anyone to help you after losing Tailgate?” Ratchet asked. It was a risky move– mentioning his name, especially with who had taken him from her. But Arcee must have seen it coming. She didn’t even flinch.

“No… not for a long time. But I’m still young and stubborn. I don’t carry a burden like Optimus. Even with Cliffjumper…”

With his name in her vox, it finally faltered. She looked away as her arms tightened around herself, as if she was bracing for a hit that had already slammed into her long ago. Ratchet was the worst person to comfort her through the recoil– he’d felt death in his own hands so many times that the only way to remain sane was to numb himself to it. But he was the only one around, and though she deserved so much better than his attempts he owed it to her to offer them.

“We all share the same grief,” he told her. “But Optimus has to work through it. He won’t allow himself to do anything else.”

He could have left it there. Arcee knew that the only way to overcome her grief was to brush it aside until, when no-one was looking, it could safely tear you apart piece by piece. After Cliffjumper’s death, she never dared to cry in front of anyone else. She’d thought she was quiet, finding isolated places to let her sorrow flow. Ratchet had always heard it, but for her sake he’d pretended not to.

Yet there was still more to say. If he couldn’t tell her everything, he could at least remind her that Optimus had not always been a Prime. Even with the Matrix’s weight, he was still a person like the rest of them.

“For him, Elita was never only a partner,” he said quietly, as if speaking too loudly might disturb her ghost. “She was the last piece of who he used to be. Before the war. Before the Matrix. Losing her didn’t just break his spark… it carved a hole right through it. And he’s been trying to fill it with purpose ever since.”

‘And I’m scared of what he’ll become, when the war is over. When he has nothing else to fight for.’ The thought came to him like a flashbang, and it was only its suddenness that stopped him from voicing it out loud. He was sure that he didn’t, yet in the long silence that followed he couldn’t help but wonder if Arcee could see the words written on his face.

“...Do you think he’ll really try to recruit Starscream?” she eventually asked. There was a moment where Ratchet had to remind himself that it was a very real possibility, assuming that Airachnid had been correct about the Seeker making his way to the Harbinger. And assuming he even survived the journey there.

“If he does,” Ratchet measured each word carefully, “it won’t be because he’s forgiven. It will be because he might help us win this war.”

Arcee shook her head, and the sound that left her vox was like a spit of disgust. “He won’t. He’ll stab us in the back as soon as we aren’t looking. Even if he hadn’t killed Cliffjumper…” 

Her fist was like a bullet, slamming against the sealed med-bay door. The sound echoed through the hallway, all across the base like a warning shot. Ratchet hoped Optimus was deep in sleep, deep enough that he wouldn’t hear it– otherwise he would certainly hear the ragged anger that came from Arcee’s voice.

“For Primus’ sake, he sold out his own city to the ‘Cons! His own people, slaughtered in the streets if they weren’t kneeling! His own fragging family ! And you think someone like that will help us?!”

Her hand was still caught in the impact zone. There would be no crater left in the door when she pulled back, the only evidence left would be in her aching fist and searing vox. There was nothing that Ratchet could say now to dampen the pain. 

Yes, Starscream had handed over Vos to the Decepticons. No-one would ever know whether or not he knew it would be razed in the process. No-one would know if holding out would have prevented the Decepticons from advancing on Iacon, or would have only delayed the inevitable Exodus. 

Yes, Starscream hated Megatron. No-one would know if it was for killing his brothers, or only out of greed for his power. No-one would know why he became a Decepticon in the first place, and why he chose to remain one for so long.

And yes, there was a non-zero chance that even if Megatron was defeated, Starscream would simply step in and take his place.

Even knowing all of this, if there was a chance that Megatron could be defeated with Starscream’s help, Optimus would still take it. He had no other choice… and despite her fury, Arcee knew he really didn’t.

“I’m sorry…” She sagged against her own violence, covering her mouth with the hand that wasn’t hurting. “I didn’t mean to yell. Just makes me so damn angry. So many of us have died, yet someone like that is still alive. It’s like a sick joke.”

“I understand, Arcee.” Ratchet couldn’t have agreed with her more.

Her fists clenched and unclenched at her sides, and the one still bearing the mark of her anger made her hiss as she tightened the digits. “What do you think about it…?”

He had hoped she wouldn’t ask that. He’d become content with thinking that his opinions didn’t matter all that much. He wasn’t on the battlefield like her, risking his life. After his disastrous stint with Synth-En, he’d become grateful for it.

“I have an oath as a medic. In the face of death, there are no enemies. Only patients.”

Arcee must have been expecting the answer word-for-word. She challenged it as soon as it was over. “But what if you weren’t a medic?”

Ratchet looked away, only buying himself meagre time to think. He couldn’t pretend that he hadn’t asked himself the same, but it was so long ago that he could no longer remember what other life there might have been for him.

“And what if you weren’t an Autobot?” he asked in turn. “What would you do?”

“...I don’t know how to answer that.”

She almost certainly did, just not in a way that she was comfortable giving a voice to. It was another thing that Ratchet agreed with, as dangerous as it was to consider. If they weren’t Autobots, bound by the code and commands that Optimus laid out for them… the alternatives would be sitting in the back of Arcee’s mind like a loaded weapon, and her belief in Optimus was the only thing keeping her from pulling the trigger.

Someone that was neither Autobot or Decepticon had no master to answer to. They were creatures of self-serving instinct. Creatures like Airachnid.

“Of course you don’t,” Ratchet said, dropping the subject for the both of them. “And that’s why I can’t tell you what I’d do if I wasn’t a medic. Or what Optimus would do if he wasn’t a Prime.”

Arcee stared at her feet. Then she shook her head as her shoulders shifted, as if the weight of all her questions had finally caught up to her. “I shouldn’t be bothering you with this scrap so late. I’m sorry.”

He hated hearing her apologise. “I think you need more rest, Arcee. You deserve it.”

“I want to go for a drive first.” She was already turning away in denial of his concern. “I like the empty roads. Then I might camp out in Jack’s garage.” 

Ratchet wouldn’t have tried to stop her, but she seemed to stop halfway down the hallway as if in anticipation of his protest. When it never came, she turned towards him.

“You’ll comm me if anything comes up, right? I’ll come straight back.”

“Of course.” Ratchet nodded right through the lie, and as he watched her leave he hid his own aching fists behind his back.

‘ Damn you, Optimus. And damn Airachnid for doing this to her.’ And yet he couldn’t blame the other accomplice without blaming himself.

✞✞✞

Wheeljack could hardly see his own hands in front of him despite the glowing moon overhead, but that was why Primus invented lamps. He held the end of it in his teeth– it helped fight off the cy-gar cravings, at least– as he examined the internal organs of the Jackhammer . He’d managed to get it back in the air, but only long enough to carry him back to Nevada. If he didn’t want to be stranded, he’d have to work around the clock to get the systems back to baseline.

Times like this, he really wished he’d been born into a transport frame. It’d be a lot easier to do repairs on yourself if you could feel where the damage was. Skyfire had always seemed happy enough when he wasn’t knocking buildings over, at least.

(Then again, he’d also been a stickler for keeping the interior clean. The Jackhammer reserved a closet specifically for empty energon cubes. Maybe it was better not being able to feel the garbage when it started piling up.)

For now, Wheeljack just wanted to fix the seal on the viewport so he could sleep without a breeze creeping in. He balanced half of his frame out the maintenance hatch, trying to fish a severed conduit back through an exterior panel with the magnetized tips of his fingers. Just as he started to reel it in, the sound of hydraulic systems hissing open echoed through the hull. 

He recognised the sound of the landing ramp as well as he did his own daughter’s laughter. And there was only one mech who knew how to trigger it from outside the ship.

“Took you long enough,” he muttered, not unkindly. “So who sent you?”

When he ducked back inside, he found Bulkhead grinning even while he was forced to squat under the ceiling. He’d never been able to fit in the cockpit without scraping the walls with his frame. 

“No-one,” he said. “There I was, sleeping soundly in my berth, when I hear something like a ‘Con invasion going on outside my door. Figured it was you landing this scrapheap up top.”

“Wasn’t me, believe it or not,” Wheeljack assured. “But so long as you’re here, you can help me make it run a little smoother.”

Bulkhead didn’t even need to ask where to start. The ship still had all the same problems that it had back on Cybertron, and a hundred new ones to interest him. 

“Finally time to buy a new one?” he asked, wincing only slightly when he found a familiar nest of wires behind the electric hub, and Wheeljack had to smile. 

“Sure. If you’re paying.” They’d made the same joke together easily over a thousand times by now. If Bulkhead had had the chance to use it against his Decepticon imposter, he would have been found out a lot sooner.

Wheeljack still wondered about that sometimes, the fact that a Decepticon had managed to fool his closest friend. Even if it only been for a short while, it was still too long for a betrayal. 

Then again, Wheeljack had fallen for the same trick with Seaspray. It was only sheer luck that left him outside the trap left by… well, if it wasn’t Dreadwing, then he didn’t know who the hell had done it. The only person he could think of was rotting in the depths of Garrus 9… and was once a Wrecker himself.

He didn’t want to think much more about it. Being wrapped up in Optimus’ big spider secret was somehow more preferable, even though it felt like carrying shrapnel in his chest.

 It must have felt even worse for Optimus, if he was the kind of person Wheeljack thought he was. But if he was, he wouldn’t have kept the secret in the first place. 

“Hey, Bulk?” When Wheeljack called out, he heard Bulkhead grunt in acknowledgement from near the engine compartment. Somehow all repair attempts, no matter how small, ended up leading back to there. Wheeljack waited for him to pop out from behind the engine block so he could see his reaction to what came next.

“Do you ever feel like coming here was a mistake?”

It was a heavy question, heavier than the cloying fumes of energon and sealant diffusing through the cramped space, but Bulkhead just shrugged it off. “Hell no. Optimus is here, so I’m here. Simple as that.”

“So if he walked into a smelting pool, you’d follow him there too?” The words came out too sharp, too quickly before he could dull them down. He’d spent so long away from people he could trust that he’d forgotten how to speak to them. He was already trying to think of an apology before Bulkhead turned to stare at him.

“...I’m not gonna explain myself again, Jackie,” he sighed. “You know why I left the Wreckers behind. You know how much getting Cybertron back means to me. None of that has changed in the last thousand years.”

“I’m not asking you to explain.”

“So what are you asking?” Bulkhead stared right at his friend, and suddenly he was now the one under interrogation. Wheeljack had almost forgotten the arguments they’d had when Bulkhead first left to join the Autobot’s suicide mission. They all seemed so meaningless now. At the end of the day, they were still on the same side. Wheeljack just wanted to know if Bulkhead was in the right place, and if he was too.

“You’ve been around Optimus for what, three years now?” he asked. “What’s he really like?”

Bulkhead seemed momentarily stunned by the sudden change in subject. When he shook his head, his frown lingered.

“He’s like Ultra Magnus, but nicer. You’d probably still hate him.”

Wheeljack nodded. “I thought as much. But how much do you trust him?”

Bulkhead blinked. He set down the tool in his hand, as if leaving them open for weapons. “That’s a loaded question.”

 The others had been too, but this one was far more obvious. “I know.”

“You asking as a Wrecker, or as my friend?”

“As your friend.” Wheeljack didn’t like that the two had become separate categories to Bulkhead.

His friend was quiet. Even his internal fans were hardly scraping the still air. His jaw sat on its hinge as a heavy weight as he turned the loaded question over in his mind– no different than dealing with a loaded gun, where you didn’t know where the bullet was hiding.

“The Matrix chose him,” he eventually said. “To most, Primus Himself might as well have put a neon sign on him that says ‘savior of Cybertron’. If we can’t trust him, then we can’t trust anyone.”

He looked away while shadows swept over his eyes. Wheeljack gave him time to turn them into words.

“Sometimes… it’s almost like being around Primus. I’ve never seen him angry.  At least, not angry like how we get. He’s so calm that it’s scary. But he’s never steered us wrong.”

Wheeljack still said nothing for a while. Despite his belief in Bulkhead, his need to believe that being on Earth was no accident, he couldn’t shake the knowledge that even Primes were not invincible. The Fallen had not been born from failure or weakness. The very best of their species still had emotions and desires and vices– the consequences for letting them get out of hand were only so much more devastating. So many worlds outside of Cybertron had already paid that price so many times over.

Unless you were an Empurata victim, it was impossible to think such things and not have it show on the face. And if anyone could see whatever Wheeljack tried to hide, it would be Bulkhead.

“Do I have a reason to not trust him, Jackie?” he asked. “Do you know something I don't?”

Of course he did. Ignorance had never been more blissful until a week ago, before he found another sparkling pawing at his life from her mother’s claws. If he hadn’t thought Optimus was worth apologising to, he would never have come across the proof that he wasn’t. 

The kid had changed everything, of course. Even if he wasn’t a sire, it would have been mighty difficult to condemn a sparkling to death alongside her mother. The Autobots, Bulkhead especially, would understand that. So why the hell was Optimus still trying to hide it?

There was one secret he could tell his friend, at least. He hadn’t even realised it was still a secret. It was something he just assumed he’d already told Bulkhead– the only reason he hadn’t was because he just never had the chance to bring it up.

Well. Better now than never.

“I have a daughter, Bulk.”

For the longest moment, Bulkhead remained frozen. His optics didn’t blink, his joints barely creaked. The only sound between them both was the Jackhammer ’s own ancient, chugging internals. Wheeljack wondered if he just hadn’t been heard when the moment passed–

And then someone up high remembered to jumpstart Bulkhead’s vox, like he was whipped with a live wire.

“ What ?” He nearly choked on nothing but thin air. “Since when?! Where ?!”

Wheeljack couldn’t help it– despite all the grim revelations of the day he had to smirk at this one.

“One at a time. The what is Strongarm. The when is four years ago. And the where is with Springer.”

Bulkhead stared at him like he’d just admitted to building a nuclear bomb in his spare time. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Cause I knew you’d be asking a bunch of questions as soon as I did. Like you’re doing right now.”

Bulkhead threw his hands up helplessly– as much as he could with the ceiling scraping his shoulders. “Who’s her mom?”

Wheeljack rolled his eyes. “Why is that always the first one people ask?”

“Cause it’s hard to think of who’d be dumb enough to let you sire a kid.”

“Alright, then. I’m not telling you.”

“Jackie, come on! I was joking!”

Wheeljack snorted as he started walking away. “You sure? Sounded a little sincere.”

“You drop that kind of bomb on me and expect me not to short-circuit?” Bulkhead shook his head, planting both hands flat on the back of his neck. “You’ve got a kid , Jackie. I mean… wow. And you left her with Springer?”

Wheeljack nodded, the edge of his mouth twitching in something that didn’t quite reach the threshold for a smile. “Safest place I knew. Springer was always the sensible one of us. If I’m going across the galaxy nuking ‘Cons, the last thing I want is her getting caught in the crossfire.”

Bulkhead absorbed that in silence, watching him more carefully now. “You said she’s four. That’s… that’s the middle of all this. That’s now. ”

Wheeljack didn’t respond. Bulkhead didn’t need him to.

“...So that’s what this is really about. Asking about Optimus. You’re trying to figure out if he’s the one who can end this. For her.”

Wheeljack exhaled, slow and tired. “...Yeah.”

The war had taken enough from all of them. He just couldn’t let it take her. He sat in the captain’s seat, suddenly without the strength to stand. Thinking about how far away she was often had that effect on him.

“I want to believe that this war ends with Megatron rotting in the Pit,” Wheeljack said, his eyes fixed on some distant point past Bulkhead’s shoulders. “Or somewhere worse. I don’t want Strongarm growing up drifting from star to star, never knowing her home… never knowing me. ”

He was doomed to miss so much of her life already. Even if they both lived for millions of years, those precious early ones would never come back.

“I want her to see Cybertron. Not what we had. Not what’s left. I want her to see it whole . At its best. And I want to believe Optimus can make that happen.”

Wheeljack had spent so long hiding behind the ideals of revenge and retribution, it felt alien to be so honest about what he wanted when there was nothing left to fight. He was overwhelmed by his own longing for something, anything , that could be saved from the ashes of Cybertron.

“But before I can,” he said, finding Bulkhead’s eyes and locking them in, “I gotta know that you believe it too.”

Bulkhead didn’t flinch. He never did, not in all of Wheeljack’s memories of him. If Wheeljack would have suited being a transport frame, Bulkhead’s spark belonged in a Titan’s body.

This time, he didn’t hesitate when he answered. “I do, Jackie. I really do.”

If Optimus couldn’t be trusted, then neither could Bulkhead. And Wheeljack couldn’t imagine a world where the latter was possible.

“...Alright, then.” It was like a weight lifting from his spark, leaving only the distant link that Strongarm had forged there. A beat passed, and so did the tension. It could never last long between friends.

“So…” Bulkhead ventured, punching Wheeljack’s shoulder. “Who’s the unlucky lady?”

Wheeljack huffed a laugh. “Tell you what– race me to get the nav beacon fixed. If you beat me, I’ll give you a hint.”

Bulkhead cracked his knuckles with a grin. “Deal.”

And Wheeljack grinned too, because he knew exactly how the beacon was broken. He was the one who broke it after all, just to make it a little harder for Ultra Magnus to track him down.

For the first time in seven hundred million years, the first time since their sparks became one, Optimus didn’t know where Elita was. She was there, embedded deep in his sparkweb– or at least, the shape of her was. But she wasn’t by his side. He couldn’t reach for her.

The mountain had ruptured beneath her feet. One moment she stood on its face, holding the high ground against the Decepticons, her teeth bared in defiance of the missiles raining down. Then an explosion split the sky, and the entire summit crumbled into fire and ash.

Beachcomber insisted it wasn’t a natural collapse– someone had planted an explosive deep in the fault line. Chromia ordered the retreat from the shockwave. Prowl co-ordinated the counterattack to defend the Ark. All fourteen other Autobots were accounted for, yet even all of them combined could not stop Optimus from charging into the forest after Elita.

He knew she was there. Buried under the rubble, broken. In agony. He was feeling every second of it– every second spent searching for her, it was only getting worse.

Branches exploded into splinters, trees cracked and fell under the force of his passage, a hundred alien creatures swarmed into the undergrowth fleeing his fury. He scanned every fissure in the shattered terrain, every scorched crater where Decepticon ordinance had ruined the earth. Ironhide’s voice crackled through the comms pleading for a regroup, for caution, for strategy. He might have been talking to Optimus, yet Optimus silenced him anyway. He needed no other voice but hers.

The forest soon thinned, revealing the remains of the mountain looming over him in smoke and cinder. A chasm had scorched right through its mass, scoring deeper still into the solid earth beneath. Elita was faint in the carnage. He forced himself through the shattered rock, carving a place for himself as he surged forward. The stench of ordnance and charred earth was overwhelming, yet Optimus kept his senses intact. He couldn’t afford to miss a single trace of her.

“Elita…?!” His own voice was a ragged thing in the narrow space between living and dead. He didn’t care if other Decepticons heard him– he only hoped some were still alive so that Elita would be among them. Where the stone refused to yield, he melted it with his weapon fire. Where his strength threatened to fail him, he pushed through anyway. Cables and protoform and armor could be fixed. A lifeless spark could not.

“Elita! Ariel! ” He didn’t expect her to magically appear if he said the right name, but it came out anyway. He hadn’t called her Ariel for centuries, she had shed that name just as he had shed Orion Pax. Saying it out loud wouldn’t take him all the way back there, away from this awful place. And yet he couldn’t stop himself from trying anyway.  

The shadows were running away from him. The space around him was widening, and the chasm became a cruel maze of stone and smoke. His only lifeline was the ebb of her spark, pulling at him, begging him to find her…

And then he did. He found that he was not the only thing looking for her.

Her hand was stretched towards him, as if she’d known he was coming. The rest of her body was obscured by the shadow looming over it. One leg braced her throat, leaving the other seven bristling around it like a jagged web. The animal turned towards him, dripping her blood from its teeth, a thousand bleeding blue eyes glaring at him.

He didn’t hesitate. His blade speared through its spine. It spasmed, choking out the stolen energon, and its death rattle was a clicking wail. Above them, the forest burned. In that fractured suffocating dark, the rivers of spilled energon turned to ice. Their glow became blinding all around him.

The vile creature stared at Optimus with glowing pink eyes rimmed in black. The black tears under them were not tears at all, and the grimace of her fangs was nothing more than a satisfied grin.

With the last of her breath, even as she died on his sword, Airachnid laughed at him over his beloved’s corpse. And even as she laughed, he felt nothing but regret for what he had done to her.

…

Optimus Prime died on Archa Seven for the second time, and when he awoke he was still on Earth. He lay motionless in his berth, staring up at darkness, waiting for the phantom claws inside his spark casing to stop tearing at his soul.

What he’d seen was no memory. It was a familiar nightmare, with a new face full of fangs. A new silhouette crouched in the shadows: Airachnid, her frame slick with energon, sick with hunger. She hovered over Elita  like a carrion beast, devouring her piece by piece, body and spark. And every part taken from her was taken from Optimus in turn.

That had never happened, of course. He’d never found Elita’s body despite his best efforts, despite refusing to leave Archa Seven before every inch of it was searched for her, despite tearing through the rubble with his own hands until they no longer functioned. He’d reached a compromise with his more level-headed soldiers eventually, scouring the detonation site and the miles around it.

But still they found nothing. Not Elita, not the Decepticons she had taken with her into that final stand. And then when night came, so did the spiders; pouring from the cracks and caverns, drawn by the stench of death from machine and animal alike. Dozens of them; vile, skittering, acid-tongued things like Insecticon nightmares.

He should have pulled the Autobots long before then. But he had stayed. He made them stay. And because of his refusal to let go– because he couldn’t bear to leave Elita behind, even in absence– he’d almost let the ghost of one become the grave of so many more. 

How disappointed she would have been in him. How disappointed she would be now, that he still offered help to a creature like Airachnid. That a Decepticon was allowed to survive Archa, mutated as she was, while she did not.

But it was far too late for Optimus to take it back. The damage was done, irreversible, and there was little else to be salvaged from it. Not the Autobots’ crumbling trust in him, not the fragile balance he had gambled everything to preserve.

And then there was Scorpia, with her father’s poison running through her veins.

It wasn't just that she was so young and innocent, caught in a war that had no room for either. It was that Optimus understood what it meant to be willing to burn the universe just to save one person in it. However much time Scorpia had left, when it ran out there would be nothing left to restrain Airachnid, no thread to tether her to mercy– if anything ever could– and he would not be able to save her anymore.

He had failed Elita long ago, and he was going to fail again. 

But the Autobots still needed their Prime. Even if he could not fully be that for them, he owed them to at least pretend. He was all too good at it by now. 

As he stood from his berth the lights hissed to life, bathing him in a sterile glow. The door however did not react, as if it sensed his reluctance to leave.

And when his hand moved to push it aside, he found that he was not alone in his room.

“You won’t find peace out there, Orion. What you seek cannot be found on this planet.”

The presence was immediate, suffocating, fire without heat. Gravity given a twelve-tone voice, like molten steel. Optimus had only rarely heard the voice on its own before. It was so often drowned out by twelve others, each one trying to drag it deeper into the past and bury it there, to spare their descendants from its deception.

Not a memory or a dream. Not a hallucination conjured by stress and guilt. A god who had once burned Cybertron from the inside out, a herald of the Chaos Bringer. The namesake of the man who had once been his brother a lifetime ago.

“Have you come to taunt me?” Optimus did not turn towards him when he spoke. He did not deserve that small dignity, and he laughed at the disrespect.

“I come because I was summoned. You asked the Matrix for help. We answered… and I lingered. Because I knew my work was not yet done.”

‘I did not ask for you.' Optimus clenched his fists. He had reached out in desperation for wisdom, for strength, for something so much bigger than himself. 

Not for this. Not the reason that even the Matrix knew what grief was. Anyone, anything but him.

“I need no help from the likes of you, betrayer.” The word was rust in his mouth. Even with his optics averted he could feel the Fallen’s amusement seeping into the air like a thick poison.

“So I’ve heard.” The Fallen surely rolled his eyes out of sight. “And yet, you deny the voices of all others. Only mine has broken through. What does that say about you, child?”

“I am no child,” Optimus snapped, forgetting himself just a moment too late. And the Fallen laughed again.

“Compared to me, you are no more grown than that squealing newspark you swore yourself to.”

Optimus flinched, barely. But the Fallen still saw it. He saw everything, he knew everything– every failure, every doubt, every desperate choice. He knew what haunted Optimus’ spark, and he mocked it.

“I will not ask again,” Optimus said, the threat tight with revulsion. “Leave my presence at once.”

“Better Primes than you have asked less of me,” he was informed. “I continue to disappoint them.”

The silence that followed was thick and bitter. Optimus felt the Matrix at his core– quiet, pulsing, watching. Was it testing him? Or was this a punishment?

He had no time for either. He would wake again soon, into the real world. He would wake to no-one knowing the word Decepticon, to the faces of Cliffjumper and Ironhide, and Tailgate and Prowl and Perceptor and Jazz… and even if Elita was not among them, it would still be a better world than what he’d made for himself here. Better than the lies he’d spun by trying to save everyone he knew.

He closed his optics and begged– for just a moment, a flicker of peace. Primus was surely watching him now. Surely He was listening.

He opened the door at last, leaving the Fallen behind, desperate to see something real and familiar…

But he wasn’t in Nevada. There were no steel corridors, no dry desert air or humming lights. The forest around him, the sickly purple veins in the sky overhead, the bristling insects in the trees, were from no place on Earth.

“All roads lead to the Allspark,” the Fallen told him. “Or, in your case, they lead to Archa Seven.”

A crack echoed like thunder, but not from the dark clouds above. Optimus finally faced him, moving faster than synapse snaps, and his sword snapped loose with a force that cracked the air around them. The forest screamed with him, trees bowing away from the force of the blow, roots shuddering as if the cursed world itself refused to bear witness to the killing of a god.

The blade met the Fallen’s throat in a perfect arc…

And passed right through. Not a drop of energon spilled. Not a shudder or flinch to even acknowledge the attack. The only mark it left was the grin gouged deeper into the ancient Prime’s face, a scar that would never fade.

Megatronus Prime looked nothing like Megatron, yet everything like the symbol he’d spent millions of years fighting behind. This was the face that Cybertron had been destroyed over.

“There he is,” he purred. “The Prime that will win this war. I was wondering where he was hidden away all this time.”

Optimus stood hunched over, still recovering from the inertia of the blow that did nothing but expose the depths of his anger. The impact had felt real… and he wanted it to be. He wanted the hiss of severed fuel lines, the warning sirens of a dying machine. He wanted some semblance of justice, if only in his head.

But the monster just stood there, untouched, arms open in mock benediction. Optimus didn’t sheathe his blade, but the edge dipped into the soil at his feet.

“What does the war matter to you, betrayer?” he snarled. “Why come now, if not to torment me? Why bring me here?”

The Fallen’s eyes flashed brighter with each question. “You would rather I visit your friend? The one who stole the glory of my name? Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. You are the Matrix bearer. You are the only one who can hear me.”

“I have nothing to say to you.” Optimus was walking to nowhere– the forest did not move around him, and the Fallen followed Optimus' face no matter how he tried to hide it, clinging to him like his own shadow.

“I’m not asking for words from you, Orion. Only for you to listen to mine.”

A cold and brittle silence stretched between them. Optimus kept trying to walk away, even if the ground itself seemed to resist him. There was every chance that the Fallen was conversing with Megatron as well, through their bloodline to Unicron. They had much more in common with each other, more than just their names. Their shared heritage was one of rot and ruin.

“You’re still an archivist, aren’t you?” the Fallen pressed. “Hungry for knowledge. I could tell you things lost to the vaults of Iacon. Secrets that you won’t find in Alpha Trion’s Covenant. How Solus Prime ensured the freedom and survival of her descendants. So intelligent she was as well. So beautiful.”

Optimus stopped only because he flinched at the sound of her name. Of all the people to say it, to yearn for her…

It was a mockery of his own grief. He turned, slow and deliberate, until he was fully facing the speaker. Even though it was hidden, the loaded barrel of his gun started burning through his own plating.

“If I was able to,” Optimus said through clenched teeth, “I would kill you again. For her alone.”

The nightmare planet around him pulsed as if it was bracing itself for violence. If this was truly Archa Seven, it was no stranger to it.

The Fallen only smiled at his threat. “And for her, I would let you. May I continue?”

Optimus didn’t answer before he turned away again. To the Fallen, his silence was nothing but an invitation.

“Did you know, Orion, that a mech cannot recognise his own offspring by sight alone? That was always intentional. Dear Solus leveraged that knowledge against all others. Her daughters, Cybertron’s first mothers, were the most important people in all of our history. Without them, we would have gone extinct long before the Well of All Sparks could be set in motion.”

“Is there a point to this, betrayer?” Optimus cut him off in disgust. Whatever forbidden knowledge being offered was not worth Solus Prime’s name being disgraced by her murderer’s tongue, the final resting place of her spark being referred to as nothing more than a device to be 'set in motion'.

The Fallen only smiled again, as a father might do while he indulges his child’s tantrum.

“Your Megatron would never have known if the mech sparkling was his own,” he said. “And he would not have killed it intentionally. Not unless… someone else told him to.”

“Someone else?” Optimus understood the implication immediately, yet he felt compelled to question it.

“The voice in his head. The same one that damned me. The voice that whispers in the dark, that tells you to act… against your true nature.”

Optimus felt himself scowl, and his gun entered his hand on instinct. “If you speak of Unicron, then you speak of lies. Your true nature was unveiled by him. Your betrayal, your murder was no consequence of Unicron. It was a choice.”

The Fallen eyed the weapon for only a second.

 “And does that belief make it easier for you?” he asked softly. “To think that your friend was never twisted, never manipulated? That he fell of his own accord?” 

He stepped closer, and for the first time Optimus could feel what he thought was his EM field.  He didn’t know what else the sensation could be… a collapsing star wrapped in silence, a vacuum on the edge of a supernova pulling everything toward its event horizon. His spark knew that it was in the presence of something that should no longer exist.

“Does it comfort you, Orion,” the Fallen asked from the abyss of his ancient being, “to believe that your war was born of free will? Do you think, when the time comes, it will make it easier for you to kill him?”

Optimus didn’t answer. He refused to. Any response would only feed the shadow leeching off of him. The Fallen didn’t seek truth. He only wanted the sick pleasure of watching the righteous bend under pressure.

“Evil is not inherent to any spark,” he went on. “You know this. That is why you still believe Megatron can be saved. That is why you still protect the spider.”

The mention of Airachnid made Optimus stiffen. He hadn’t expected her name to surface– though really, it shouldn't have surprised him. The Fallen knew everything that haunted him. And of course he would use her against him. Of course he would dig his claws into the places still bleeding.

A sinking thought then hit Optimus like a bullet. The Fallen hadn’t chosen Archa Seven to taunt Optimus of Elita, but to torment him over Airachnid.

“The others think she’ll be your undoing,” the Fallen went on, his vox thick with certainty. “I think the opposite. No… I know it. She will break you.”

Optimus’ jaw locked, old metal creaking beneath the weight of a thousand things he refused to say. He would not take the bait.

“Does it offend you to hear it said aloud? You’ve thought the very same. But when the words come from someone else’s mouth, they sound like an accusation, do they not?”

“I ask again,” Optimus snapped. “Is there a point to this?”

The Fallen smiled, with the satisfaction of a predator who had finally drawn blood in his claws.

“In times of desperation,” he said, “even in the best of us, a corruption can take root. Sometimes we can be cleansed. Sometimes not. Sometimes it kills us before we have the chance–”

“Do not speak of things I am already well aware of.” It was the first time Optimus managed to interrupt him, not with authority but with frustration barely held in check. The Fallen’s red eyes hardened like glass, only for a second before they were molten metal once more.

“Sometimes it kills us,” he said again. Then added, with a knife’s smile, “And sometimes… we kill it first. Do you understand, child ?”

Optimus didn’t– not at first. But when the Fallen hissed that demeaning title, the condemnation of Optimus only because of his own immeasurable age, and the sound of it lingered in the alien air… 

The child. Scorpia. Her disease could be killed before it took her first. The Fallen seemed to notice when the realisation hit.

“She is not doomed, Orion,” he said. “Not yet. Neither is her mother. There is a chance… there exists a world where they could both be saved. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen what you must do to make it happen. And I wonder if you’re capable of doing it.”

Optimus narrowed his eyes, not daring to hope that he was right. And even if he was, the revelation was surely not one given for charity. “Then tell me. What must I do?”

The Fallen’s eyes flashed with a river of humor. “You asked me not to tell you what you already know.”

It was another riddle. But this one stung with familiarity. At its core it was the same question Airachnid had asked him, the one he hadn't had the courage to answer as he should have.

“You believe I’m incapable of taking Megatron’s life,” he said. “I will only spare it if I can. But you should know that I would give any life in exchange for Cybertron. Even my own.”

The Fallen stepped forward, entering the space where even instincts began to flinch. Close enough to strike, close enough to tempt another fruitless attack. His EM field was still a cosmic disturbance.

“Then why not say as much to Airachnid?” he asked, his voice almost gentle. “Is hers the one life you won’t offer?”

Optimus did not answer. His silence was like a blade held steady by trembling hands. 

“What about her daughter?” the Fallen pressed. “What of Elita? Would you give her up again, to save Cybertron?”

He thought he was prepared to hear him say her name. He was not. When Optimus turned to face him fully, his optics burned.

“I will not speak of her with the likes of you. Not here.” His voice cracked from thr memories he hadn’t dared to exhume; grief older than himself, lurking deeper than hatred, and calcified under it was his quiet rage– a fury so cold that it could no longer burn.

The Fallen tilted his head, rolling his sympathy to one side.

“Then I will tell you this much, Orion. Understanding will come to you sooner than you might wish. And it won't be gentle. It will come to you in your weakest moment– and rest assured, that moment is yet to come. And it will tear you asunder if you let it. Consider this warning a small mercy from me. It is more than what my brethren will give you.”

“And why should I believe you?” Optimus snapped. “Why should I believe a single word you’ve said to me?”

He was tired of being tested, as if every ounce of mercy he showed must inevitably be punished. Sick of riddles, half-truths and manipulations. Sick of being toyed with for the crime of trying to do good in a universe that had all but forgotten the meaning of the word.

The Fallen did not smile. His EM field, the immense force that surrounded him, briefly flashed into a blinding corona. The pressure of it crushed against Optimus’ own, burning at the edges. And this was only a taste of the Thirteen’s wrath.

“The Prime that has so generously chosen to grace you with his knowledge,” Megatronus said, voice low and thunderous, “is not the one you know as the Fallen. We may have the same body– but the sparks within could not be more different.”

Optimus stared him down, but the taste of that power still rang in his systems. He felt the heat of it crawling across his frame like phantom fire. It only assured him that he was right to scorn him.

The Fallen, Megatronus, the pariah at the core of Cybertron’s mythos… speaking of corruption and cleansing and mercy, as though he understood the words. As though he hadn’t been the first to spill divine blood from his own greed. And perhaps that was the most painful part of being near him– the real possibility that the Fallen’s words were not lies. That Solus’ murderer could still look upon the ruin of his actions and ache with regret.

Because despite his crimes, his unforgivable slights against Primus Himself… his chance at redemption could not be denied. Not without unraveling everything Optimus still believed in. Not without damning every Decepticon he still dared to forgive. Not without leaving all his sacrifices for Airachnid in vain. 

They might still be so, but Optimus could not dare admit that here. He averted his gaze, knowing the Fallen was staring– studying him the way a surgeon might examine a mortal wound on a cadaver.

“I see I’ve reached the end of your patience at last.” The Fallen closed his eyes for the first time, speaking as if with reverence for the feat he’d accomplished. “Very well. I have three more questions for you, Orion. Answer them truthfully, and I will leave you.”

Optimus said nothing, but the heat radiating off his frame was answer enough. He would indulge the betrayer only to finally banish him.

When Megatronus opened his eyes, his surgeon’s gaze became a scalpel.

“Do you hate me because I remind you of your friend?” he asked. “Who he once was?” 

“You don’t.” Optimus answered without hesitation, not caring if it was a lie. He remembered the moment Megatron first killed without remorse— Senator Halogen, the first casualty of their million years war. The moment he’d looked at Optimus with eyes that didn’t recognize him anymore. It was the same gaze he saw now staring back at him.

“So you hate me regardless.” Megatronus grinned, knowing the truth anyway. “The second. Do you hate Airachnid because she reminds you of Elita One?”

A sharp breath hissed through Optimus' vents before he could stop it. He saw them both before him– no trick of the light, no cruel hallucination conjured by the Fallen. Elita, noble and defiant in the face of oblivion. Airachnid, vicious and cold and cunning… and still, somehow, reaching for something better even as she denied it. As he recoiled from one, he clinged every tighter to the other.

And just like in his dream, one was standing over the other, devouring her down to the bone.

“I don’t hate her.” He didn’t know if he was lying now. Megatronus didn’t need confirmation– his grin never faltered. He believed whatever amused him most.

“And so we have the final question,” he said, and he exhaled as if it was a heavy weight leaving him. “Do you hate her more than you love Elita?”

Optimus froze. His spark skipped, stuttered, and flared in its loneliness. Where it swelled there should have been something else pushing against it, someone else. Once there had been, and she’d left behind nothing but empty space.

He wanted to speak—to deny Airachnid, to defend her. To scream that they weren’t the same. That she was nothing like Elita, nothing that could compare to what he had lost.

Because some days, he did hate her. Some days, he hated what Airachnid made him feel; how she reflected his failures. He hated that he still believed in her. Hated how she exposed the cracks in his idealism. Hated that he still believed she could be more. Hated that if he gave up on her, it wouldn’t only be the end of her.

Megatronus watched him closely, the satisfaction in his optics sharpened by something that almost resembled pity. He didn’t wait for Optimus to speak.

“I’m a man of my word, Orion Pax. But I’ll see you again, when you need me most. And we will be watching you all the while.”

He snapped his claws before any more could be said, and reality folded inward with the sound. The heavens cracked open in his departure—lightning streaked across a bloated sky that wasn’t sky at all, casting a sharp relief of light across the planet that was Elita One’s grave.

And all around Optimus, the forest began to burn again.

✞✞✞

He awoke alone, and for the first time in many million years he was grateful for it.  Silence pressed in like a balm; undisturbed by voices or visions. It was late morning– the children would be at school, and the Autobots would be waiting for him.

But he didn’t move. Not for a long while.

The stillness wasn’t empty. It was too complete, too perfect, as though the world were holding its breath around him. A phantom weight lingered against his chestplate– where the Matrix made his home, like a second spark beating beside his own where Elita’s should have been.

Optimus had carried the relic for eons. He had endured its silences, its flickers of memory, its burdens and blessings. But never before had he considered what it might mean for the others– the Thirteen and their descendants– to remain within. Never before had he truly feared what he carried.

He remembered how Airachnid had reacted, when he was forced to open it. When she was exposed to its light, left frozen in fear. She hadn’t only been scared of him… but the legacy he carried, when she saw it in her own eyes. 

Had she heard Megatronus as well? Had she known who he was, just as he now knew her?

We will be watching you all the while.

Optimus remembered as well how the Fallen had spoken those words, the deliberate stress on we . Not a threat, but a promise. Whether or not it was supposed to be reassuring would depend solely on who was watching him.

He didn’t quite know what to expect when he opened the door, if he truly had left the nightmares behind. The corridors did not warp around him. Megatronus did not whisper over his shoulder, or from within the weight in his chest. Elita’s ghost was, as it always was, a quiet hole in his spark once more.
But he did not dare feel relief until he reached the hangar, and he saw the Autobots with his own two eyes– only Bulkhead was missing, likely somewhere with Wheeljack instead. Bumblebee greeted him with a wave, and Optimus almost fell to his knees, undone by the simple confirmation that they were still here– that he was still here.

He remained standing only by sheer will. But, of course, Ratchet noticed the shift anyway and narrowed his optics. There was no need for words—Optimus knew that look. Knew that if he stepped even an inch closer, Ratchet would stop him and ask what was wrong, and then wait in silence until he got the truth. Optimus didn’t know how much he should share of the dream, even with someone he trusted. He could not burden others with his terrors, especially not someone who had already borne so much from him.

It was, at least, one choice he didn’t have to make just yet. Arcee cut across the hangar like a live wire straight towards him, moving  like someone who had rehearsed every step– until she stopped in front of him, and her certainty seemed to waver.

“Optimus. Do you have a minute?” Her voice was level, but her shoulders were too square, her stance too rigid. She was bracing herself… for what, Optimus wasn’t sure. But from the tone alone, he knew it would be unwise to tell her no. And with how much he owed her already, he would never dream of doing so.

“Of course. What do you need, Arcee?” Optimus did her the courtesy of stepping to the side, constructing some air of privacy for whatever was pressing her. Compared to what he had endured in his slumber, he was sure whatever she had to share would be a relief. 

She kicked her heels together, spinning the wheels as she gathered her thoughts. She must have been waiting a while for Optimus to emerge, yet she still struggled with the words.

“Now that MECH’s been dealt with,” she said at last, “there’s been… something on my mind. What you said before, about recruiting Starscream…”

Optimus almost winced. In the storm of MECH and Airachnid, he had nearly forgotten the other threat shadowing their cause.

“I shouldn’t have stormed out like I did,” Arcee went on quickly, as if rushing to outrun her own pride. “And I’m sorry. But if we’re really going to try and ambush him… what exactly are we planning to do with him? Surely we can get a stasis pod? Or a locked door? Anything other than…”

She faltered, the unspoken truth hanging heavy between them. Making him an Autobot. Or, at least, an ally.  The very idea was almost unbearable. Optimus had hoped she might accept the prospect of Starscream more easily than that of Airachnid, but that hardly left room for more acceptance.

“I do not relish the idea of a partnership any more than you do, Arcee,” Optimus said truthfully. “If I can avoid it, then be assured– I will. But I might not be able to.”

Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t flinch. “We don’t need him, Optimus. I understand, you’re just trying to keep our options open… but you can’t seriously believe he’s worth the risk.”

She demanded certainty– an ironclad promise that he wouldn’t bend too far, wouldn’t trust too much. But with everything already done, the secrets he kept from her, Optimus could offer no such reassurance.

And now, worse still, he was forced to confront a truth he had managed to avoid until now. Something else he had almost forgotten– but while they were talking about Starscream, it had to be addressed. He inhaled slowly, gathering courage. 

“I have a difficult question to ask you, Arcee. I do not mean to cause offence by it.”

Arcee blinked, narrowing her eyes. “Okay… I can’t promise I won’t get offended if I don’t know what the question is, though.”

He would never fault her for being pragmatic. He could only hope she would remain so with what he had to say.

“Last year… when we took Starscream as our prisoner. You reported that he broke out of his restraints, and then attacked you.”  

His voice faltered for a fraction, the weight of what he was about to suggest pressing down hard.

“Y… Yeah,” she said in the pause. “That’s what happened.”

Optimus watched her carefully, steeling himself for the storm that would follow.

“Did he confess to killing Cliffjumper before or after his escape?”

Arcee’s eyes sharpened as a fleeting flicker of suspicion flew over her face. “He… he bragged about it while he attacked me. Why are you asking?”
“I must know,” he said, “if you released him from his restraints.”

‘Please say no,’ he begged in silence. ‘Please say Airachnid was wrong.’ In that moment he needed Arcee to be fair more than he needed Airachnid to be honest. 

But Arcee hesitated. Even if she denied it now, Optimus wasn’t sure if he would believe her.

“What does it matter now?” she eventually asked. Optimus almost wished she’d just lied instead.

“Arcee… please. I must know the truth of what happened.”

“The truth?” she hissed, crossing her arms as her eyes flashed with warning signs. “The truth is that he took Cliffjumper from us! He was never going to join us… he came along because it suited him, because it bought him time. But he would have stabbed us in the back sooner or later. Surely you know that, Optimus.”

The suspicion was always there, and it always would be for any Decepticon.

“But we will never know for sure,” he said.

Arcee shook her head, and her scoff was like a laugh of disbelief. “So even knowing what he did, you still would have taken him in? You’d expect me to fight alongside him, to shake his hand with Cliff’s blood still on it?!”

Optimus forced his voice to remain level, though every word scraped against something within him. Was this what Megatronus had seen, while Optimus raged at him?

His rage had been justified, just as Arcee’s was. How was he supposed to argue with her? But for him to have any chance of her accepting Airachnid’s existence, he had to try.

“He gave us three years of peace in Megatron’s absence, Arcee,” he said, forcing the words out. “He could have annihilated us, but he didn’t. I am forced to consider his restraint.”

“ Restraint?! ” Her voice cracked into a snarl. “He spared us because he was saving us for Megatron! And the second he came back– Starscream threw Cliff’s corpse at his feet like some sick offering. Like he wanted praise for the murder. That’s not restraint, Optimus. That’s who he is. That’s all he is.”

Optimus wished he’d taken her somewhere private. He could see Bumblebee looking over, unable to ignore the noise. Ratchet at least, was a consummate professional as always, not taking his eyes off of his console in the distance– though he was certainly listening to every barbed world.

“I won’t tell you your emotions are wrong, Arcee,” Optimus finally said, trying to keep his voice steady. “But there are more lives at stake than our own. Cybertron’s future is in our hands. If allying with Starscream could save more–”

“It won’t,” she insisted. “I keep telling you it won’t. And even if it did, I’d rather be dead than owe him anything!”

She wasn’t whispering anymore. Her voice cracked through the hangar, and now the silence rang louder than any echo. The lights overhead droned on, the only sound brave enough to break the stillness. 

Optimus held her gaze. Her optics burned with something too raw to name, and still he said nothing. There was little he could say that wouldn’t make it worse for her.

“...I know you don’t mean that, Arcee,” he eventually said.

“Maybe I do.” Her vox trembled, and she refused to look at him. “Would it be so bad if I did?” 

She shook her head before he could answer, 

“Forget it. I’ve said my piece. You’re going to do whatever you think you need to.”

Her steps were sharp, each one echoing against the steel floor like a warning. She didn’t want pity or reason. She just wanted out.

“Arcee.” Optimus disobeyed his better instincts by taking a step after her. “Please–”

She stopped just before his hand reached her shoulder. Her back was rigid, and her arms were ready in front of her. He recognised the stance from countless battles, almost expecting her blades to emerge if only on instinct.

“You’re not the only one of us mourning, Optimus.” Her voice cracked, but she didn’t stop. “And sure, I’m not bonded. I never took the risk. I don’t know the connection you had with… with Elita. I don’t know how deep your pain truly goes. But you’re not the only one who loved her. You’re not the only one trying to do the right thing for her. For everyone we’ve lost.”

Her eyes were bright with the shine of unshed tears, rage and sorrow tangled so tightly that they couldn’t be separated. Then she turned away, and she was gone. The silence she left behind was louder than her fury.

“ Should I… go after her?” Bumblebee was the one who dared to break it. 

“Leave her be,” Optimus said, and it was the only smart thing he had said that morning. 

“Guess I’ll see her when we go get the kids…” Bumblebee returned to the small repairs on his chassis, though he was noticeably less focused with Arcee’s echoes still fresh around him. Ratchet was silent until Optimus was right next to his console, and even then he waited until Bumblebee left to dig a tool out of storage before he spoke.

“Don’t tell me you told her about–”

“No,” Optimus interrupted. “Not yet.”

Ratchet sighed, though it was hard to tell if it was from relief or frustration. “So what was that about?”

“We… disagree over how to deal with Starscream. I asked her if she had attacked him. While he was unable to defend himself.”

Ratchet’s optics flickered sharply toward him. “You what ? Who told you she’d done such a thing?”

Optimus was silent. Even if he’d felt free to say her name out loud, he wanted to avoid the reaction Ratchet would give him. But the fact that he said nothing told Ratchet exactly what he needed to know.

“And you really believed her ?” Ratchet drew back half a step, disbelief flashing across his face.

“Arcee admitted it, Ratchet,” Optimus said quietly. “She released his restraints. She wanted revenge… for Cliffjumper.”

Ratchet’s mouth flattened into a harsh line. “But what if she hadn’t? Would you really have taken… her word over Arcee’s?” 

Optimus blinked, struggling to answer. No less than two days ago, he might have. And even now, he was forced to contend with the fact that Arcee had lied to him for her own agenda. Airachnid, for all her faults, had been honest in a way that gained her nothing.

It should have been reassuring. But when Optimus thought of her, he still saw her body on his blade. He still saw her mouth full of Elita’s blood.

“Perhaps you could ask her yourself tomorrow,” he murmured to Ratchet, almost pleading. “If you would… indulge me with a favor.”

He didn’t elaborate yet, but Ratchet already knew what was coming.

“You want me to go to her?” he asked. “Without you?”

“I will give you the necessary supplies,” Optimus said. “You only need to hand them over.”

He expected Ratchet’s protest. He knew the sigh would come, heavy and precise, as it always did.

“And will this be a recurring thing?” Each word attempted to snap at the air, but the effort was lacking from the medic’s weariness. “Pretending that she just doesn’t exist to avoid dealing with her?”

Optimus braced to respond, to reassure him, only to be stopped by the sudden regret that seized the medic's face.

“That was uncalled for… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean–”

But Optimus held up a hand. “I will only ask it this once, Ratchet. I… I simply cannot be near her right now. I admit it is a weak excuse, but it is the only one I have.”

Ratchet regarded him in silence. They had both suffered through a long, difficult night, and there would only be more to come.

 After a long pause, the medic sighed again. “Are we telling her about Scorpia’s condition as well?”

Optimus had been hoping to avoid that for a little longer as well. Even if Megatronus’ had been truthful, for whatever ulterior motives he had… even if Scorpia’s fate was not sealed, Airachnid deserved to know what might come. If she didn’t know already.

“I will leave that to your discretion, old friend.”

Ratchet closed his eyes, squeezing the lenses with all of his waning strength. Exhaustion was a great anchor pulling his features down. “Fine... tomorrow. I’ll go tomorrow. On one condition.” 

He held up a single digit, a threatening sight in front of his optics. Optimus braced himself for the catch– would he tell Arcee on his return? Insist on bringing Scorpia here to examine her?

Ratchet narrowed his eyes, and his condition came forth.

 “...Wheeljack stays away for the foreseeable future. No unsupervised visits. Non-negotiable.”

Optimus, for the second time that morning, almost ended up on his knees in relief. “Agreed.”

Arcee and Jack were both no-shows after school ended. Miko and Rafael showed up as expected, but when Ratchet questioned Jack’s absence he was only answered with shrugs. Bumblebee at least had seen Arcee pick him up before he drove off– the kids’ consensus was that Jack needed to stay home to help June with something, and Arcee went along to keep him company. 

The Autobots knew the real reason, of course. Even Wheeljack probably knew from Bulkhead by now (though the Wrecker had yet to make an appearance outside his ship since his return from Shizumi, which was the only mercy Ratchet had received as of late). As for Optimus… 

He was spending a lot of time at his console. Whatever he was planning now, Ratchet wasn’t yet privy to. More likely, he was just trying to distract himself from all the harsh realities coming home to roost.

But regardless of what was to come, there was still the present to mind. Optimus had given Ratchet a task, and even though he didn’t really believe it would only be this once and never again, he’d agreed to do it. But the only way he could accomplish it was without anyone seeing him leave Nevada. 

Ratchet awoke before sunrise the following morning. He crept quietly through the empty hangar, mostly out of habit. He knew he wasn’t at any risk of waking Arcee, because she still hadn’t returned. Optimus had arranged his cargo in advance, and it was waiting at the Ground Bridge console for him.

“Morning, Ratchet.”

The small voice became a behemoth in the huge space of the hangar, and it hit Ratchet’s back like a whip. He spun towards it, instinctively putting his hands behind his back even though they were both empty.

“Rafael…? What are you doing here so early?”

The youngest human was sitting on the sole sofa that Miko and Jack usually colonised, his laptop in its usual place right in front of him. He shrugged at the question, not shifting his eyes from his screen. 

“One of my sisters is having her quinceñera today. Lots of family at the house… too many people for me. I asked Bumblebee if I could sleep over, so I could stay out the way.”

As usual, Miko was proving herself a bad influence on everything else around her. Ratchet was sure Jack would have done the same, assuming June would allow it. But in that case, at least Arcee would have come home.

“Anyway”– Rafael kept typing as he rambled– “it turned out to be a good thing. With access to the Ground Bridge, I finally finished that remote control project I told you about!” He jumped up from the couch and turned the screen towards Ratchet, who was only just releasing his nervous grip on his hidden hands.

“Remote control…?” Ratchet zoned his optics onto the screen, trying to recall one of the thousand minor happenings from before Optimus decided to throw them all in at the deep end. “Oh. Yes. Controlling the Bridge from an external device.”

Rafael nodded– if he was offended at Ratchet forgetting his pet project, he didn’t show it. “‘External device’ in this case being my laptop.”

It was something that Ratchet should have figured out long ago, but the task of even getting the Ground Bridge working at all had sapped all of his effort before the Decepticons arrived. It had been salvaged from the remains of the ship that had ferried Optimus, Ratchet, Bumblebee and Bulkhead to Earth; all of them remnants of the original Ark before they were forced to abandon it, with the rest of its crew scattered all across the stars. 

Ratchet had always told himself that following Optimus was the best choice. Lately, he’d been telling himself that a lot more often than usual. It stopped him from thinking of the alternatives.

“Good… that’s very good news, Rafael.” Ratchet tried to muster a smile for the young boy– it was no small feat, if he’d really managed to link a human device to the Bridge. And out of all the humans he knew, Raf was the only one he really trusted with any of their technology (other than his track record, he was the only one who could actually read Neocybex). 

A possibility came to him from that trust– a risky one, regardless. But if they truly had the means to open a Bridge with no-one at the controls…  it would mean the team would be far less reliant on Ratchet to get them out of danger. Before his Synth-En incident he might have selfishly withheld the advantage, but he’d seen the worst of what his ego could become. 

Something like this could save lives one day. Something like this could have saved Cliffjumper– but only if he had someone like Arcee to drag him through the portal. 

And then there was the other advantage. Visiting Airachnid and Scorpia would require less subterfuge… and it would also allow Optimus to travel to the island without telling anyone else. Worse of all, if he ever got over his fear of the Bridges, it would let Wheeljack do so. Ratchet barely suppressed a shudder. 

But the team was worth the risks. And in any case… they’d have to know the truth soon. With Optimus’ reluctance to see their prisoner, he must have been finally preparing for the inevitable. Ratchet could only hope and dread it so.

“How about we test it out now?” he offered to Rafael. “I’ll give you some coordinates, and you can open the Bridge.

“Sure!” Raf’s excitement almost squashed all of the warnings buzzing in Ratchet’s head. Of all the humans who could know where the island was, Rafael was the least likely to go there on his own (Miko was definitely first. Jack was somewhere in the middle). But the fact that it was such a dangerous place, both to know of and to venture to, made Ratchet feel very guilty handing the knowledge over.

“I might be gone for a while,” he warned. “When I need to return, you’ll hear a ping on your laptop.”

Rafael nodded, but then frowned at his screen. “That’s weird. These coordinates look like they’re in the middle of the ocean.”

The realisation came to Ratchet a second later. Now that the military knew of what was happening on Shizumi and Airachnid’s presence, they’d very likely censored it from all public satellites. Hapless humans were less likely to stumble upon a place they couldn’t even find.

“It’s a… somewhat classified location,” Ratchet said, not entirely lying. “It’s where Optimus tracked Silas to a few days ago.”

“Oh…” Rafael was still frowning. “What’s going on with him, anyway?” 

“According to Agent Fowler, he is being operated on for injuries he sustained against Optimus. When he regains cognition, he will stand trial for his crimes.”

‘Hopefully it’ll be before Optimus’ own one.’ He and Fowler would have to argue for Airachnid to be left alone while proof of how dangerous she was to humans was lying comatose in a federal hospital. The only other alternative, if they refused to house her elsewhere, was to keep her in a stasis pod away from her daughter. If humans were at all as similar to Cybertronians as he believed, maybe Scorpia would force them to be merciful…

“That’s good,” Raf said, “but I was more talking about Optimus. Bee told me he and Arcee had an argument…”

Ratchet sighed. He didn’t blame Bumblebee for telling Raf the truth– they were both the youngest of their groups. And despite his age, Bee was the only one who never forgot how intelligent his human really was.

“Yes. They did. It’s… a somewhat delicate situation. But it’s nothing for–” Ratchet stopped himself from saying ‘humans’ at the last second. “Nothing for… you to worry about.”

Rafael was, of course, unconvinced. He continued typing in silence while Ratchet prepared what he’d be bringing along out of his sight. The only thing he deliberated over was his field kit. It had been over a week since Scorpia’s first check-up, and even without Optimus to convince her he was sure Airachnid wouldn’t refuse another. But there was the dark-energon-infected Insecticon in the room to deal with at the same time.

Optimus had left it up to Ratchet’s discretion, which really meant that he expected Airachnid to be told, even though he knew the outcome would be horrible. Ratchet wasn’t so much worried about his own safety as he was the sparklings. If Airachnid believed her daughter was a lost cause, as someone who had already lost one child…

She might just put this one out of her misery. She might save herself months or years of wasted effort in a single moment of misguided mercy– though Ratchet still didn’t believe she knew the meaning of the word. The fact that she hadn’t terminated Scorpia in the womb didn’t give him much hope. She’d had something to gain from her at the time, as sick as it was to think about. 

Desperation could drive even good people to unthinkable measures. Airachnid was not a good person, despite whatever delusions Optimus still had about what she could be. 

By telling her the truth, they could lose everything. By not telling her, they’d only be delaying the loss. They’d already put off one terrible confession for far too long. Ratchet made his decision with the laser pistol that fell from his hand to his subspace.

 A few seconds later, the Bridge hissed to life from a single stroke on Raf’s keyboard. Ratchet allowed himself to be impressed while Raf quietly cheered to himself. 

“Just as I expected,” Ratchet praised. “Good work.”

He forced a smile while Raf could see it, and tried to keep it in place as he walked towards the Bridge despite knowing what was waiting on the other side.

 “So why do they need you at this place, Ratchet?” Raf asked, forcing the medic to hang back just before he crossed over. The lie came to him in seconds.

“Investigating the damage. MECH managed to leave some technology behind. I want to see how much of it might have been stolen from us.”

He didn’t see Rafael nod with his back turned. But the human didn’t ask for more details, and that was good enough. 

“Keep an ear out,” Ratchet said. “Optimus knows where I am, if he needs me.”

And for the first time in his ancient memory, Ratchet hoped he wasn’t needed. 

He hoped they were all very, very wrong about Scorpia. And he hoped against all else that he was wrong about Airachnid.

✞✞✞

Airachnid kept her comm unit switched off. She didn’t expect that Prime would be reaching out to her any time soon. And, for her sake, it helped fight the temptation to reach out to him first.

He’d left her with rations to last another day. She was giving most of it to Scorpia. Her lip had stopped bleeding some time ago, yet her fangs still scraped against the cut, subconsciously trying to break it open again. If she starved herself, she could stave off asking for help for at least another week. 

She wasn’t scared of him. Not him . She just couldn’t put up with him anymore. Someone so self-righteous, so insistent on sticking to rules that made no sense in the real world, the world he was living in rather than the one he so desperately wanted to exist. 

She’d expected nothing else from him. So why was she still so disappointed?

In case she couldn’t kill Megatron after all. In case Scorpia couldn’t do it in her place. She wanted to at least believe Optimus would. 

If he wouldn’t, if he couldn’t, then what hope did the rest of them have?

Airachnid’s claws lost themselves in the sand under her. The skull she’d hunted for, her one and only trophy, was still long gone in the chaos of yesterday. Close by, Scorpia gathered clumps of hard sand and stones together in a pile in front of her. She still couldn’t support her weight on her legs, but her manipulation was developing quickly. Her fingers, not yet talons, were able to carve shapes into the sand as if she was sculpting with metallico, and her glossa was bright blue as it peeked out between her minuscule fangs. 

With a generous imagination, taking into account the narrow shape of the hill and the eyeholes on either side, Airachnid could almost believe that she was building a replacement skull for her. 

It was impossible to tell what a sparkling was really thinking before they developed the capability to tell you themselves. But Scorpia often looked over at her mother as she played, as if seeking her approval. Airachnid didn’t need to say anything when she noticed blue eyes watching her. 

Now that she was receiving a surplus of fuel, she was less content to lie still in her cocoon when there was still so much around her to explore. And Optimus’ absence only amplified her restlessness. 

Airachnid empathised, though she only wished Optimus was around so she could prove that, despite what he might believe, she knew what empathy was.

Since she wasn’t expecting any arrivals, she finally allowed herself something practical to do, something she should have done long before Silas showed his face. If she’d known her surroundings better, she might have been able to kill him after all before Optimus even appeared. And if she’d known he was really so reluctant to do it himself, she would have.

Scorpia chirped in protest when she was scooped away from her art project, but she quickly settled when she saw familiar trees moving past her. Even if she couldn’t move her limbs, her eyes could do all the work for her curiosity.

The forest around the beach showed the most damage from MECHs assault– ravaged trees, charred soil and vines still smoking. The animals shied away from the carnage, or likely just from Airachnid herself. She had yet to encounter anything other than insects and birds. An island as isolated as this one would have a population evolved to thrive in a very specific niche. Airachnid’s presence, as well as the mess left behind by MECH, would threaten that niche. For the first time in her life, she’d have to work hard to not cause a mass extinction– the only thing worse than being trapped on an island was being trapped on a deserted one. 

She recalled Optimus talking to the humans, the other ones who infested her beach before  mercifully vanishing the next morning. Now that they knew she was here, she knew that it was no longer up to Optimus whether or not she could remain.

Shizumi still wasn’t her home. She didn’t expect that it ever would be, no more than the whole of Earth could be. But regardless of its similarities to Archa Seven, she wouldn’t give it up willingly. She wouldn’t go anywhere else, and if they tried to make her leave…

Optimus wouldn’t have been able to stop her a second time. She’d make sure he’d have to kill her, if only to prove a point. And maybe then he’d be willing to take care of Megatron next. It would have been a worthy sacrifice, but the thought of dying before him made her feel sick.

She reached the last familiar tree, the one she’d spent the previous night sleeping at the foot of. On Archa Seven, she’d rarely slept in the same place more than two nights in a row– different trees, different caves, even holes in the ground when she could find neither. On the Nemesis she’d had the comfort of quarters, yet being allowed to change where she rested on a whim wouldn’t have helped her feel any safer onboard.

Why had she ever thought a sparkling would help her be safe? Enough desperation could drive anyone to stupidity. Optimus wasn’t a desperate person, not yet, so she still hadn’t figured out what his excuse for it was. 

But the more she thought of him, the more Scorpia fussed in her cocoon. She pressed on into the uncharted territory; unconsciously following the same path of destruction she’d taken towards Silas, towards whatever had brought his people to Shizumi in the first place.

MECH had almost turned this part of the island into a wasteland. The hole left behind by their greed would have dwarfed even Optimus if he was standing in its center. Only a few curious birds dared to go near its edge, and they quickly scattered on Airachnid’s approach.

She couldn’t fathom what they’d managed to dig up, what would churn so much earth in its retrieval. An energon deposit? Another buried ship, embedded in the crust eons ago? She was sure the Autobots would learn before her, when it was mobilised against them. She managed to climb down with her talons embedded in the sheer walls, and so far down the tightly-packed earth was as solid as stone under her heels.

There was one benefit to the unsightly crater, at least. With the earth exposed at the sides, Airachnid could dig out tunnels much more easily with her claws. It still would have been far easier with her legs, but it would still be some time before they grew back– and longer still for her to adjust to using them again. 

She could find places to hide deep in the foundations, create means of traversing the island without being hindered by the undergrowth. Maybe she could even find her own energon. Then she wouldn’t need Prime anymore. She didn’t relish trying to eat raw crystals, but she’d make do. After all, she’d spent centuries fighting flies over carcasses and bone scraps. 

But Scorpia wouldn’t be able to eat any solid mass. Not for another few months, at least. If she really wanted to pretend that she’d ever be free of the Autobots, she’d have to hold it off until then.

Assuming that she didn’t get evicted from Shizumi before then. Or taken back to the Decepticons. Or killed. 

Before she could think of any worse fates, she heard the echo of a Ground Bridge in the distance. Scorpia craned her neck up towards it, as much as her restraints would allow. 

Despite her daughter’s impatient grunts as she climbed back up to solid ground, Airachnid forced herself not to run towards the beach. The last thing she wanted was Prime thinking she was desperate to see him. If it wasn’t for her waning energon rations, she wouldn’t have gone to him at all.

At the beach, she saw her visitor waiting on the other side, though he noticed her before she noticed him.

“Airachnid?”

Her meager hope lasted for exactly as long as it took for her to recognise that the voice was not Prime’s. 

“Oh. It’s you.” She didn’t try to mask the disappointment when she saw the mech-shape on the horizon, which was also definitely not Prime’s. The squat bulk of the Autobot medic approached at a slow and reluctant pace.

“I do have a name,” he called out. “Ratchet, in case you forgot.”

“I didn’t,” she lied. “Where is Prime?”

“He’s otherwise occupied. I’m taking his place, for now.”

Well, now he was just being a coward. It was one thing to avoid her, forcing her to learn some kind of lesson in morality– she’d understand that, even if it would be a waste of time. But to have someone else do your work for you? He hated her so much that he couldn't bear to be near her, yet he still sent help for her. That made no sense, even for someone as senseless as Optimus. There must have been another reason…

If he was angry at her. If he feared he might hurt her again. Even if it hadn’t been intentional… she’d felt the strength in his gears, when he threw her aside. She’d felt the anger in his spark a hundred times over when he exposed the Matrix. 

That was an act of desperation– for her sake. The only reason he was there at all was because she'd summoned him. Even though she’d misused the comm once before, even though she still slung nothing but insults and venom towards him… he still came. He still gave her his everything, even if he himself could not deliver it. Even when she finally pushed him to his limit. Even when he believed she’d lied to him.

She sabotaged herself every single time, because she could not fathom the thought of being in someone’s debt. Of being worth the trouble. She was so consumed with being proven right at her own expense; and now that she had done it, she didn’t feel good about it.

Did she ever expect to? 

“He’s still upset with me, then.” Airachnid avoided the medic’s eyes when he was close enough for the blue to burn at her.

Ratchet grunted. “Most likely. You’re a very easy person to be upset over.”

Airachnid was almost grateful for the insult. Finally, something she could tear her fangs into. An excuse to be angry at someone that wasn’t herself.

“ I didn’t do anything other than what he should have done in the first place,” she snapped. “Taking out SIlas would have done more good for humans than you or he have ever done.”

But the anger didn’t feel good either. And the fact that Ratchet didn’t even look at her while she spat at him… he just knelt down in the sand, pulling tools from his subspace and lining them up on a rolled-out sheet of plastic.

“You can’t treat people a certain way forever, Airachnid,” he said, and there was a sigh tucked tight at the back of his vox. “Sooner or later, something has to change. Or they’ll just stop trying and leave you to die.”

It wasn’t anything new to her. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t told herself a hundred times over. But hearing it from someone else, spoken not from anger or disgust, left her unsure of how to take it.

“Maybe they should.” The retort came out after a too-long second of silence.

“That’s one thing we can agree on.” Ratchet muttered it under his vents.

And all the while, Scorpia was trying to break free of her cocoon. Airachnid finally relented– as she set her daughter down, she realised that the tools Ratchet was preparing were the same ones he used to prod at her a week before.

“What’s all that for?” She bristled with her claws still tight around Scorpia. Ratchet finally looked at her with the expected kind of reproach.

“Scorpia is due for another inspection. Ideally I’d be monitoring her daily, but I’m sure you don’t want that.”

Airachnid had agreed to it before. But she still didn’t like it– especially not this time, without Optimus around.

“...Fine. Just make it quick.” She released her daughter, forcing her arms to remain by her side when Ratchet scooped her up and placed her on the slab he’d set out next to his tools. He moved Scorpia very slowly, taking great care not to jostle her. It was far more consideration than any Decepticon medic had given to her mother.

Tarantulas had told her all the operations were necessary. Not just to make her a better Decepticon, but to make her a better Cybertronian. She was sure he’d protected her from even more invasive procedures; he’d let them use her as a soldier, but not as a lab rat. It was the only real protection he could offer her.

Despite how different she knew the Autobots were, for better and worse, she couldn’t shake the anxiety of being near someone who knew how to take her apart. She couldn’t tolerate someone like that being near her daughter.

A soft beep from one of Ratchet’s instruments drew her eyes to Scorpia’s face. The sparkling’s vents fluttered slightly with a shallow breath. Ratchet’s fingers hovered, gentle and sure, tracing diagnostic lines that Airachnid couldn’t see– though she felt them in the tight coil in her spark. The medic didn’t speak much, only murmuring reassurances to Scorpia when she started to whine from the prodding. 

It was a strange tenderness to see, especially with what little Airachnid had seen from the mech until now, and it made her own spitting anger and venom feel so much more hollow.

“Well?” She hovered as close to Ratchet and he would allow. “How is she?”

Ratchet didn’t quite shush her, but he didn’t answer right away. He was waiting on the results from the scanner in his hand, which soon released a staccato chirp. 

“Growth seems to be as expected,” he finally said. “Her actuators should be strong enough for her to walk on her own soon. The only significant development are these wires at the back of her head–” 

He slightly tilted Scorpia’s helm to indicate them, a small tangle of thin cords that were mostly hidden by her thicker plating. He smoothed them out between two fingers, though Scorpia didn’t react to his touch.

“They don’t seem connected to anything internal,” he explained. “Likely vestigial. You might want to trim them if they get too long, but they shouldn’t cause any concern.”

“Is that all?” It was the most polite way Airachnid could say, ‘Can you go away now?’

Ratchet remained still. He looked away from her as he packed his equipment to the side, taking far too long in the act. Tools that didn’t need rearranging were shifted around again, as if it was part of a ritual. Or, much more likely, as if he was stalling.

“There’s… something you need to know about her, Airachnid.”

Ratchet finally exhaled– a breath heavy with the weight of whatever was to come. He set down the scanner he’d been pretending to adjust and squared his shoulders, though he still didn’t raise his gaze to meet hers.

“We believe… there’s a good chance…” He gulped. “She has dark energon in her. Poisoning her. Like her father.”

The silence that followed was brutal. Even the insects of the forest, a constant buzz of tiny lives and deaths, fell quiet. Airachnid’s energon froze to a standstill, her veins clogged with such overwhelming…

Denial. Fear. Agony.

She knew what dark energon could do. She’d seen it first hand, on and off Cybertron. She’d felt its sting in her own spark when… when her children were conceived. 

Deeply rooted and incurable. A slow, agonizing corrosion of spark and mind. A death sentence disguised as a daughter. 

She’d thought she’d managed to escape Megatron with both of their lives. But he would end up killing both his children after all. He would end up winning in the end.

“I understand this is a shocking thing to hear–”

“I went through hell for her.” Airachnid didn’t know how long the silence lasted for, but her voice lashed out in a reflexive fury at Ratchet. The sound of anyone else’s vox was like acid to her at that moment, and the words from her own erupted like shrapnel. “I’m not an idiot , medic. I know she’s the only reason I’m still alive. That you and your Prime ever chose to help me. And now you’re telling me she’s dying. That it doesn’t matter what I do?”

Her voice cracked, not from grief but from the sheer effort of containing the fury shaking her frame. The pitch was upsetting Scorpia, but she couldn’t bring it down. She couldn’t stop her discomfort any more than she could cure the poison that was born in her.

“We might be wrong.” Ratchet’s vox was stilted, betraying his utter lack of confidence. “I hope we are. We can help her, if we–”

“You wouldn’t be telling me this if you could!” Airachnid snapped, and then Scorpia started crying. Her instinct was to reach for her, but she found her hands were bleeding when she stretched them out. Her talons had cut in so deep to her palms that they’d broken the mesh. The energon was bright and traitorous, dripping from the joints of her trembling hands. She didn’t even feel it.

She clamped both hands together in front of her mouth, as if that could hide the evidence. She tried to force the energon back in through pressure alone, trying to convince herself she could hold herself together the same way, trying to bury the ache in her vox.

Her eyes seared behind a thick film as they stared out into the jungle, the pulse of its life taunting her while she confronted the decay blooming inside her daughter. 

Scorpia didn’t deserve this. She hadn’t chosen her father. She hadn’t chosen what spark she'd be born from, what toxins might have seeped into her from. Airachnid had chosen. She had made the mistake. She had brought this curse into being. And now the consequences were crawling beneath her child’s protoform, silent and merciless.

Scorpia’s cries ended on their own– not from her mother’s comfort, but from Ratchet giving it in her place. The sound of her whimpering faded into hiccuped breaths while Airachnid’s own only increased behold the shield of her bleeding hands. 

Of all the times for her to fall apart, it was always with an audience. At least Optimus wasn’t around to see it for a second time.

She heard the medic rise to his feet behind her. She heard him approach with one step at a time, and she did not turn towards him. He was just near enough that his EM field lingered at the edge of her awareness, like the humid air of her only home: quiet, constant, inescapable.

“This is… uncharted territory, Airachnid.” He was still gulping his words before they came out, wrapping them tight in hesitance, treating the conversation like a live explosive he was trying to defuse. “I don’t know anything for certain. I’ve never seen dark energon in a sparkling before. And I’ve never seen a sparkling with your… unique biology. There is a chance that the worst will happen– I won’t insult you by denying that. But there’s just as much a chance that we can stop it. And the only way we can do that is with your full cooperation.”

Airachnid turned her head slightly, just enough to show the edge of one optic– bright, furious, wet with emotion that she still refused to name. But she didn’t speak yet.

“I don’t want her to die any more than you do,” Ratchet told her, meeting as much of her gaze as he could. “And I’ll prove that to you, any way I have to.”

When Scorpia made a soft, confused noise in the medic’s arms, Airachnid finally moved– not with the fury of before, but with the cautious grace of someone crawling out of a burning wreckage.

She took her daughter from him without words. Only with her hands– shaking, still bleeding from their splits as she gently lifted Scorpia into her arms. When she finally looked at Ratchet, her voice was scraped raw. Nothing in it sounded like defeat, but it there wasn't pride there either. She didn’t have enough of it left over to give.

“…What do I have to do?” she asked. It wasn’t easy. It cost her something to say it out loud, but it probably wasn’t something worth holding onto.

When Ratchet exhaled, the tension in his EM field pulled back like a retreating tide, no longer bracing for an explosion. One of his hands drifted out of subspace– Airachnid hadn’t even realized it had been there, likely coiled around some tool or precaution. She had the sense that she’d just passed some secret test.

“Right now?” he said. “Keep doing what you’ve already been doing. She’s hardly left your side, from what Optimus told me. It could be… proximity to her carrier helps suppress the worst of the effects.” 

Ratchet paused, choosing his words with clinical precision, while Airachnid’s grip on Scorpia tightened just slightly. She looked down at the sparkling nestled into her chest, quiet again, optics dim and unfocused. Asleep, maybe. Or simply tired of crying. 

“It’s only a theory,” he warned. “But it fits with what little we’ve seen. Your presence may be stabilizing her in ways we don’t fully understand. Physically. Neurologically. The bond between you might be slowing the progression. There’s a lot of tests we could run… but most of them require equipment that’s confined to the med-bay.”

“And because Prime is dragging his feet over the inevitable,” Airachnid scoffed, finding some of herself again, “you can’t bring me anywhere near it.”

“Yes… pretty much. So until then, we’ll do the next best thing.” Ratchet held out his hand, and within it was a tiny speck that she’d already seen once before, offered to her in the very same way.

“My comm frequency,” he said. “I assume you have Optimus’ already. If anything seems wrong with Scorpia, no matter how minor, no matter what time of day, call me.”

It was yet another leash tying her to the Autobots. Yet another lifeline that she didn’t want, yet couldn’t refuse.

With a sharp exhale through her vents, she reached out and plucked the chip from his hand. They were no longer bleeding, but the energon was still slick with its glow. She plugged it in with Optimus’ own, and the connection registered with a muted click .

“One other thing.” Ratchet was in his subspace again, pulling something much larger than a comm chip from its depths. “Optimus said you’d requested this.”

He offered it to her by the edge, the blank screen staring up at her. With all that had happened, she’d forgotten even asking for a datapad.

“It comes with some data pre-loaded,” he explained. “Subjects he thought you or Scorpia might be interested in. It can also access the internet– Earth’s global datanet– for anything else you might want. It should automatically translate most pages into Neocybex.”

Optimus didn’t have to do that. The datapad alone would have been enough. It sat uneasily in her free hand, the one that wasn’t wrapped around her daughter, as if it weighed more than its frame allowed. There was an uninvited feeling in her spark, an uncomfortable warmth. 

Even though Optimus hated her, he still considered what she might need. What her daughter might need. Not just survival– comfort. Curiosity . He’d tried to meet her halfway.

Which must have meant that he didn’t really hate her after all.

“I should be getting back. Remember the frequency. Remember, any time of day.” Ratchet had already turned away, his posture stiff and burdened like everyone who deserved to be in his profession. 

Airachnid hesitated. Her jaw clenched. The datapad was heavy in her bloody grip as she stared at his retreating back.

“Medic,” she called out. But he didn’t stop.

“I know you can hear me, medic!”

He stopped this time, but he didn’t turn towards her. Why was he suddenly being so difficult?

Airachnid’s realisation of why came quickly, along with the fact that Autobots could be just as petty as her after all. In all the time they’d shared, she still hadn’t called him by his name.

“...Ratchet.”

Only when she said it did he face her again– warily, but without challenge.

“If I…” Her voice faltered, still raw around the edges, still reluctant to even admit what she was about to suggest. “If I... apologise. To Prime. Will he… will he come back?”

Ratchet studied her in silence, and for a moment, she thought he might leave her hanging. But then he sighed as he nodded.

“He will. Despite everything. But he needs to hear it from you.”

They stared at each other across a gulf far wider than the sand between them. Then, without waiting for her reply, Ratchet keyed something into his forearm. A split-second later the air to his left distorted, and the unmistakable spiral glow of a Ground Bridge opened with a hiss of displaced atmosphere. He didn’t say goodbye. 

The light swallowed him whole, and then the bridge collapsed in on itself with a hollow snap, leaving the island deserted once more.

Airachnid stood unmoving for a long moment, the humid air brushing the edges of her armor, her optics still fixed on the space he’d vanished from. Then, slowly, she looked down. The datapad sat in her palm, cool and patient. She shifted Scorpia’s weight in her arms. The sparkling murmured faintly, but didn’t stir. Her thumb tapped the power sensor, leaving a smear of bright blood behind.

The screen flickered to life. It was a plain interface, functional. No pretense. A list of loaded topics displayed themselves in soft Neocybex glyphs.

Bioluminescent Flora of Oceania

The Complete Collected Works of Tchaikovsky

Sparkling Developmental Milestones, Age 0-2

Insect Life on Isolated Ecosystem

Stabilizing Neural Feedback Loops in Early Spark Formation

Ballet and Modern Dance: A Concise History

Children’s Learning Media – Selected Visual Content

That was only the first page. There were at least five more. Airachnid sat down, carefully wrapping herself around her daughter. The datapad rested in her lap, glowing faintly against the glare of the rising sun on the horizon.

She didn’t know where to begin. Her fingers drifted somewhere else, toward a search bar. The global datanet, the one Ratchet had mentioned, must have been lurking behind it.

She had questions that she didn’t know how to answer. Answers that she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. She typed anyway; half-formed thoughts, guesses, silent pleas that she’d never voice out loud. And Scorpia slept in the hollow of her chest, bathed in the flickering glow of words that might, somehow, hold the secret to saving her.

…

“Pardon the interruption, sir–”

General Bryce heard the knock, but it was only the timid voice that followed it that pulled his attention away from the paperwork on his desk.

“Yes, lieutenant?” He recognised the man as someone else assigned to the Shizumi situation; one of many, their faces blurred by the sheer scale of the operation. With how many people he’d lost over the years, names escaped him these days.

“That island we found Bishop on,” the man said as he entered, “the one near Hawaii. We’re getting some unusual network pings from the satellite in range of it.”

“Define ‘unusual.’”

“Er… Google searches. Lots of them.” He offered a pair of printed pages, the paper still warm. 

Bryce took them with a faint frown, expecting some technician’s slip-up. At first he only skimmed them, but their content forced him to go back over with wide eyes.

‘how to apologise’ 

‘stop child crying’

‘why are humans so small’

‘how to tell if someone hates you’

‘how to make someone not hate you’

‘how to make child happy’

‘is my child dying’

For a moment, Bryce said nothing. The fluorescent lights above him seemed too loud.

“The techies aren’t leeching the satellites for free internet again, are they?” he asked at last. “Because either someone’s playing a messed-up joke, or we’ve got an AI on the verge of an existential crisis.”

“We asked,” the lieutenant assured, “and IT swears they’re clean. We rotate the credentials every day, so outside access is very unlikely.”

Bryce kept frowning. It had to be related to the Decepticon being housed on the island somehow. All they knew about her was that she’d defected, but that didn’t mean much when you knew the mess she’d made of the MECH agents, and of Leland Bishop himself. 

If this really was her somehow patching into their satellite… why was she asking about a child?

“...Keep an eye on it,” he eventually said. “Quietly. We’ll have plenty of opportunity to ask Fowler and Prime about it during the tribunal.”

“Yes sir.”

The man took his leave, and Bryce tried to shuffle the papers away out of sight, returning to his more mundane work out of necessity. Far above them both, near the same satellite of contention, someone slipped by undetected as she whistled through Earth’s atmosphere. 

She had come from a very long way away. She, like the humans, was very curious to see what Optimus Prime had to say for himself.

“You’ll have to go back eventually, Arcee.” It was the third time Jack had told her as much in the last day alone. 

“I know.” When she was in her motorcycle form, Arcee’s voice sometimes struggled to carry over the sound of her own engine. But the only time she’d moved from the garage was to carry Jack to and from school, and now her engine was as quiet as the dead.

Jack sighed, setting his helmet down on her seat. “Even my mom is wondering why you’ve been staying here. She’s asked me twice already if she wants me to talk to Optimus about… well, whatever it is that’s keeping you away.” 

According to her, Arcee had promptly returned to the garage when she wasn't needed on the school run. And there she remained all day, pretending to sleep while his mom tried to ask her what was wrong. Jack knew what the problem was, and he’d kept it to himself. Like most moms were good at doing, his would only make things worse by trying to make them better.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Arcee insisted, and only now did her engine betray some of her anger. It was like a rusty fork stuck in the washing machine… like the sound of his dad’s car, during the rare times he’d bother to treat Jack to a day out. 

This too, the refusal to talk about the fire that was burning down everything around them. This also reminded him of his parents.

“Sure,” Jack sighed again, because there was little else he could do. “Sure there isn’t.”

“I’m serious.” Arcee’s motor still growled as it idled. “This isn’t… this can’t be fixed by talking.”

“I believe you.” Who was he, a teenager, to question someone who’d been alive before his ancestors even learned how to walk upright? No matter that he had travelled to her planet and carried Optimus Prime’s soul all the way back to him. He was still only a teenager, a lowly human …

And there his insecurities were shining through again, at a time when they were the most inconvenient. Arcee didn’t think that way. It wasn’t fair to assume that she did, especially when she had so much more important stuff on her mind. So why did he insist on doing it?

It wasn’t just her words, but everything filling the abyss that surrounded them. That familiar stubborn silence. The belief that emotions were messy, inconvenient things that had to be buried to keep things moving forward. Jack’s dad walked out under the weight of everything he never talked about. His mom stayed, and that had been the much harder choice. 

And here Arcee was, from a world a million miles away, acting like she’d grown up in the same house as him. But despite all the similarities, he couldn’t push her to open up like he used to try with his mom. He couldn’t argue, like he’d once done with his dad. 

Humans built walls around their hearts, and Cybertronians built armor around their sparks. Jack wasn’t any good at breaking through either.

“Well. If you do want to talk…” His hand lingered on the helmet. “Even if it won’t fix anything, I’m here.”

He had homework to do. He’d been slacking on it ever since the Arcee’s first blow-off with Optimus. But when he reached for the garage light, Arcee’s T-Cog shifted behind him. 

When he turned towards her, she was sitting on the floor with her face behind her knees. Jack sat next to her with his legs crossed, waiting until she was ready to speak. He’d know when it was coming from the hum that erupted beneath her armor.

“...I know it’s so much bigger than me,” she finally said. “Optimus can’t risk losing the war just to make one person happy, one person out of the millions of others who’ve died and suffered for less than what I’m asking. I know this. And it still hurts to think that he will.”

Other than Optimus himself, Arcee was the most rational person– metal or flesh– that Jack knew. She didn’t have to defend herself to him. 

“You’re allowed to feel hurt, Arcee,” he said. 

But then the garage floor shook under him. Jack flinched at the sound as Arcee’s fist slammed through the concrete like it was paper. Dust burst around her knuckles, small fragments skittering across the floor at the side of her. The rest of her self control was spent on ensuring it wasn’t the side that Jack had been sitting on. 

Even though he’d seen her fight Decepticons twice her size and walk away like it was nothing, he always forgot just how much stronger than him she was. How scary she could be. Only her status as an Autobot really made her safe to be around.

“I’m tired of being hurt,” she said, as if holding back a human-like sob. “It’s all I’ve felt for the last sixty million years !”

Jack didn’t move. Didn’t say anything right away. What could he say that wouldn’t make her feel worse? He was, after all… just a kid. And even if he wasn’t, he was still only a human. A blip on her timeline. Someone like Cliffjumper or Tailgate, her real partners, would have known what to say. Even if he never had the chance to know them, the fact that she mourned them both so deeply told him all he needed to know.

“Everything alright in there?” The voice of his mom came through the door from inside the house. He fought the urge to barricade the door with his body– if she knew he was trying to block her access, it would only ensure that she’d come barging in. 

“Yeah, yeah, Mom,” Jack called back. “Just… accidentally dropped one of the toolboxes.”

There was a pause– there was a fifty-fifty chance that even if she didn’t believe the excuse, she wouldn’t press it. He didn’t dare breathe until he knew for sure.

“...Alright,” she eventually conceded. “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes!”

Her footsteps faded as Jack exhaled, and Arcee was still sitting on the floor next to her crater. He couldn’t even see the glow of her optics with her face hidden, shrouded in the shadows that were a part of her like her thick layers of armor.

“...I’m sorry, Cee.” He felt like he was very young again, apologising for getting paint on the walls or dropping a glass; something stupid and inconsequential that only felt like the end of the world because of how angry it made other people around him. 

He knew Arcee wasn’t angry at him. But there was always the chance that she could be. Always the chance that he’d become collateral damage.

“You shouldn’t be worrying so much about me, Jack.” Her voice was so quiet in her cocoon that he almost didn’t hear it over the electrical crackle that came from her. 

Jack forced himself to shrug. “What else are partners supposed to do?”

“I mean I shouldn’t be giving you reasons to worry.” She sighed, finally pulling her head up from the depths. Although he could see her eyes now, their light was barely brighter than the fluorescent humming overhead.

“You’re right. I need to go back. Staying here, going over and over it again in my head… I’m just making it worse for myself.” 

She uncurled from within herself. If the garage was tall enough she might have tried to stand, but as it was she could only remain sitting in place.

“...I’ll go tomorrow,” she swore. “After I take you to school.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Jack said, hoping it would at least make her smile. He didn’t quite get that, but the twitch on her mouth was there before she closed her eyes.

“You should,” she said. “That’s also what partners are supposed to do.”

Jack still lingered by her side. He knew she’d be alright now, if she was left alone. But it still felt wrong just leaving her behind. If only she could fit inside the house… but he was sure his mom wouldn’t appreciate her wheels scratching the floors.

There was one other thing keeping him around, though. A selfish thing, considering everything Arcee was going through– his own curiosity.

“Have Decepticons… ever switched sides before?” he asked while hovering near his escape route. It all came back to Starscream, and the impossible concept that he of all people actually would do such a thing. But in a war with two sides, being fought for so long, surely there must have been some people who changed their minds. Decepticons who became better… or even Autobots who became worse. 

But Arcee shook her head. “Not on Cybertron. Certainly not here, with Megatron around to keep a tight leash on them.”

“Not tight enough,” Jack scoffed. “That’s the whole reason Starscream left, isn’t it?”

It was a risk, saying his name out loud to her. But he finally got a smile out of her, if only for a moment.

“Maybe.” She sighed again. “Of all the other Cons to choose from, though. Him , out of all of them… it can’t just be bad luck.”

“Would the others really be any better?”

Arcee’s vents hissed, like a mocking laugh at herself. “Knockout, I wouldn’t be happy about, but I could put it up with it to lighten the load off of Ratchet. Soundwave, I could probably tolerate. Probably. Breakdown… well, we’d have to hold Bulkhead back from knocking his head off. Dreadwing? Would have to hold Wheeljack back as well.”

There was one name she left out, of course.

“And we won’t mention the other one.” Jack didn’t need to hear Arcee’s assessment of her… he couldn’t even quite bring himself to say her name. He still had nightmares full of spiders– and from how many more late shifts his mom started picking up after the incident, he was sure she did too.  

“No,” Arcee agreed. “We won’t.”

Her hand was in the crater she’d made by her side, clawing at the concrete crumbs. Jack would have to think of a way to explain it before morning came.

“Wherever they are…” Arcee’s voice came low and sharp, like one of her blades pulled slow from its sheath, “I hope they’re both suffering. Her and Starscream.”

✞✞✞

Starscream was suffering. But at this point in his life, he was used to it.

The remains of the Harbinger were drowning him in its silence. He sat slumped against a console long drained of power, one leg stretched out stiff, the other drawn up close to his sputtering spark. The only good thing that had happened to him in the last month of his life had been reaching the ship sooner than his projections had indicated was possible. And that was only made possible because of all the bad that was now plaguing him; all his energon reserves, his hydraulic fluids, every square inch of fuel his body could hold had been spent on getting it to the wreckage before his spark gave out. 

Now he was finally here. And there was nothing here for him. Any forgotten reserves that never reached the ship’s engine were far out of his reach. The bulkheads were sealed, the labs and habsuites onboard buried too deep into the walls for him to search for salvation in what little time he had left. The ship was truly as empty as he now was. 

The fuel percentage on his HUD, underneath all the warnings he’d suppressed for his own sanity, was hovering near zero. The decimals were ticking down to his death. Like a battery nearing the end of its supply, once it was drained there would be no force in existence that could bring his spark back.  

He’d given up on searching for energon crystals along the way, thinking it would save him. He couldn’t afford to waste energy looking for the vague promise of fuel, not even when he was close to former Decepticon mining sites that he himself had scouted for harvesting… back when Megatron had been far away in deepest space, when Starscream had started to believe that he might never return. 

He should have known better. The war had been struggling on for hundreds of millions of years under Megatron’s watch, whether or not his eyes were anywhere near the battlefields. A mere three spent away from Earth was nothing to be hopeful about. A mere three years of peace with the Autobots, only because Starscream knew that despite the overwhelming numbers against them, they couldn’t be defeated. 

Truth be told… he didn’t want them to be. They were his back-up plan, after all. If the worst came to him, at least they could finish the job against Megatron. At least he’d still be dead in the end.

And now the worst was here at his feet, and he had no-one to blame but himself. He hadn’t planned his defection well enough. He seized his opportunity with the Autobots, and then Arcee had stolen it from him. But, again, the blame was on him.

If he hadn’t killed Cliffjumper, they might have accepted him. If he hadn't bragged about it, at the very least… all because he was so scared of what Megatron would do to him. When he returned to Earth to find that the Autobots were still alive, still siphoning off of Decepticon operations. When he found that not a single one of them had been disposed of; not by Knockout, not by Breakdown, not by Soundwave, and not by his second-in-command. 

And even though no-one else had managed the deed, as the second-in-command, Starscream would have been the one to bear the punishment. So he had to sacrifice one of them to save himself. Any one of them would have done. Arcee herself could have fit the bill, if she had been the one captured instead of her partner. 

But it had been Cliffjumper. The one who’d destroyed Shockwave’s Space Bridge, who’d forced Starscream to take the Nemesis and Megatron’s war to Earth. And as soon as his claws pulled back from the Autobot’s spark chamber, everything had been downhill from there. 

It was the third worst decision Starscream had ever made out of sheer desperation. The second had been trying to throw his lot in with the Autobots, after using one of their own as a shield. And the first… the first had been joining the Decepticons at all. 

If he hadn’t joined them, he’d probably be long dead. But he had joined them, and he was still dying anyway. 

He couldn’t even shed a tear over it. His coolant tanks had dried up weeks ago. 

“You didn’t save some for your special day, Screamer? Not like you to not plan ahead.”

And there it was. The first voice to escort him to the Allspark. Starscream had switched his optics off to conserve what little light he had left to lose, but he knew he wouldn’t see his eldest brother if he opened them. Hearing him was enough torment. 

Even if Thundercracker did appear before him, as hallucination or hologram or as any other cruel imagery, he would look the same as he did when he died… and selfish as he was, Starscream still couldn’t bear to look at the frame that had once been his own.

“Took you fragging long enough!” And right on cue was Skywarp’s voice, exploding over his right shoulder with a cackle that always followed one of his teleportation tricks. “What’re you so afraid of, the whole of Vos is here waiting for you! We’ve got a homecoming party ready and everything.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Thundercracker said. “He’s got a foam cannon rigged for the first ray of light you start walking towards.”

“Don’t spoil it, TC! I spent two million years planning that!”

“And don’t even get us started on losing your T-Cog. A Seeker who can’t even fly? For shame, Screamer.”

“Surprised you didn’t just off yourself out of principle, quite frankly. Would’ve been the first thing I did in your case.”

Starscream exhaled slowly, his pumps holding onto the last few gasps of air that still whistled through him. His lips twitched– not from humor or even irony, just a fading reflex. And soon even that would be gone from him.

Why mock me now, dear brothers? Why only now, when I’m out of time to feel the guilt?

“We had to wait until you stopped being so dramatic,” Thundercracker answered. “You’ve been dying for days now.”

“Exactly,” Skywarp scoffed. “We weren’t gonna show up just for one of your usual fits. Had to be real this time.”

Starscream’s frame ached from the deepest depths. He could feel the emptiness creeping into his limbs, just as it had done after Megatron’s worst beatings, but it no longer scared him. 

No pain anymore, only gravity pulling him down to the Pit. Maybe that was why his brothers appeared now. If they were in the Allspark, he’d never get to see them where he was going. 

So this was it. The Harbinger – his secret refuge on Earth, his only real contingency plan– had become his tomb. Inevitable, really. Fitting. A ghost ship for one of the last ghosts of the Seekers.

He was dying, of course… 

But he wasn’t alone. 

There was a presence here, outside of the voices in his head. There was a spark, a living spark, coming closer. He didn’t recognise the EM field as anything other than a femme. And yet there was something familiar in this creeping emergence, this uncatalogued ghost.

Was she another Seeker? Surely not. Surely not… her. He would have sensed her sooner. He would have felt her hate echoed in his own spark, even while it was dying. But of all the people to come to him in his final moments just to taunt him… his other sibling would have been the perfect addition to the funeral party.

What a pity, that he couldn’t have at least outlived her .

Starscream forced a breath through his failing vents, his voice cracking like shattered glass.

“Who… goes there? Show yourself!” The last word barely made it out, little more than a ragged whisper carried on the edge of painful static. Just lifting the volume caused him to lose another precious percentage of fuel. He was down to less than five now. And when he rebooted his eyes, it went down by another half.

But the presence heard him. Her EM field shrank back, startled by his vox. But now she knew where he was, and she was just around the corner of the hallway he’d dragged himself into before his legs gave out.

He saw the black edge of her wings first, confirming the impossible fact that she was a Seeker. And then the rest of her appeared like a rolling wave of red. Her wings flared like fans and her helm was an elaborate crown of black and gold latticework, with a long-forgotten crest worked into the center in polished inlay.

This femme was not his sister. It wasn't anyone he’d ever seen before… not outside of the most ancient history books Cyberton had once guarded in its deepest libraries. They were likely all gone now, destroyed in meaningless raids with wasted bombs. 

Only Starscream’s memories remained as proof of the world that had once been, long before his birth. Only his memories… and the person standing before him, who had just walked right out of them. 

“I mean no harm.” Her voice was a flurry of musical notes, an elegy just for him. It wasn’t a voice made to carry across war zones, or to beg for mercy at the end of a gun. This one was spun for long-dead temples and legends, for the kind of stories passed down in hushed reverence.

Starscream would have expected nothing less from someone who could speak to giants. 

“May I introduce myself?” she asked.

He was still watching her blue eyes, the elaborate red paint that framed them. At first he thought his eyes were glitching, creating shapes that didn’t exist because they lacked the power to ingest what was actually in front of him. It was the only explanation… the only way her face could have matched the stories so closely, was if his eyes were lying to him.

“...You may,” he said at last, though his own vox rasped like a rust-choked sword. 

Her face disappeared while he was still studying it, as she performed a deep bow before him. It had been a very long time before another Seeker had done so in his presence. The gold crest on her helm caught a fractured shard of light– for the briefest flicker, it reflected a sliver of his own face back at him, and he almost flinched from the sight.

“Windblade of Caminus,” she said, straightening with a quiet dignity that Starscream had thought had died long ago with Vos. “Cityspeaker Alumni. I’m here in search of the one who calls himself Optimus Prime.”

Starscream stared at her in silence. The words registered, but only barely. His mind was fog, thick with exhaustion, dehydration, the ache of systems winding down. 

Windblade of Caminus. Cityspeaker.

He blinked slowly. Then again.

And then…

It started as a small sound, a hiccup of disbelief, but it grew, wobbling between laughter and coughing fits that shook his frame. It cracked halfway out of his throat and kept sharpening itself against the bitter edge of his teeth.

“I… why are you laughing, sir?” Her expression shifted– concern, or more likely confusion– but Starscream barely saw it. He was still laughing, a thin, wheezing sound that echoed off the thick walls of the Harbinger . His head lolled back against the console behind him, and the cracked plating creaked beneath him as he shuddered with another breathless chuckle.

“Caminus.” He savored the word like it was the punchline to a particularly dark joke. “The exiled colony. The long-lost last beacon of the Imperial Age. You really came all the way from there?”

Windblade, to her credit, did not seem offended at his obvious sarcasm. She only nodded, and once again the priceless gold lining her helm almost blinded him.

“Yes. It’s been my home for the last twelve million years. I’ve travelled here under the orders of the honorable Mistress of Flame, the holy Voice of our Titan.”

The Mistress of Flame…? She’d certainly done her homework, if she was even real. Starscream didn’t think Skywarp had ever mastered the art of holographic projections, but he’d spent a long time in the Allspark. If there were any new tricks he could learn only to torment his sole surviving brother in his final moments, there was no question of him becoming a scholar in them. 

“I must say… you look very convincing,” Starscream said, his voice smooth as the coolant he no longer had and just as cold. The edges of his smile were brittle things as he gestured to his optics with a hollow flourish. “Even the marks look accurate. They must have taken some time to perfect. And you’ve clearly practiced the Imperial speech. Autobot or Decepticon, I’m sure they’ll be delighted to see you.”

Windblade stood perfectly still; her wings held high in the universal Seeker language of confidence, her hands folded in front of her as though she were still in an audience chamber. At first she either didn’t hear the scorn in his voice, or simply didn’t understand it. It was only as the silence drew out, and Starscream’s smile failed to soften, that her wings fell and her eyes started to flinch away from him.

“...I can see my presence is not welcome here,” she said at last, and her quiet voice no longer held the delicate rhythm that he’d mocked only moments ago. “My apologies for disturbing you, sir. I’ll take my search elsewhere.”

Starscream’s optics followed her movement, the slight turn of her heel, the subtle tilt of her wings as she began to step away. His smirk faded when he realised that she wasn’t yet flickering. She wasn’t melting into shadow or static. Her EM field hummed– soft yet steady, alien yet familiar– and her footsteps echoed on the metal floor with perfect clarity.

Starscream stared after her as if she might disappear the moment he believed she was real, that she might actually be able to save him.

“Wait!” he called, his voice sharper than he intended, louder than his flagging systems could afford. His limbs ached from disuse and starvation but he forced his hand off the console, reaching for her like she might really vanish if she left his sight. “Wait… please. Don’t go.”

And she actually stopped. She didn’t turn around, not yet, but the fact that she didn’t abandon him despite his mockery was all he needed to seize upon with the very last of his reserves. If she didn’t save him, then no-one would. He had nothing left to lose.

“You… really are a Camien? A Cityspeaker?” he rasped, his straggling disbelief giving him the power to speak despite his weakness.

Windblade’s voice returned at last, but now its tune was a distant thing out of his reach as she turned towards him. “Why do you doubt me?”

Starscream felt like he was talking to one of the Thirteen. He might as well have been.

“People like you… are a myth on Cybertron. To find one of you here, so far from there…” His optics dimmed, his gaze slipping sideways before he forced it back to her.

“Truth be told,” he confessed, “I’m still convinced that you’re a hallucination sent here to ferry me to the Allspark.”

Or if he was going to the Pit after all, at least he would have one last pleasant sight before his eternal damnation. One of his own, the only one left in the galaxy, who didn’t hate him on principle.

A faint sound answered his doubts, and it wasn’t mockery or pity. Windblade’s stern decorum cracked ever slightly to let something else through. Under the red scythe marks of her eyes, her smile was like a crescent moon.

“I assure you, I’m very real,” she said, and the shadow that followed her approach was only further proof of her existence. “Though, I must say, you do look in very sorry shape… how did you end up like this?”

As she drew closer, Starscream realised the true scale of her ornamentation. Every line of her armor was deliberate, ceremonial rather than tactical. Etched filigree ran along her shoulder guards and hip plating in perfect gold and crimson– designs that meant something on Caminus, he was sure. Even the vents along her torso had been smoothed into seamless curves; no exposed rivets, no plating stripped for speed, no compromises to the sheer ceremony of her being.

Starscream had seen royalty before. He had been royalty, once so long ago. He had to learn through painstaking practice and diligence how to carry himself, how to command respect without needing to demand it. And Windblade was the very same. Cityspeakers, what he knew of them from history, were both born and made– the ability they guarded was inherent, but their title had to be earned. 

She wasn’t built for war, like he was now. She was built to speak to gods. And here she stood, radiant and unbroken, in front of a half-dead ghost of a Seeker, too ruined to even stand in her presence.

It took Starscream more than a few moments to remember that she’d asked him a question. It took longer still for him to think of an appropriate answer that wouldn’t make her leave in disgust, or make him fall offline from the sheer length of all he could say.

How did he end up like this, indeed.

“My own… stupidity,” he told her. “As is usually the case.” He shook his head, making his blaring fuel indicator blur. “Did Optimus Prime summon you here?”

He couldn’t think of how the Autobots could manage such a thing, or why they’d waited so long to do so. Unless Caminus was so far away that their summons had taken over thirty years to be answered.

“In a way,” Windblade said. “I’m here to determine if he is truly who he claims to be.”

Starscream laughed, a thick exhale of air. “Oh, he’s the real deal, alright. As much a Prime as you are a Camien. The Matrix chose him, reformatted him… and once he and Megatron gutted Cybertron, they chased each other over a million light years, all the way to this junk heap of a planet.”

The taste of old grudges was like rust in his parched mouth. He left out the fact that he was the reason Megatron was able to find Earth in the first place. If only Shockwave had finished his Space Bridge a few hours earlier. If only Starscream had killed those two before they could ambush him. If only…

“I see…” Windblade knelt by his side. “Do you know where I might find him?”

“If I knew,” Starscream spat in reflex, “I wouldn’t currently be starving in the wilderness.”

No, if he knew where Optimus was, he’d currently be bleeding out from a gunshot through his spark. At least there wouldn’t be much energon to clean up.

Just thinking about the energon was making him hallucinate again. The glow was blurry in his dying vision, and it wasn’t even the right color. Rather than the bright cyan, this iridescent glow was a searing magenta in a thin vial. But when Winbdlade spoke by his side, he saw that this too was no delusion.

“I don’t know if your energon is similar to mine,” she confessed, “but please take some. It should help.”

He was almost at zero. Only the brightest of colors were visible to him now. And still, Starscream hesitated. The hunger clawing at his systems locked horns with his distrust. Years of survival had taught him that nothing was ever given for free…

But so what if it was poison? So what if there was a cost to it? Was he really just going to let himself die now ? His brothers would never let him live it down.

With a shaky hand he reached out and accepted the vial, his eyes never leaving Windblade’s painted face. He downed the contents just as his optics threw up a warning about his imminent shutdown….

The taste was rich, the texture thick on his glossa. It clung to his throat, dripping down in inches so that his starved tanks couldn’t flood themselves. Camien energon, just a sliver of it, gave him as much sustenance as an entire crystal of Earth-grown blue.

His HUD cleared, the alerts disappearing one by one, the agonizing hunger gnawing at every nerve circuit finally fading. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he was no longer starving.

Starscream’s voice was still rough, disbelief mingling with gratitude.

“Are you sure you’re not a hallucination?” he asked, the question barely more than a whisper.

Windblade answered him with a quiet laugh– now that he wasn’t near death, his sensors were no longer muted. He could hear the full strength of her vox, and see more of face than just the shapes of her Camien pride. 

“I’ve come a very long way from home,” she said. “I’m wondering the same about you, to be honest.”

How far away was Caminus? She must have had some idea, if she’d really travelled from it. No-one on Cybertron in the billions of years since the Age of Wrath had ever managed to track it down. Outside of the oldest stories the only evidence of its existence, of Caminus once being a part of Cybertron like his thirteen Titan siblings, was the giant crater that his absence had left behind. The crater that would later become a city, that would later still become known as Vos.

“How did you get here?” Starscream asked her, still gulping down the dregs of the energon still coating his mouth., If he’d been alone he would have gladly licked the vial clean, but he still had some notion of dignity when he had an audience.

“My ship,” Windblade answered. “Well, not mine, really… it belongs to my friend Nautica. It’s the only craft on Caminus efficient enough to cross the distance from the colony to Earth without causing a fuel deficit we can’t recover from.”

“And this ship is close by?” Starscream’s voice, as well as his EM field, betrayed more eagerness than he intended. But the thought of leaving this desolate rock on his own terms, of finally escaping Megatron, made his renewed circuits hum.

“Well… yes and no,” Windblade admitted, and her wings betrayed her reluctance to disappoint him. “We had to use more fuel than anticipated to get this far. It ran out before it could enter orbit… so I landed it on the nearest moon. My wings carried me the rest of the way here.”

Starscream let out a slow breath, a mix of relief and longing now warring in his spark. Even if the ship wasn’t on Earth, he would have been able to reach it still… if not for his missing T-Cog. 

“You said ‘we’,” he pressed. “There’s more of you? If I recall, your kind was so rare on ancient Cybertron that you could hardly set foot outside Iacon without eyes on you.”

Her white face suddenly gained a pink hue as energon rushed under the plate. His knowledge of her people must have caught her off-guard.

“You’re right,” she said. “Every Cityspeaker has an assigned bodyguard. But mine… we were separated in our travels. I don’t know what’s become of her. But I have faith she’ll make her own way here.”

Then she stood with fluid grace, the soft click of her plating echoing in the stillness of the dead ship. “I’ve taken enough of your time, sir. Thank you for your help. I must be on my way–”

“You don’t have to go.” Starscream’s voice caught in his throat, raw and desperate. He managed to push himself up a little against the console, the effort almost causing his weakened frame to collapse. “I mean… look at what this planet reduced me to. I would dread to think of the same happening to you…”

There was no-one else left on Earth who wouldn’t stab him in the back, or toss him aside, or rip his spark out. Not the Decepticons, not the Autobots, certainly not any humans… he couldn’t stand being abandoned again. He’d never say so, but it was true. 

Windblade met his frantic gaze, calm and unwavering as if she was the one now mocking him. How pathetic she must have thought he was. 

“I appreciate your concern,” she said, “but I must find Optimus Prime as soon as possible. Rest assured I am capable of defending myself, should the need arise.”

Her hands fell upon the hilt of a slender black sword-sheath at her side– Starscream hadn’t yet noticed it because he’d been so focused on her face. 

If she found Optimus, she’d see him as the shining paragon the Autobots claimed he was. She’d believe their words– how perfect, how noble he was– and then he’d be truly doomed. The thought tightened his spark, feeding the bitter fire burning deep inside. 

He couldn’t let her leave. Couldn’t let her see Prime as anything other than one of the monsters who destroyed Cybertron… at least not until he knew where her ship was, until he secured a way to reach it. 

“I don’t intend to insult your abilities, Windblade,” he assured, banishing the panic from his vox as he eased his grip on the console, the only thing keeping him upright. “I only want to emphasise how… dangerous this Prime can be.”

“Dangerous..?” Windblade’s eyes narrowed, and Starscream feigned surprise.

“Haven’t you heard of what happened to Cybertron?” His vox was couched in regret and pain, and some of it he didn’t even have to fake. Windblade looked away from him, and her grip tightened on the hilt of her hidden sword.

“...Yes,” she said. “We have. That is why we must speak to Optimus. We need to know why he abandoned our home.

Starscream’s glossa flicked against his dry lips. He forced himself to stand without assistance, his wings taking the brunt of his balance for him.

“I can tell you why,” he promised. “I can tell you what happened to Iacon, and Vos, and Kaon and Helex, and every village in between. I saw the fall. I saw what our so-called Prime did to our home. And I can tell you exactly why he did it.”

He let the words hang between them, laced and heavy, planting a seed of doubt that would bloom before she ever reached Optimus’s side. Windblade’s gaze flickered back to him, and there was disbelief in the creases of her red carvings. But so too was sadness, and so too was the thinnest veil of anger. 

Cybertron was her home too, after all. Even if she’d never seen it. And if the Mistress of Flame was still as zealous as she was in the Imperial days, if she was still a servant to the Thirteen as much as she was to Primus… this might be all too easy for Starscream to orchestrate. 

It wasn’t like he was lying to her, really. Optimus and Megatron, they both shouldered the blame. He would have rathered that Megatron suffered the consequences, but if one would ensure his own survival… then Prime would do as yet another Autobot to sacrifice. 

“You haven’t told me your name,” Windblade said. And now, with his strength restored and his mind at work, he bowed to her with mutual respect.

“Starscream of Vos. Formerly the Crown Prince. Honored to make your acquaintance, Cityspeaker.” Even if his wings did not function, he was still able to execute the formal introduction with them. And even if Windblade did not recognise its significance, she mirrored the movement with her own.  

“Tell me about Cybertron, Prince Starscream.”

And he grinned at her with his wings still held high. “Gladly.”

✞✞✞

The remains of MECH stood huddled in the last safehouse they had left on North American soil. The others had been swiftly abandoned following the detainment of their leader– not because they believed Silas would betray their locations in a plea deal, but because the soldiers within didn’t know what else to do without their commander. 

The only ones left– all survivors of the Shizumi incident– stood together thirty miles beneath the Earth’s surface somewhere in New Mexico, and prayed in silence. The one who ended the desperate mass was the youngest of them, the one who had brought Silas the information that had ended up tearing their organisation apart. 

“Commander Silas has, regrettably, been captured by our pretender government.” Novo cleared his throat to stop it from cracking in front of all the eyes now on him. “In his absence, as per his orders, his inner circle will take on the role of leading MECH effective immediately.”

Before he even finished the sentence, the man immediately to his right bowled right over it. “We should be making plans to break him out. We shouldn’t be doing anything without his guidance.”

“He did not think so little of us,” another voice said, an older woman this time. “That is why he ordered us to secure the specimen as top priority, even at the cost of leaving him behind.”

“You what ?!” The man almost broke the circle as he surged forward, and with his bulk it took every other man around him to hold him back from charging.

“Yes, we left him behind,” Novo said. “Even if he hadn’t ordered it, we would have done so. We lost over thirty men and women on Shizumi. The highest casualty rate in the history of our organization. And for those deaths, the leadership of Commander Silas is mostly to blame.”

He didn’t like treating his leader as a scapegoat. But it was another strategy that Silas himself had ordered, if he was ever captured and the operation was a failure. It was easier to act under united hatred than divided loyalty.

“That may be,” another voice grunted, another one of the inner circle. “But it’s also thanks to that leadership that we’ve managed to secure what is now the largest example of Cybertronian biology for our studies.”

“We could have had one long ago if he gave the orders to dismantle that Decepticon,” a bitter young man scoffed, “instead of just taking his eye out.”

“Or that spider,” the woman next to him spat, her covered mouth doing little to hide her scowl. “We should never have made a deal with her in the first place.”

“Your complaints are noted,” Novo assured, “and founded. But we have to consider that the commander’s priority was securing living material that is already so scarce on Earth. And now we have it. Would you care to take over, doctor?”

The purpose of the gathering was finally brought to the front, and the doctor in question stepped back from his setup to share the news.

“Yes. Of course.” Doctor Fujiyama, formerly the head of the failed Project Nemesis, now had his one and only chance to redeem himself. In the noxious green glow of the monitors holding his work, he was sweating lime-tinged bullets.

“If I may direct everyone’s attention…” With a button press he drew back the thick metal shutters that concealed his latest pet project. Everyone in the room had at least a vague idea of what it was, what had been so important that it was worth losing the commander over. But this was the first time they were allowed to see it in its full form. 

Even while encased in glass and ensared with circuits and tubes, its size alone was worth a collective intake of air. If not for the hideout’s robust filtration system, the collective gasp of the thirty people inside it might have caused them all to promptly suffocate.

“The specimen appears wholly Cybertronian,” the doctor continued, and as he craned his neck even he seemed intimidated by its scale. “Dormant, possibly locked in some form of cryosleep… the observant among you will note that it is unique to others we’ve found so far on Earth. Whereas other Cybertronians have made themselves resemble vehicles to blend in… this one seems to have been designed for an Earth that only existed many millions of years ago.”

Someone gulped in the crowd, and a few people adjusted their masks to deal with the sudden outbreak of sweat across their faces.

“To put it bluntly,” the doctor pointed up to what must have been the creature’s spike-studded maw, “ it bears all the stylistic hallmarks of a dinosaur, specifically a Tyrannosaurus Rex. We believe that is no coincidence. This creature was designed to survive on a prehistoric Earth– for what purpose, we don’t know. But with regard to the similarities…”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Novo announced, unable to hold back a hidden smile with his hand on the glass cage, “welcome to Project Dinobot.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve been waiting there for me all night , Orion.” Elita had shed her stage uniform before finding him near the rear exit, though her face was still flushed blue from her performance. While he’d watched her under the backstage spotlights that night, as close as he was allowed to get, the bare patches of protoform on display had swirled and shifted like a private nebula.

“Of course not,” Orion lied, and he might have even gotten away with it if not for Chromia immediately selling him out.

“He was,” she sighed. “From your first song til the last.” 

It was only a week ago that Chromia had knocked him out cold with a single punch– he still had the bruise painted across his face, though for whatever reason Alpha Trion had chosen to ignore it. Either Elita had managed to convince her that Orion wasn’t an aspiring murderer, or she’d done her own research into his name and decided that she didn’t hate him. 

(With how Cybertron currently was, if someone recognised his name, it was a fifty-fifty shot whether or not someone would spit at him for it.)

Regardless of Chromia’s personal feelings, at Orion’s look of betrayal, she only shrugged before embracing Elita. 

“Get home safe,” she ordered, and before releasing Elita she gave her one mighty squeeze that forced a yelp out of her.

“I’ll make sure of it,” Orion pledged as he took Elita’s arm on his own. Her EM field was fatigued and frazzled, yet it didn’t fight against his own as they overlapped. With how popular she was at The Circle and how busy Orion had made himself with his clandestine data smuggling, this was the only meeting they’d been able to arrange. He would escort her home tonight, and maybe they could turn it into a habit. 

“I’ll warn you,” Elita told him once they were on the quieter streets, “it’s a long walk from here to my suite.”

“Walk? Why not–?” Orion just about stopped himself from asking why she didn’t just use her alt-mode. It wasn’t that he forgot she didn’t have one, only that he was so used to using his own that he didn’t even consider the alternatives. 

Elita looked at him expectantly; this would be his one chance to recover from the horrible social faux pas that she was likely used to. 

“Why not… call a pod instead?” he offered. With how much high-grade flowed through Praxus day and night, it was the best place to catch one for those too drunk to drive themselves home. 

(As Jazz had demonstrated most recently… though, in his defence, he’d also been drugged. By Elita’s employer. Orion had been meaning to ask her about that.)

Elita knew that wasn’t what he was going to say, but she smiled anyway as she shook her head. “Cause I like to keep most of what Mirage pays me. Besides, the pods don’t stop close enough for the expense to be worth it.”

Orion couldn’t think of anywhere far away enough that walking was still the best option… he’d assumed that she lived in the city, or at least on the outskirts. 

“And anyway,” she shrugged, “I like the walk home. Maybe that’s just cause I’m used to it. But after spending hours listening to my own voice, it’s nice having some time in the silence.”

Orion nodded by her side. “Understood. I’ll be quiet.”

“I didn’t mean you , Orion.” She rolled her eyes as she nudged him with her elbow. “I wouldn’t be with you if I didn’t want to talk.”

The blush had left her face by now, leaving Orion to bear the full brunt of his own by himself. Despite her assurance they remained quiet as they left Praxus’ districts behind, heading towards the open skyways that linked the city to Iacon in the north and Kaon in the east. For a moment Orion was worried they’d actually be walking along them, shoved to the sides by other commuters in their alt-modes, but Elita turned at the ramp and led him along the very edge of the city limits. 

The rest of Cybertron stretched far below them, the pits and perils of the underworld. There was a throbbing glow in the distance, miles and miles away from mortal eyes, and from the pull on his spark the sight gave him Orion knew that it was the Well of All Sparks. It should have been much brighter than it was.

“How’s life at the Hall of Records?” Elita finally asked. “You mentioned Alpha Trion was your boss?”

“He is.” Orion’s spark went from one pull to another as his eyes fell back onto her. “You know him?”

“Of course.” She laughed as if he’d asked if she knew who Sentinel Prime was. “I know of him, at least. He’s the Senate’s worst enemy. The only one they haven’t found a way to disappear yet. I even watched the entire filibuster he did against Crosscut’s ban on shrines to Onyx.”

Orion blinked– that campaign had been a long time ago, back when they were all still in the Academy. The thirteen Senators had been tied on whether or not the ban would go ahead (and surprisingly the holdout was not Senator Ratbat, the token technorganic on the council). Eventually Proteus voted against it, allegedly because he was so sick of hearing Alpha Trion ramble on for so long.

 “All two weeks worth?” Orion had once tried to watch a few hours worth of highlights, just to see his mentor’s debating skills, and had fallen asleep in the first. “Really?”

Elita shrugged, folding her hands behind her back. “The parts where he was actually speaking, at least. I liked to practice my dancing late at night. When I had the studio to myself, I could put on whatever I wanted as background noise. He got me through learning the Empyrean Suite.”

It was a notorious song, both for its age and its difficulty to perform. She’d been singing the same song that very evening. There were no words to it, but her vox was able to modulate the ancient melody down to each chord. Even Chromia had been transfixed, though Orion had only managed to tear his eyes off of Elita near the very end.

“I don’t think he could pull that off nowadays,” he said. “Sometimes I can go a whole shift without hearing a single word out of him.”

“Libraries are supposed to be quiet, aren’t they?” She started skipping on the steel walkway; a microcosm of her skills, dancing along to the hum of her own spark. The narrow street was ascending on stilts, taking them above Praxus’ hub towards a cluster of apartments stacked on top of each other for miles into the sky. The way forward was lit only by flickering LEDs embedded into the steel at their feet– the city itself hoarded the rest of the light with its neon signs and strobe-stained dancefloors. 

Orion had the sense that he was orbiting a supernova millions of light years away; no matter how far he walked, he would still be in the dark, far out of its reach. Elita likely felt the same every evening, every time she walked this way alone. Away from the crowds and music but still surrounded by its excess, a decadence that her kind was not allowed to enjoy… and yet she could still dance. She could still find something to smile about.

Orion hoped he could become one of those things.

“What about you?” he asked, watching her peds as they hopped like petrorabbits. “The Circle… you said Mirage treats you well?”

Elita’s dance abruptly stopped. She didn’t quite spin on her heel, stopping just short of facing him. “You’re going to ask about him drugging your friend, aren’t you?”

“I… well–” He hadn’t planned on it at that moment, but the question had still been lurking in the dark pressing in close around them. Elita biolights throbbed when she sighed,

“He is a good person. Better than anyone else around here. Your friend was in danger. Mirage wanted to get him out of there before he got hurt for real–”

“I know.” Orion placed his hand on her shoulder to interrupt her as gently as he could. “...We know. We assumed that’s what he was doing.”

Even in his drunk-drugged state, Jazz still managed to relay most of what Mirage told him to his superiors. Whether or not they believed even half of it, at least they knew Praxus was worth keeping an eye on.

Elita stared at Orion’s hand still clutching her shoulder. At first he thought she would shrug it off, but her hand soon folded over his own. 

“I didn’t mean to get defensive,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes. “It’s just… things are never straightforward in Praxus. The Senate on one side, the Syndicate on the other… and the rest of us get torn apart in the middle.”

She released Orion’s hand, though he didn’t let it fall as she turned away. She didn’t skip while she walked anymore.

He wouldn’t dare argue with her. Iacon was a fortunate place to be, even if you were living on the streets, even if the local police were told to hate you. Praxus was a whole other beast, more like Kaon or Tarn with the amount of desperate people stuck in its walls. At least the refinery cities didn’t pretend to be anything else… and at least their desperate people wanted change for the better.

“But we don’t have to be in the middle forever.” Orion's words made Elita stop just ahead of him. The streetlamps of Praxus below them flickered, exposing her frown for just a moment, and for that moment he almost reached out again. He wanted to tell her how things could change. How they would change, assuming any of them lived long enough to see it.

She wasn’t the only person he’d managed to meet that week. Seeing her was an impossible reunion, but in the darkest pits of Kaon he’d also found someone new. Someone whose voice could cut through apathy and silence like the steel of his blade. Reading his words, what he’d managed to salvage from the scorched net logs, had lit a new fire in his spark. Hearing them spoken aloud from the man’s own vox, amidst the thunder of a thousand other gladiators…

Orion had felt like he was witnessing history born anew, tearing itself free of rusted chains. Like standing at the edge of something vast and unstoppable. It had scared him– more than the upcoming tribunal that would decide the rest of his life, more than the thought of the Senate smelting him down. 

He wanted to tell Elita. He wanted to look her in the eye and say: I met someone who’s going to change the world, and I want to help him do it… even if it will kill me. 

Before meeting her again, he would have gladly thrown his life away for a good cause. Anything to atone for the people he couldn’t save, even with his refusal to hurt them. But he couldn’t do that anymore. Not to her.

Once again, she was waiting for him to speak. She wasn’t frowning this time.

“...Have you heard of the gladiator Megatronus?” he asked.

And there it was. The point of no return. She pulled her arms around herself as if she was cold.

“Can’t say I have,” she said. “But he’s got bearings for naming himself after The Fallen.”

Orion had to agree. Even the most ruthless gladiators in Kaon’s history shied away from naming themselves directly after any of the Thirteen. The most popular gladionyms were usually derivatives of Liege Maximo or Onyx Prime. Megatronus made himself stand out in all ways– for better or worse. Just as it was forbidden to say the Fallen’s true name in most churches to the Thirteen, so too was it forbidden to echo the gladiator’s words outside of the pits.

When the time came, this Megatronus would not be cast aside. He would not be ignored.

“He’s a miner in Kaon,” Orion said. “When he’s not mining, he’s in the pits. But they’re not just for fighting. He holds rallies there. He writes essays, poems, songs… all of them against the Senate. What they’ve done to Cybertron. I’ve read them. I heard him speak just a few days ago.”

He wanted to say more, but Elita was staring at him again.

“He’s done all that,” she said, “and he’s still alive?”

Orion shrugged, sharing her disbelief. “The only good thing about being in a low caste is that everyone above tries to pretend you don’t exist. They don’t think he’s a serious threat. They just scrub works from the datanet whenever they pop up. But the Hall of Records keeps copies of everything. We’re supposed to remove anything heretical, of course, but…”

He trailed off, his voice tightening like a frayed wire pulled across a chasm. All of his secrets were spilling out of him like energon through an open wound. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Elita. No, he trusted her too much . He just wanted her to know that Cybertron could be saved. And he needed someone else to tell him he wasn’t foolish to hope for something better… someone else who was willing to believe in Megatronus, in what people like him could do. 

But if she believed him, truly believed him, what would that mean for her?

She would throw herself into it without fear, like him. And, also like him, she’d probably get herself killed. 

“I shouldn’t be telling you this.” Orion shook his head. “It’s dangerous. Forget I said anything.”

Elita blinked at him, furrowing her eyes. A sharp-edged frown started to grow under them.

“ Dangerous ? I’m not scared of the Senate, Orion. I hate those bastards as much as anyone else with a spark. They’re the whole reason I’m here! Why I spent years scraping energon off the floors of clubs I couldn’t afford to walk into! They're the ones who separated us... how the hell am I supposed to forgive them for that?”

A sudden wail of sirens split the air, taking away Orion's chance to respond. The streetlamps were now fighting against a flash of Pax lights roaring down the road far below. It wasn’t an uncommon sight in Praxus, especially not at night. Elita allowed herself to be distracted by them only for a second– but in that second, she saw where they were heading towards. 

From their vantage point, they could see the lavish entrance to The Circle, and there were already three cars standing guard on its steps.

“That’s… worrying.” Before the words left Orion’s mouth, Elita was already vaulting over the side of the raised walkway.

“Elita?!” He had to lean over the edge to call after her, terrified that she’d just fallen to pieces on the ground. But she’d landed on another pedestrian path, barely staggering as she turned towards his frantic voice.

“If something bad is happening over there,” she called up at him, “I’m not waiting until morning to know what it is.”

That was the only explanation she gave before she leapt down again, this time running over the flat rooftops that secured her path towards the club. Orion could do nothing but look after her with equal awe and regret. If only he’d kept his mouth shut, she’d probably be home by now… or at least far enough away from the streets that she wouldn't have noticed the Pax patrol.

He didn’t trust that he could follow her without breaking something that couldn’t be replaced. But he wasn’t going to let her go by herself either. The path they’d taken was narrow, but just wide enough for his alt-mode to fit. If he couldn’t run after her, then driving was the next best thing.

The Pax force had already locked down most of the surrounding streets, but Orion managed to squeeze through one by shifting onto two wheels and ignoring the protests of the officers nearby. The Iacon Pax rarely discharged their weapons on unarmed civilians (unless ordered otherwise…), and he could only hope Praxus was the same. 

He found Elita at the barricade, getting in the face of someone who was also familiar to Orion.

“I told you,” she snapped, “I’m an employee, I have a right to know what the hell you’re doing here!”

“This is not a civilian matter. For the last time, step back or we will use–!” The Pax saw Orion approaching over Elita’s shoulder, but he had to look twice to really recognise him.

“...Orion?”

He shouldn’t have been surprised to see Prowl– Praxus was his home state, after all. But ever since Orion’s dismissal, the other Pax hadn’t wanted to be seen in public with him. It was like running into someone who’d run every red light just to stay ahead of you on the road.

“What’s going on here, Prowl?” Orion asked. Prowl looked between the both of him, struggling to keep his mouth in a straight line.

“I’m… not at liberty to discuss it,” he said. “You should go. You and Ariel here.”

Any Pax could look up someone’s name in seconds, so long as the subject’s spark frequency was logged in the local identity database. Elita must not have known that fact from how she flinched.

“My name is Elita,” she told him with a scowl. “Elita One. I’m on that poster right behind you.”

Prowl followed the finger she pointed over his shoulder. “So you are. Doesn’t change the fact that you shouldn’t be here.”

Elita’s teeth furrowed into her lip, but whatever venom she wanted to spit towards him dissolved when she looked up toward the second-story windows of the club. Her scowl dropped, replaced by a sharp breath.

“Is that Mirage?!”

She was already moving before Orion could follow her eyes, trying to jump over the barricade despite Prowl shoving her back. Through the main window, half-shrouded in neon glare and shadow, was the unmistakable silhouette of Mirage. And someone had a weapon pressed against his head.

“Don’t come any closer, Pax!” the mech bellowed, his optics hidden behind a glowing purple visor. “I’ll blow his processor out through his mouth, you hear me?”

“Do as he says, mudflaps.” Despite the threat to his life, Mirage seemed bored by the performance as he gave the order. “This is simply a business transaction gone horribly wrong.”

“You shut it too!” his aggressor spat. “Either I’m getting out of here in one piece, or you’re coming out in two!”

“Primus dammit…” Prowl held Elita back with one hand while the other gestured to the other officers, telling them to stay back.

“That’s Swindle,” Elita whispered to Orion. “He handles deliveries to the club… what the hell is he doing?!”

“Swindle,” someone spoke through an amplifier, “we have the place surrounded. This is your only warning. Unhand Mirage or we will open fire.”

Swindle barked a laugh, harsh and unhinged, almost lost beneath the pulsing sirens and the blur of red and blue lights. “My trigger’s faster than yours and you know it!”

The air felt like a live wire. Prowl raised a fist, signaling the others to hold fire. Orion knew the official guidance for standoffs like this. They would not negotiate. They would give Swindle three chances to surrender before opening up their guns… regardless of who else was in front of them.

“We have to go, ” Orion hissed to Elita. “Now.”

But she didn’t move. Her optics were locked on the figure in the window, utterly still with both hands raised. Orion tugged at her arm again. 

“ Elita– ”

“That’s not Mirage,” she said flatly.

“What?” Prowl echoed Orion’s own confusion out loud, turning sharply towards her. “What are you talking about?”

“That’s not really him,” she repeated. “You know he’s an outlier, don’t you? He can make illusions. It’s there in the name.” She tilted her chin toward the figure. “He only holds his hand up like that when he’s casting. That’s a fake. The real Mirage is somewhere else.”

Orion watched Mirage’s hands. He was holding them up, showing he was unarmed to not provoke Swindle, but his left hand was held in a very specific way. Three fingers were folded down, the thumb and index held up in an V shape. It would have meant nothing to most people… but Mirage must have seen her in the crowd. If that was the signal, she would have known it.

Prowl shook his head. “I’m sure Swindle would know if he’s pointing a gun at a real person.”

“You overestimate the intelligence of most desperate men,” she scoffed.

“You should listen to her, Prowl,” Orion insisted. “Mirage is her boss. She knows him–”

Prowl scowled, and though his gun was pointed towards the ground allowed its butt to hit Orion’s chest. “Just cause you’re happy to throw your badge away doesn’t mean the rest of us– hey! ”

Once it was in reach, Elita snatched the gun right out of his hand. She only had a second to spin it around and take aim. Orion didn’t think she’d ever fired a gun before, but the tension that would have made most fail only made her more determined to pull it off.

It was impossible to guess where she was aiming. Anywhere near Swindle would have been a worthwhile shot…

The barrel flashed. Its payload hit Swindle’s thigh, ripping through the endoskeleton. At the exact same moment, his own finger jerked reflexively on the trigger. The gunshot rang out, a flurry of fire exploding against Mirage’s head.

…And there was no blood. No bulging optics. The bullet passed through him like smoke, the illusion rippling once, then vanishing in a blink of scattered light.

“Told you." Elita grinned even as Prowl seized the weapon, even as Swindle screamed in unexpected agony.

“Give me that!” Prowl grabbed her wrist as he holstered the gun. “You’re under arrest for unlawful seizure of a Pax’s weapon–”

“Arrest?” Orion’s voice cracked. He instinctively stepped forward, fists curled at his sides, struggling not to throw himself between them. “Prowl, she just saved your asses–!”

“Orion.” Prowl stared at him, an immovable object daring him to try and be an unstoppable force. “I don’t want to hurt either of you. But you have no authority here. Let me do my job.”

“It’s fine, Orion,” Elita sighed. “Let him cuff me.”

She was already lowering her arms, calm and resigned to her fate as the cuffs slammed against her wrists. The fire in her had gone cold.

Prowl allowed Elita to be escorted aside without ceremony, watching in silence as the rest of his squad stormed the club. The shriek of sirens and glare of warning lights faded, leaving only the static hiss of comm units around Prowl and Orion behind.

When it was just the two of them standing by the barricade, Prowl shook his head as he lowered his vox.

“Really can’t help yourself, can you?” he asked.

Orion crossed his arms, his voice rising as if in spite of the privacy Prowl was trying to cultivate. “I didn’t want to get involved. I'm just trying to help a friend–!”

Prowl huffed something between a laugh and a groan. “Well. Your friend has a criminal record almost as long as Swindle’s up there.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Orion’s jaw locked, a sharp chill blooming behind his optics.

“She didn’t tell you?” Prowl’s tone didn’t intend to be cruel, but its bluntness might as well have been. “Surprised you didn’t come across it, being at the Hall of Records and all. Or maybe you just didn’t think to look her up.” 

He unholstered something from his side– not a weapon this time, but a rugged datapad. Orion recognised it. He knew exactly what Prowl was searching for before it even lit up.

“Petty theft. Possession of stolen energon. Multiple counts of resisting arrest.” He even tilted the display so that Orion could see the charges for himself, all of them neatly gathered under Elita’s true designation. “And that’s just what stuck. She’s ran with some dangerous crowds; dealers, fixers, fraghouse debtors…”

“She wouldn’t… that can’t be right.” Orion shook his head despite what was right in front of him.

“She wasn’t working with them. We couldn’t prove that, at least. But she was there. Repeatedly. Long enough and often enough to get picked up with the rest of them. You know how it works. Guilt by association is guilty enough.”

“No it isn’t.” Orion struggled to keep the growl from his vox.

“It is on Cybertron.” Prowl’s own vox was flat as he sighed. “You know that, Orion. We went through the same training, didn’t we?”

The training wasn’t what made someone into a Pax. It wasn’t what made Prowl into who he was now… sometimes Orion didn’t recognise him. Sometimes he wondered if he’d really known him at all.

Then again. Had he really known Ariel as well?

“I’m just trying to look out for you,” Prowl insisted, leaning in close to keep his voice to a hidden whisper. “You know the Senate will take any excuse to put you in stasis. How do you think they’ll take you hanging around with a known criminal? Is she really worth that?”

Orion turned away, staring off at the shadows cast by The Circle’s neon lights, finding Elita leaning against the wall with her hands bound in front of her. She was watching the door, waiting for either Swindle or Mirage to emerge from the chaos. 

No wonder she was so offended that he’d tried to keep her out of danger. She’d been living in it for longer than they’d even known each other. She was far more versed in the worst of Cybertron than he could even imagine.

Prowl was right. They’d use her past to break his future. But if he thought she wouldn’t be worth it… he was wrong.

“How old are those marks on her record?” Orion asked, still watching her with new eyes.

Prowl glanced down at the datapad. “Most recent one was two centuries ago.”

Two hundred years. Not yesterday, and not ancient history either. But long enough that it should have been buried and forgotten. Long enough that she deserved the chance to move on.

“So,” Orion said, “you bringing her in is what’s going to put her on the Senate’s radar.”

Around them, Praxus was pulsing with restless energy. With the sirens gone the nightlife returned without missing a beat; music thumped behind shuttered doors, neon signs buzzed overhead and a crowd was already forming just beyond the cordon, eager for a glimpse of where the gunshots had come from. The air smelled like scorched metal and spiced energon fumes, sweet and sickening. Somewhere across the street, someone laughed even as they were shoved into a pool of their own discharge.

This was where Prowl had been born and raised, and yet he was its polar opposite in every way. His expression barely shifted, but there was a flicker in his optics as he spoke. 

“You’re asking me… to let her go?” he asked, stretching out each word into its own accusation.

“I’m asking if you really are looking out for me,” Orion said, raising his voice slightly over a revving engine that tore down the avenue. “Or if you just want to bloat your arrest quota.”

The two mechs stared at each other against the static of the city around them. The sick-sweet air was heavy with exhaust and expectation. They were never really friends. Not even when they were comrades. But there had been respect, at least. On Orion’s part, there still was… though it was growing harder to hold onto.

Prowl’s jaw tensed, the datapad in his hand dimming as he locked the screen. Then he turned away.

“Look.” He caught Elita’s attention with his voice as he approached her. “Only because Mirage is still alive… we’ll let you off with a warning.” He defused the magnet on her cuffs with haste, as if he might change his mind if he waited. “But you’ll be getting a fine in the next few days.”

“Forward it to me, officer. I’ll pay it off.” Mirage appeared as if from thin air– knowing what he was capable of, that likely wasn’t an exaggeration. There was some energon on his armor, but it wasn't his own. Otherwise, he was utterly unmarked from his hostage situation. 

Right behind him, Swindle was being dragged along with a makeshift patch welded onto the fresh hole in his thigh.

“Knew we were gonna raid tonight, huh?” One of the arresting officers taunted as he held up Swindle’s shoulders. “Trying to hide your side hustle before we got here.”

The mech, his visor likely knocked off in the scuffle, bolted his optics onto anyone who might give him pity.  

“Look, I’m not the only one! I’ll tell you everything, everything I know! Trickdiamond at the Golden Diode– she runs all the books! And-and Gutcruncher, he gets rid of the bodies! I have proof, just let me–!”

“This may go without saying, Swindle,” Mirage appeared next to him to deliver the bad news, “but you’re fired.”

Then he vanished before Swindle could try to spit at him, appearing once more by Elita’s side.

“There’s a defrag den a few blocks from here,” he explained. “Swindle was supplying them from our own stocks for a cut of the profits.”

“So you knew all about this operation.” Prowl forced his attention by stepping in front of Elita, still holding the cuffs that had just been on her wrists a minute ago.

“Yes,” Mirage drawled, “I knew someone was dealing under the table. But I didn’t know who. I needed to scare him to push him out in the open. I thought I had him cornered… but he managed to ambush me. It’s only good fortune that you lot showed up at the right moment.”

Prowl narrowed his eyes. “Even if that’s true, we’ll need to take an official statement from you.”

“Of course.” Mirage nodded. “I’ll be at the station first thing in the morning. It’s been such a long evening… I’m sure you can imagine, I’m still recovering from the shock. I’d appreciate being left in peace now.”

Prowl now rolled his eyes, still keeping them narrowed as they landed on Orion. “A word before I go?”

Orion knew it wasn’t much of a question. He was reluctant to leave Elita again, but with what Prowl had just revealed about her he knew it was better to go somewhere she wouldn’t hear them. He gave her a nod, his only reassurance before he was forced to abandon her.

“If you insist on keeping dangerous company,” Prowl hissed once they were far enough out, “then I won’t be able to help you. You know that, right?”

Orion didn’t hesitate. “I wouldn’t ask you to.”