like shadows and moonlight

Barely a joor left, and they’d have been gone from Cybertron a full cycle. It was thrilling and arduous all at once on Nova’s processor to think that they were finally going out to fulfill an objective held close at spark. Much less horrendous than the first time she had laid her gaze upon their homeworld while on a shuttle being thrown into oblivion. The last time she’d had such a view, she was mourning the still painful loss of a friend and leaving what had been a norm all her life.

You could say that fighting a losing battle on a planet in disarray wasn’t normal; that it wasn’t healthy, but it was a lifestyle she had been used to.

Now, standing aboard a ship bound to destinies unknown, there was a goal. Clear familiarity. With each bot that strode by her, a reflection of time itself in motion, on their way to perform their duties diligently.

She stood a bit straighter as though it would give her height and an appearance of authority for a femme slightly less than half the size of more average mecha. A glitter of stars were before her from the bridge; signaling her to new beginnings afair. She gave a little sigh to herself and looked to her left, where in the center of the room surrounded by stations to work was the single most state of the art equipment on the vessel.

A projected three dimensional star chart hovered in a holo-projected field. A few bots were murmuring a discussion to themselves beside it; gesturing to various positions. Even as Nova watched them operate it; stitched together portions of the map would zoom in and out as it identified worlds and galaxies; stars and asteroid belts.

With a stroke of a digit, you could pull up just about every string of information gathered on anything in the universe. The lifeforms that were known to exist, when the planet was last investigated, the life rate of stars and the dangers documented. It took just as much if not more time to manufacture than the Guardian’s Light had, but they’d had a lot of help in doing so. And not just from bots, but from an undiscovered and lost room built in the Golden Ages in some ruins among the Sea of Rust.

Twitching her audio stacks to the side, the pale moon colored femme listened in on the mechs at work with interest.

“This is Nighthawk’s last known location, as stated in his message,” one of the mechs stated, flicking his wrist to speed through the map. His sharp digit pointed to a planet named Gochivie HR57 in the Tadpole Galaxy.

“That’s an estimated…” a mech stuttered, faltered, and went to tap a few keys in.

Another beside him vented, rolling his optics as he grunted the calculations, “3.48 million light-years away.”

“Exactly. And that last transmission was received seventeen cycles before departure; nearly eighteen now. And traveling at our current velocity; judging by rate of travel on Nighthawk’s broadcasts, it should take us…”

“Four deca-cycles to reach them; give or take,” muttered the mathematician wiz.

“That’s given they continue at their own current speed,” one agreed. “And with no sure way of knowing their direction; as they have looped around on numerous occasions for reasons unknown, we could reach them sooner- or later if they choose to flee.”

“The Rising Star’s fuel economy isn’t exactly the best,” another joked.

Rolling her optics, the short femme gave a shake of her helm. She spun around, heading to the door while still eavesdropping on the conversation.

“Well, if we push the Guardian’s Light to it’s full capacity; we’d be sucking fuel down like a rabid Insecticon, but we could push the boundaries a bit…”

The rest of the bot’s words were lost as the duel pneumatic doors hissed closed behind Novastrike. One-hundred-fifty days, and that was all but a guess.

They’d waited this long. They could get by a little longer.

She just hoped Nighthawk had that sort of time…

“You look a bit distracted,” a voice growled in her direction.

Raising her helm, the femme squinted her dark sapphire blue optics up at her sparkmate.

“And a bit worried,” Blackout continued as he caught her gaze; his own a scarlet haze of concern. “Having second thoughts?”

“By the Primes no,” she sniffed, lashing her tail back and forth whilst crossing her arms.

She halted a moment, looking over the cool stolid features of her always impassive mech. He quirked a brow slightly the longer her pause continued, with the blades on his backside sliding back and forth behind him gradually.

Ever patient. Always willing to wait and let the silence speak on his behalf.

Groaning quietly, Nova glanced aside as she responded: “No, I’m not having second thoughts. I am a bit worried about Nighthawk, though.”

“Worried about him?” the titan echoed, ushering his mate to follow with a curl of his digits as they walked. “What for? You know how reception goes; the time it takes messages to travel, the delay, the waiting process. Eighteen; sorry, nineteen days now, is nothing.”

“I don’t know… my gut says something is wrong.”

“Are you sure it’s not just nerves, dearest?”

She huffed. Her pedes practically glided on the floor seamlessly; an enchanting motion, a pace of confidence and well-timed coordination. It was an action she didn’t even need think about, but it spoke volumes to her growth. A few years ago, such a look of assurance and positivism would have been lacking from her posture entirely.

Just as she felt more sure of herself and her footing, and what she could do, so she felt confident in her unease. Something was… off. Maybe the handsome devil staring at her with worry had a just point. She could reason his words to truth; they seemed credible, even likely, but her intuition whispered something different.

“Things are just going… too well for us, I guess,”  she finally admitted with reluctance, her ears lying back against her helm.

Blackout chuckled, a rich deep sound. “He’s a medic, Novastrike. I’m sure he can take care of himself if he gets some bumps and bruises.”

Her next words came out harsh a bitter; even unexpected by herself: “Like Guard.”

There was a strained, uncomfortable silence. Worry and guilt gnawed on Nova’s thoughts. She shouldn’t have said that.

“Guard was… not expecting that kind of betrayal,” Blackout said slowly, his voice a hush. “It surprised him. Nighthawk agreed to help. He has an idea of what he’s getting into. He’s not alone, either. His companion will see to it he’s not taken by surprise.”

“Infiltrator,” Novastrike noted from memory, recalling the dragon with perfect clarity. Funny how different he was from Fireline, yet they both carried an uncanny appearance to Predacon lore. One a goof; a playful and hyperactive wvyren with a hoarding problem and enough wit under his guise to offer surprising intellect in the science field.

The other, a refined medical professional with some sly comments, clever comebacks, and a witty if not at times wisecracking sense of humor.

When bots said that Primus made each Cybertronian to be unique, they certainly weren’t kidding.

“Yes, the uh… dragon,” Blackout offered with disinterest.

“Oh come on love,” Nova snickered. “It’s not that difficult to learn his name.”

“I’m sure it’s in my memory files somewhere,” the giant agreed offhandedly. “But I’m more inclined to faces than names.”

“Why; harder to forget a pretty faceplate?” Nova teased, placing a servo on either side of her cheeks innocently.

“I could never forget the most eloquent and beautiful face,” he chuckled. “But designations… they’re easy to change. Your identity lies within yourself.  Besides, it’s easier to recall a face than a name.”

“You went from sounding poetic to plain lazy, love.”

“Forgive me, dear, I’ve never been the best with words.”

A quiet wheeze escaped Nova. That wasn’t entirely true, but she’d let him go on and think that.

“Have you thought of any further plans on how we’re going to board the Rising Star?”

Blackout gave a doubtful shake of his helm. “No, not really. We can either try discretely sending in some smaller bots; like yourself and a few others, and try gaining some traction taking out larger bots and disabling primary functions on the ship before getting other’s on board… Or we can use my EMP. But I’ll need to be in a decent proximity if it’s going to be effective, or last very long.”

“And that would be exposing you to whatever working weapons the Rising Star still has, or has had installed since, as well as any crew members under Neutroboost’s command,” she muttered. “Too bad we can’t just blast the ship.”

Solemnly, the obsidian mech nodded as he glanced away. There was a sense of regret about him that was all too common these days.

“I don’t want to risk losing any more innocent lives,” he reminded her softly.

In that moment, he sounded so much like Guard that Novastrike had to rub her optics just to make sure it wasn’t him. It was astonishing; down to the gaze that had a million thoughts lost in them, the murmured agony in his voice, the sag in his shoulders.

This same mech had once looked to her like she was nothing but collateral. He’d rebuke the very idea that he’d changed, but it was all over him. Stains of Guard’s life and habits, his thoughts and ideals were blotting Blackout’s very essence.

He was still lethal. Of that, there was no doubt. But his sharpened judgmental edges had been snipped and sandpapered; his glaring optics now more often a thoughtful, wide-eyed look of consideration. The former gladiator from the arenas of Kaon was still evolving, hundreds of years past when most stopped learning how to grow and change he was only just discovering things anew. Feelings were fresh and exotic; expressions a new boundary, to care and to have compassion a foreign affair he was entangled.

Smiling sweetly, she reached out to pat her servo against her sparkmate’s pede. He turned his helm to look back to her blankly now.

“You’re doing just fine. Don’t doubt yourself; we all believe in you. We can all do this, together,” she urged.

The indication of a smile pulled at his lips. His optics softened; closing partially as he emitted a deep reverberated rumble deep within dark ebony armor.

“We’ll figure out our course of action when the time grows closer to do so,” Blackout growled. “There’s bound to be things to factor in at the time anyway; a hostage situation, planets we can use for cover…”

“A black hole, trying to suck us all in?” Nova suggested with a grin.

“Nova… No.”

“What? Plan for the impossible, right?”

“My warrior goddess of the moon, please, do not speak bad omens into reality.”

A mirthful laugh escaped Nova, pressing a servo to her mouth. “Since when did you become the superstitious type?”

Blackout frowned deeply. “Since now, when you decided to throw in a black hole and threaten to squash us all.”

“Or send us into an alternative parallel world; frozen in a paradox timeline that never ends, stuck fighting the same battle over and over again with no recollection of the beginning or the end,” she expressed loudly. “Or, you know, we could just run into our altered opposite selves. You’re altered-self would be a humble artist bent on peace and would oppose all fighting; and my altered-self would be a far-less attractive bland femme who just wants to punch things to see how they function.”

“I’m destroying all copies of ‘The Astrophysics to Black Holes’ immediately after this conversation,” he mumbled with deep disapproval.

“Will you be doing that before or after you get into the berth?” inquired the femme with a virtuous smile.

Sharply, her mate cleared his vocalizer. There was a stern appearance about his stature but in his face, mild entertainment.

It sent waves of adoration through Nova’s entire body. Starting in her spark and sparking with electric pulses through her veins. Oh how she treasured his happiness; the way his mouth curled up and the way light danced in his optics with just the right sparkle. He could pretend to hide it, especially around others, but it was just as obvious in his face and the minuscule shifts of his gears and body as it was the smell her hypersensitive features picked up on.

“We’ll discuss that later,” Blackout finally said in answer, shaking his helm a little. “I had meant to go to the bridge before I was drawn impulsively to the brightest star I’ve ever seen.”

For a klik, Nova thought to harass her handsome other half with a comment questioning him on what star was, in fact, the closest to their current position. But she thought better of herself before opening her mouth for such silliness, looking to his inviting gaze and feeling her spark give a little flip. She was, truly, at a loss for words.

Blackout too seemed a bit taken off guard for spare moment. He parted his lips just slightly, staring, before shaking himself with a shy snicker. He turned away, shaking the spell as he turned to walk in the opposing direction of the white femme. Stopping to speak to the nearest bot walking by to confirm their current course and traveling speed.

Withering, Nova began to internally sulk. Just a smidgen. How she longed for tranquil days of serene bliss; lost only with each other and their closest friends and family. For her, she needed no other life. Staring into his optics, clutching his servo, kissing his mouth and teasing that foolish mech from the break of a dawn’s light to the twilight dusky hours of the night.

Days spent wistfully lost in thought. The smiles on the faceplates of those who she cared for; who she lived and breathed for. It wouldn’t be paradise; it wouldn’t be perfect. They would bicker and argue over even the stupid things but they would get by. You forgave those you truly loved.

A slight skip now in her pedes, Novastrike made her way with her helm held high. She’d offer a comment or wave to those she passed until she came upon the rear deck to step into the armament room. Within it, some bots were stepping carefully around constructed weapons positioned on pivoting retractable arms that took on the size of multiple Predacons.

She spotted the Sigma Three defense cannon. One of three onboard; with two others connected to externally enclosed casings reachable through air-tight doors. The final cannon; a rapid-fire plasma shooter, was placed in an upper deck, with its lines running through the ship to a section in the hull that contained its ammunition.

A swell of pride hummed in Nova’s spark. Blackout had helped to manufacture and install these. Unsurprising really; the mech had such a knack of artillery. He’d grown using it all his life just to survive.

Decepticon’s hadn’t simply called him a weapon’s specialist for his own unreasonably large arsenal.

Novastrike moved with care not to get too underpede of those few bots roaming the room. Only a few were stationed here permanently and specifically to maintain the Sigma Three. The others were general mechanics and engineers, walking the length of the Guardian’s Light to inspect the entirety of the spacecraft. Any signs of degradation or damage from their first few cycles were being heavily scrutinized, but what space debris around Cybertron that remained from the war they’d knocked into left aesthetic damages here and there so far as anyone had noticed thus far.

From there a simple look around would suffice from time to time. The little femme could understand their concerns. For their own safety and for their love of a project and a dream, they wanted this vessel to succeed.

Too small to reach more than a thick under-panel to the beastly weapon, Nova reached up to pat the equipment with a devious smile. She turned around slowly, examining those busily moving around until she caught the look from a mech. He went from looking over the form of the gun, to her with some misgivings written on him.

“Sorry,” she stated with a smile while retracting her digits. “I’m just coming by to check up on things.”

Mutely, the mech gave a simple nod.

Feeling awkward by the lack of response, Nova quirked a partial smile as she stepped out from beneath the cannon.

“Designation Novastrike, mech,” she purred, offering a servo.

He looked from her face to her servo. Back again.

Uncomfortably, he finally reached for her servo. A single digit from the mech was extended for Nova to shake.

Stammering, she uncomfortably released his digit. “S-Sorry for bothering you-”

A sudden, wheezing laughter had Novastrike’s ears swiveling. She turned her helm a moment later to follow the trail of the noise.

“Aye, lieutant-commander, don’t mind Whisper,” a mech cackled. “ E’s a mute, you see. Born with a defective ‘box. Can’t speak a lick.”

“O-Oh,” she squeaked, giving an apologetic glance back up to the bot beside her.

“Don’t worry ye’ pretty little helm there girly. ‘E’s fine. Just o’ bit shy. Can’t blame him; ye’ a pretty sight to these optics.”

“E-Excuse me?”

A flame of tinted blue worked into the femme’s audios as she went slack-jawed. Partly, she was surprised by comment. Another part of her was irritated. Whether he was mocking her for a cheap gag joke, or if he was disrespecting her position came into play.

Every bot here was well enough aware of her situation with the captain of the ship. Yet this one was openly mocking her; toying her. Defying her role-

The mech tapped beside his optic, grinning. “I mean no harm girly; I promise. I o’ bit of a vision impairment myself. Got some damage from the war, ye’ see. But ye’ a bright thing of beauty on this dark ship. Won’t be losing ye’ armor or ye’ eyes anytime soon there, young miss.”

That should have made her feel better, but Nova instantly felt terrible for thinking the worst. She swallowed, well aware her ears were far beyond a simple pestering glow and now a full lantern of light. Cascading blue seemed to bounce off of her and glow upon anything within her radial circle of space.

“Well… thank you, uh…?”

“I’d be Killshot, miss.”

What a designation.

“Right,” she stated, giving a lopsided smile. “Well thank you, Killshot. But in the future please, keep the uh… flattery to a minimum, shall we?”

He nodded. “I can do, ma’am,” he agreed with a salute. “Come ‘ere Whisper, ye’ can help me with checking this ‘ere hydraulics system for the arm extension.”

With just a hush of his pedes, Whisper moved past Novastrike on almost deathly-silent pedes to follow the other bot. An ear upon Nova’s helm tilted to the side as the other remained erect while she watched the two. Oh boy, she really misjudged. She owed them an apology…

She turned, smacking instantly into the bot directly behind her and falling on her aft.

“Oh- sorry lieutenant Novastrike!” the dark grey mech yelped with a blush. “I shouldn’t have been so close; I was just keeping an optic on you, making sure you were safe.”

“I think I’d be safer if you were a bit less up my aft,” she growled, reaching up to tentatively touch her now-throbbing forehead.

Taking a moment to adjust her optics, Nova looked up to see the mech offering her his servo. The mech had to be all of but twenty-one feet at maximum; not including the jutting pieces of decorative metal on his helm. He held a guilty little smile on his face as she took it, helping her to her pedes.

“You can call me Oblivion, lieutenant-commander Novastrike!” he stated with glee. “I was assigned to be your assistant. Not because I asked, of course.”

He gave an awkward little laugh at that, waving a servo in the air.

Peculiar mech, Novastrike reasoned while eyeing him over. But what was most intriguing were his optics. One was a solid shade of red; a few hues brighter than that of Blackout’s. The other, a steely grayish-blue.

Even as she watched, she could swear the blue one gradually appeared to waver between blue, and green.

“I don’t require a personal assistant,” she coldly remarked. “Maybe you got the wrong bot.”

“Oh no, I got the right bot,” he chirped with merriment. “You’re the second-in-charge after captain and Commander Blackout. You were on board the Rising Star; a neutral party during the Autobot-Decepticon war. Previously an Autobo-”

“Okay, mech,” Nova vented with a servo placed to her faceplate. “I’m going to stop you right there. I don’t know how- or why- you know so much about me but I don’t need an assistant.”

Oblivion laughed breezily, his engine purring to life. Even the door-wings on his back began to give a joyous little flutter like he was some sort of a seeker.

He seemed rather young, and childish. Novastrike tapped a digit against her chin lightly with confusion and curiosity as she mused the odd behavior.

“Well of course you don’t need me,” Oblivion agreed. “I’m just handy. You know, a messenger just for you. Run some errands, finish up uh… do you even get paperwork? We don’t keep that type of stuff here, do you-”

“Oblivion, might I ask: what were you before you were my assistant?”

“Oh, well-” he scratched the side of his helm. “I was an Autobot during the bot-con war. Before that I was a-”

“No no- I mean, what were you before you requested to be my personal subordinate?”

“Ooooh! Gotcha. I was originally on bridge duty; you know, keeping ship’s course and such. But that didn’t work out, so I got put on maintenance. Then I broke too much stuff, and…”

Scrap. They threw her a bumbling moron for her aid. Some respect the other’s had to insist her be her aid.

Giving her most impressionable and dazzling smile, Novastrike laced her digits in front of her chassis. She breathed in, breathed out just as slowly, and dropped her arms to her side. Finally, she looked up to the young mech.

“What are the chances I can reassign you?”

There was a clear indication of hurt in the mech’s optics.

“Little to none, lieutenant,” he mumbled.

“Right,” she vented. “Alright- fine. But we’ve got to work on your personal space thing. And you’re breaking-things thing. And maybe we’ll find you a more suitable position once you’ve worked your way up a bit.”

A soft, delighted gasp escaped Oblivion. He slapped a servo over his mouth as a sparkle entered his heterochromatic optics.

“I’d love that,” he squealed. “Well- except the not working for you part. I mean, what an honor-”

Raising a servo, the white-armored femme held up a single digit. The mech fell obediently silent, looking to her with the most puppy-dog like gaze.

An honor, he’d said? This bot was disillusion. An honor would be serving a historical figure. Bots like Blackout, or Guard, or frag even the Primes. Even the famous Ratchet or Sideswipe would do, but instead, this bot was looking to her with reverence like some sort of legend.

Did he ever pick the wrong bot to idolize. A scrawny, little-known neutral like herself. She pitied him as much as she was annoyed by his peppy attitude and the fact he’d been placed on her like some second-hand yappy canine.

“Come on, then,” Novastrike vented, giving a whisk of her servo.

Without question, the mech glued himself to her side as she walked. From his subspace, he emerged a datapad and stylus to take notes studiously. Or, for all Nova knew, to scribble doodles.

There’s no proper way to say goodbye. It was a lesson long learned, but never so hollow as it had been in recent years. No two goodbyes were ever the same; no goodbyes ever easy.

Saying goodbye to the Decepticon rebellion had been disorienting. A lifestyle Blackout had lived for hundreds of years. A state of mind he’d been growing into even before there were Decepticons; even before he was aware of Megatron. A boiling hatred for the system and the way it played him. A fighting dog for his masters; entertainment for the rich, a tool.

Saying goodbye to his latest master Megatron (and that’s all the tyrant had ever been; just another master to serve), a terror. Loss of self and loss of a truth and friendship he once held dear. A friendship that had been only growing more tainted as the days went by.

Farewell to his world. Adieu to his brothers, his kin, himself.

Leaving Guard behind. Not a goodbye. A loss. A regret. A pain that couldn’t fully heal; an ending not meant to be.

A flare of light blinked within his gaze as he looked up uncomfortably. So few bots were still standing around the Guardian’s Light now. Most boarded already or double-checking last minute preparations and supply.

To his left, Blackout could hear the rambling talk of a few mechs. They were discussing their destinations along the route. Some known outposts already pre-planned meant to refuel the space vessel; some locations meant to look for travelers and survivors to pick up.

It may very well be that the end goal was to reach the Rising Star, but fair was fair. Novastrike and himself couldn’t get there alone; they would need a crew. No matter how small that team was or how abundant, they owed them their gratitude. If the services of those who helped to make this happen was to aid them in their own quests and searches for lost family and friends, it was an easy price to pay.

Maybe some of these bots would be able to reconnect with those they believed lost. Maybe some good could come out of his adventure for bloodlust.

Within all the connected fabrics that threaded together in a spider’s web, there were few still left for the once war hound to hold. And now he was potentially releasing another thread with no guarantee to ever return again. Driven to the unknown. Not for justice or the law or because it felt right; which it certainly did, but because vengeance was a bitch he wanted to send to Neutroboost himself. A curse spat upon him with a smear of blood and a memory of a mech to be forgotten by history entirely.

Was he forsaking them all to their doom?

Blackout gave a loud and forceful vent as he stepped down the short set of stairs towards the spacecraft. He gave a polite wave to some of those who acknowledged his presence. Amazing how these Cybertronians let their guards down over the past months.

Just because he was docile at the moment didn’t make him less dangerous.

He came to a stop at the side of the cruiser. A look of sadness and guilt shifting over his features as his optic ridges lowered significantly while his optics went half-lided.

The golden lettering along the side seemed to mock him.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly; hardly a breath and more of a mouthing of words unheard.

He placed a servo gently to the cold surface of the Guardian’s Light. It yielded nothing to him; but it was strong and it was sturdy.

“Sir?”

Blackout let his servo fall and turned his attention to the mech who ghosted up to his right.

“Sorry to…” the mech faltered, seeming unsure what he interrupted but sensing there was something going on, “Err- anyway- Copperstreak and Galetwister just wanted me to hand this off to you; it’s their final assessments of everything and everyone on board the ship.”

Grunting in response, the titan mech took the datapad from the smaller mech. He skimmed briefly over the listed items and jotted notes before glancing back up to the mech.

“Everything’s accounted for, then?” he stressed.

“Yes sir Blackout.”

“Alright. Have Stormchaser and Astraea prep for launch.”

The mech gave a nod, already turning swiftly on heel.

“One moment.”

The mech turned back around. “Sir?”

“Novastrike and Scorponok…?”

There was a humored little smirk on the damn morons face. Blackout remained blank in his expression despite his irritation. Honestly, did bots have nothing better to do than gossip?

“They’re both already on board the ship,” he cheerily responded. “Novastrike’s been on deck running tests and performance checks on the guiding system and console diagnostics most of the day. Scorponok’s been helping her out- sir.”

Now that brought a bit of a grin out of the stoic former ‘Con. He was blessed with the most intelligent and thoughtful femme to ever exist. Already on the ball getting things done while he moped around. Trying to lighten his own workload and stress, no doubt.

She should have so much more out of life than what she had.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”

“Just make sure the fuel tank inlet valve isn’t malfunctioning again,” Blackout muttered. “And have the primary mechanic double-check on the replacement parts on board.”

“That’d be more like a hundredth-check by now,” the mech laughed, though quickly stopped as he realized that Blackout himself was not joining in. “Ahem. Right, I’ll uh- do that.”

“Looks like you’re about ready to go.”

Blackout’s shoulders tightened. He watched the courier as he dashed away before turning around to the bots that stood behind him.

“About,” he agreed, eyeing the duo of both equally dark-toned armor.

The mech of the two gave a slight smile with the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t full of his usual sarcasm and nor were his usually mocking violet eyes as illustrious as usual.

“You sure you don’t want me coming with you?”

“And chance you eating the crew, ‘Cade?” Blackout teased, watching his old friend for any signs of negative reaction. “I think not.”

A snorting laughter escaped the bad boy cop that he tried containing.

“I’ve only got the taste for a certain kind of bot,” Barricade responded flirtatiously as he reached around the femme beside him.

She gave a little jump as ‘Cade placed his servo upon her lower posterior.

Blackout deadpanned. “That’s disgusting ‘Cade.”

“Gee Blackout, you really don’t know how to treat a femme, do you?”

“I don’t talk about my intercourse life in public, thank you.”

“And neither do we,” the femme snapped, tossing off Barricade’s arm with a sharp look.

Grinning wide, Barricade gave an apologetic shrug.

“Sorry sweetspark.”

Rolling her magenta optics, the lady gave a soft sigh. She shook her helm before offering Blackout a rueful smile.

“He’s going to miss you,” she said gently. “We both will. It’s been a long time…”

In an uncharacteristically act of support, Blackout reached out to take the femme’s servo. She seemed about as surprised as he felt, though probably not nearly as embarrassed.

“You two have taken good care of each other without me around Venus,” he said quietly. “I’m sure you’ll both get by without me still.”

“Ha! Mech you really think we need you around?” Venus scoffed as she pulled her servo free.

“We just want you to know there’s no failure in returning back without… fulfilling your goals,” Barricade added in as he took Venus’ now free servo. Their digits intertwined as they passed each other a supportive smile.

“Some of us actually care about you, and want you to come back,” he added.

“And Nova and Scorponok too,” Venus jumped in, passing a look to her engaged.

Amazing. Not once had Blackout thought he’d return to a time like this. A rocky but relatively agreed upon peace on Cybertron as it was being rebuilt and some colonies and warships were returning. Reconnecting with bots he once thought sure to be offline; many of whom had heard that he’d been killed in a battle years ago now.

Now here he was, saying farewell again to relative safety. An easy life. The possibility of watching his homeworld become anew with life. Watch the tides change and equality set into place with new laws and governing ways.

Leaving everything behind again.

Well, not quite everything…

He looked into Venus’ and Barricade’s optics, and for once was glad for his reputation of silence. There were no words of gratitude he could express; no speech of his apologies or his elation that they had each other and how happy he was, truly, for them.

But there was more yet out there for him to do. And no matter how much a part of him did sincerely hurt to think he was leaving his Amica Endura behind and other valued friends and acquaintances, he had to do this.

A kindling fire roared to life again. A sense of purpose. Determination flared through him as the embers grew inside of him into a steady inferno.

This was for Guard. This was for himself. This was a job, and like any task he had ever been given, he would see it through until the end.

“We’ll do our best here on Cybertron to help you,” Barricade went on slowly. “With the tower we have more range of communication; though slower, so if we hear word from Nighthawk we’ll be able to send it along your way, and vise versa.

“I appreciate that,” Blackout rumbled.

Whatever Barricade next was mistakenly dismissed. An internal sensation; like a soft knocking on a door, captured his attention.

He allowed the unseen force entry.

‘Copper’ and I have gotten this handsome ship good to go’, Novastrike’s thoughts purred into his own with a confident flair. ‘Shall I run ignition and you can tell me how he sounds? Vengeful and mean or gently scolding?’

Amused, Blackout responded through the sparkbond: ‘I’m sure Guard’s Light is going to sound as encouraging as ever. But that can wait for the moment; could you come down to the platform?’

‘Something wrong?’ Worry colored her internal tone of voice.

‘No, nothing’s wrong. I figured you’d want a chance to say… “see you”, to Venus and Barricade.’

‘You mean Sirens and my Tall Twin?’ Nova responded with mirth. ‘Sure, I’ll grab Scorp and we’ll meet you three down there.’

‘I’ll get Scorponok’s attention, don’t worry.’

‘You know just because you have a bond with him doesn’t mean I can’t do it. He does call me second partner for a reason.’

Blackout chuckled aloud at the sass. One heck of a spitfire he managed to let himself be himself around and fall for.

“What’s so funny?” Barricade hissed.

Giving a somewhat sheepish smile, the taller obsidian mech shrugged.

“Scorponok and Nova’s coming.”

“Oh! Tiny Twin!” Venus chimed in gleefully.

“Scorp’s fine,” ‘Cade answered, forcing a shiver as he went on, “But ugh, not the cat.”

“All of you and your nicknames,” Blackout grunted, shaking his helm.

“You used to go by Megatron’s Hound,” Barricade pointed out.

“Don’t remind me.”

“Don’t forget I got away with big aft, ugly bastard, lofty-”

“I get it, Sirens.”

Blackout gave a satisfied grin as his old friend recoiled from the nickname.

“One time!” he shouted “They went off accidentally the one time!”

“Barricade, you charming mech,” Venus purred, resisting the urge to giggle. “It’s definitely happened more than ‘one time’.”

“Primus end me,” Blackout whispered.

“Babe obviousl- oh geez, shut up Blackout.”

A swift kick thunked against the colossal shadow’s side, but he could only manage a snicker in response.

He was going to miss the leisure of joking around like this. But he’d be back. He’d be back, and he was going to bring back as many of those as he could from the Rising Star.

Only one mech had to die on this expedition. Just one bot.

A loud trilling sound had all three turning to see Scorponok dashing quickly across the floor on his many pedes. It was almost comical to see; the poor bug wasn’t quite built for land maneuvering like he was underground tunneling.

As he came closer, Blackout took to a knee to greet his long time partner with a scratch along his neck. The insectoid gave a delightful chatter as he nudged his master’s digits.

With a surprisingly exultant cheer, Barricade rushed past Blackout to give Scorponok a pat as well. Both Venus and Blackout gave each other equally perplexed looks.

“Heeeyyy there buddy,” the cop hummed quietly. “You’re going to keep Blackout in one piece, right? You’re the responsible one, you remember that.”

“Come on, ‘Cade…”

The scorpion nodded in response regardless, bouncing his drills up and down as well.

If there was ever a pouty flyer to be seen, that was it. A thousand pictures couldn’t do it justice. Blackout was certainly miffed and sullen by even the suggestion. As if he wasn’t responsible.

Venus walked around his other side and reached down to briefly and lightly give Scorponok a pet on the head. She seemed a bit knowing of the bug’s antics, for as soon as she finished and Blackout moved to stand, he went to make a jabbing motion with his tail barb towards Barricade.

He was, to his credit, swift enough to retract his servo before it could be struck.

“Hey- you came awful close that time!”

The bug gave a mischievous metallic snicker.

“Still think he’s the ‘responsible’ one?” Blackout cut in.

“Yes,” Scorponok chirped.

“Oh, absolutely,” Venus laughed.

“Definitely,” ‘Cade agreed with a flat, serious voice.

All Blackout could do was sigh, and place his palm over his face.

“Ohhh Blackout, we’re only teasing,” Venus sang, gently touching his arm.

Weird how permissive he became of such things. Friendship was bizarre. You started off not liking anything about a bot, and gradually worked your way up into tolerance. From there it was just a downhill experience for Blackout; which included learning to appreciate someone even past the point of jabs and insults to guarding each other’s backs in the worst and the best times.

At least that was his experience in friendship. Every friendship.

He removed his servo from his faceplate and regarded Venus and Barricade with a blank look. They both were grinning at him with a mirror slag-eating grin.

Fraggers. He loathed them both. A little. Under all that less-loathing emotion.

Wait a nanoklik. His scarlet optics went to search the area. Scorponok was here, but…

A loud mrrow announced her presence, and the sudden streak of white that went flying past their pedes. Before one could jokingly say, ‘I, Starscream, am now leader of the Decepticons’, Novastrike was airborne and colliding with Venus’ chassis.

Blackout flinched on her behalf. She was less than half of his full scale, and Novastrike roughly half that of Venus. He adored his sparkmate, but sometimes the cybercat lookalike forgot that there were still some bots not quite in quintuple x ratio to her own size.

Though she stumbled, Venus pedes gave an impressive screech on the floor as she caught herself from falling flat on her backside. Her arms trembled fiercely as she tried to hold up the grinning feline face so close to her own.

Purring like a Grounder’s well-tuned motor, Novastrike rubbed her cheek against Venus’ shoulder. It was something Blackout recognized well by now; she was scenting the femme as her own. And just to prove a point, she gave Barricade a grin while she was at it; showing off the long fangs and sharp teeth in her muzzle.

“Hey there Sirens,” Nova growled, swatting at the mech as he stepped closer with a paw.

“Bad cat, off,” ‘Cade threatened. “Don’t make me get the spray bottle.”

“Ooh she’s fiinneee,” the small femme argued, lashing her tail from side to side.

“Actually, Nova,” Venus wheezed, “You’re… k-kinda heavy for me.”

“Oh.”

Looking to her friend’s faceplate and then to the floor, the cybercat wiggled in Venus’ grasp. She was set on the floor with a grateful exhale; Venus quick to stretch back and forth after having bared the other’s weight.

The giant ebony mech chuckled quietly. He caught a glimpse of Nova’s bluer than the oceans of Aquatron’s optics looking to him and felt a brief jolt in his spark. It only seemed to echo through the bond from Novastrike; a rush of exhilaration and love throbbing in her veins that seemed to pulse in his own.

He was smilingly stupidly now but didn’t realize it. ‘Cade and Venus each looked to each other a moment with a knowing and somewhat hopeful glance. An experience they understood, and one day hoped to have the joy in sharing with each other.

Clearing his vocalizer, Blackout spoke bluntly as he looked to the twosome: “I suppose we should cut to the ‘so long’s and ‘until next time’s now.”

“Never one to spare a nanoklik, huh bud?” Barricade vented with a nod of understanding. “Alright, then.”

Clasping each other’s servo, the two mechs went in for a hug and a rough pat on the back. The quiet shifting of Novastrike’s frame into her bipedal background noise as the small femme lunged herself at Venus.

The mechs released each other from the hug. Blackout felt some relief for the swiftness of letting go. He straightened his posture, but was quickly taken aback as ‘Cade pulled Venus in to hug him as well.

He merely stood uncertainly in place as Scorponok awkwardly went to pap them on their legs while Nova hugged the two from behind. A sandwich of Cybertronians embracing.

A distinctive sniffle escaped somebot, but Blackout didn’t dare try figuring out who.

“We’ll be back before you know it,” he said awkwardly, giving both of them a pat on the back.

“You better come back at all,” Barricade muttered, giving a lopsided grin.

The statement seemed to have more effect than either expected. The smile turned to horror, and then to fear, and then to sadness in ‘Cade’s optics. Quick to advert his gaze, Blackout felt a painful prickle in the back of his optics and ignored it as he stepped past.

He looked back over his shoulder, offering a servo to Barricade.

“Until next time?”

The smaller mech’s purple gaze moved from his faceplate to his servo. He took it in a firm grasp of his own.

“Till next time.”

Jerking a nod of his helm, Blackout exhaled and released his grip. At his heel, Scorponok was quick to follow him as they made their way towards the lift for the Guardian’s Light. With steadier and swifter little pedes, the bug soon surpassed his pace.

Out of the corner of his optic, a flash of blue light. Puzzled, Blackout looked to the ship curiously. There was no sign of the strange radiant hue, until he saw it reflect briefly towards the nose of the ship. The color bounced off the shiny gold lettering on the spacecraft’s side at a distance and then was gone.

Guardian’s Light.

An optic ridge quirked slightly. Was that… A blessing? A sign of approval?

Briefly, Blackout thought to call out, but instead chose to continue on his way.

He made sure to swallow his feelings down before they got too out of control. The tightness in his throat gradually loosened as he walked up the incline into the vessel and the pain within his optics ebbed off.

A curious whirl escaped his minicon. The dark onyx mech cringed as he turned back to see Novastrike walking up the incline as well. Her audio stacks lowered and arms crossed as she sniffled softly.

Behind her, clasping each other closely, Venus and Barricade each had a servo raised up in farwell.

With a stone cold expression, Blackout hit the button the close the bay door. Watching in silence the entire time as his friend’s silhouettes were slowly swallowed by darkness until all he was looking to was the closed metal doors.

“They’ll be okay.”

He looked down slowly to Novastrike. Aware they were both offering a supportive but hurt smile to try helping the other out.

“I know.”

Bending down, Blackout took to his knee again. He reached down to swipe the side of his thumb carefully along the side of her face to wipe away the translucent tears. She gave him the most beautiful smile in return. All the thanks he could ever ask for.

Grabbing his servo, the small femme gave a sharp ‘ahem’ in response. A bit taken aback by her serious tone, he scooped her up into his servos and held her close. No matter how closely he moved her though, she continued making the same impatient ‘ahem’ as she pointed up, until she was level with his faceplate.

He looked her straight in the optic with some confusion. The small femme reached forward as he grumbled to gently pat along one of his optics. She flicked aside a tear with little laugh. The effect wasn’t quite as endearing apparently as she’d hoped since the singular tear had managed to make her entire servo damp in comparison to his gesture.

Rolling his optics, Blackout snickered as he held his mate close. Their foreheads gradually meeting one another’s as the silence stretched between them.

Chirping, Scorponok wriggled in place before heading through the nearby door into the gravity controlled remainder of the ship, leaving the two alone.

“Are you ready to do this?” Blackout rasped out in a faint rumble.

With eyes burning bright with clear resolute, Novastrike nodded in response.

“I’m ready,” she agreed. “I’m ready to go anywhere, with you. I’m not afraid.”

~~~

“Open the doors.”

Barricade jumped back as the Guardian's Light came to life with a defiant roar. The engines settled gradually into a passive but almost angry rumble.

Above, the skyline suddenly began to peel open to reveal the stars above. Stars glittered in the empty darkness that would lead them anywhere. Somewhere, out there, was victory for his old friend.

No, to his family. His brother in arms, his blood brother, his kin; whatever you may call it, was going to find it. That was in his nature. And after he did, he would be back again, one day.

“You scared for them?”

‘Cade squeezed Venus’ servo, looking to her. There were tears in her optics, just as he could feel those developing in his own.

“Yeah, I am.”

She blinked, and the tears were gone. In place was a look of steadfast belief.

“They’ll be okay,” she assured him, squeezing his palm.

Nodding eagerly; not wanting to chance it otherwise, the cop brought his to-be sparkmate’s servo to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of her servo.

They both turned their gazes back to the Guardian’s Light in time to see the stabilizers holding it in place drop away the remainder of the way. It began to lift up slowly into the air; smooth and steady. Gradually exiting the terminal and through the opening above.

Barricade squinted. A frown slowly pulled at his mouth. What was that blue light emitting from…?

Once clear of the area, the thrusters gave way to a burst of white-hot energy. Like a bolt of lightning, it was off and heading into the stratosphere and out to the unknown.

“Hmph… Venus, did you see that?”

“See what, sweetspark?”

Shaking his helm, Barricade held her servo a little tighter. He gave her a gentle tug as he turned to leave.

With a hasty burst of speed that rivaled grounders from Velocitron, Infiltrator was off down the hall in a flurry of claws and clanking awkward wings. Nighthawk would normally feel a pang of guilt for startling at his pupil in such a way; but at the moment he was too focused on his racing spark. His optics moved away from the young dragon fleeing down the passage to his wrist blades and then to his waist, pulling free the small handgun he rarely used.

Tranquilizer darts would be useless here. It would be a waste of ammunition; if he could make it out alive to use it again for that matter.

The weight of the weapon was heavy and much bulkier in his digits than his sedative gun. With a grimace, the seeker medic tightened his grasp upon the pistol’s grip and turned towards the computer screen. Only a glimpse, he told himself. Just to prove he was wrong; just so he could shake this feeling.

Gloved digits of white thumped softly across the keys of the digitpad in rapid speed. It only took a few commands to change the current screen over to active feed.

The majority of the cameras were dead. He continued to sift through the clips. Less than half a minute had went by, but he could feel the cold seeping into his frame and the stiffness in his joints as the trepidation set into the spark of his being.

Click. No. Click. No. Click. There was Infiltrator hurrying down the hallway. Click.

The horrifying scream that had previously captured his attention seemed to ring through the Revenge II once more. Almost sorrowful; filled with remorse. Jerking to stand upright, Nighthawk clenched his sharp derma. His spine was now a painfully straight line with red wings only just twitching in the air as they tried to still themselves against the fear churning in his tanks.

If there had been a primal creature in the vicinity, it would be be overwhelmed by the aura of fear around himself. He didn’t need special senses to acknowledge terror in his aching old body. The sensation wasn’t foreign to him.

Hell with it; it could be anything. Closing down the terminal, Nighthawk grabbed the one item Infiltrator had left behind in his haste: their connector port to the terminal. With only a quick twist, he pulled the cord shakily into a loose bundle and threw it absently around his shoulder before turning to run down the hall.

Each thud of his pedes down the isolated, silent corridor was thunder. Every direction his optics swept, it felt like shadows were peering. The stained energon and damage to the ship an eerie reminder of a distant fight. Jumbled and disorganized thoughts couldn’t scramble themselves into a proper strain of coherent thought.

There was something here. It was watching them.

A firework of pain seared into Nighthawk’s leg and he cursed, nearly stumbling into the nearest wall. As he stumbled to a limp wobble, he took a moment to glance over his shoulder; around the sharp metallic points of black that jutted up out of his frame.

Behind the transparent lilac specs on the bridge of his nose, the color of his red optics seemed almost drowned out by the paler hue of his pupil which had widened considerably. There was nothing unusual behind him, but this feeling...

“Infiltrator?” he called out.

He took a step back, pedes scrapping against the floor.

Surely it was just some stowaway. Perhaps someone forgot their pet turbofox or an Insecticon on board. It wasn’t uncommon for Decepticons; or in their case former Decepticons, to imprison or tame such creatures. They made for remarkable defense systems when you could earn their trust and cooperation.

There was no way it was a bot. Who would willingly with any semblance of intelligence stay on board a vacated shuttle? There was little likelyhood anyone would find this ship out in the middle of no where. They’d have given themselves to suicide; a lonely, starving death.

Everything was too quiet. Nighthawk could hear himself swallowing anxiously. The seeker fiddled his digits into a tighter hold upon his firearm as he turned to half trot half stagger down the hallway. Damn his leg.

All perspectives were working on overdrive. His glasses were in a constant reading of temperature fluctuation and rapidly calculating for any signs of unusual movement outside of the norm for the floating vessels lame velocity. Every noise picked up by his audios caused him to shudder just a little. Throat dry and olfactory senses smelling nothing but the stale decay of the ship and those on board it left to rot.

You’re the mark this time, he sneered inwardly.

But who, and where, was the hunter?

Kicking aside the remains of a deceased Cybertronian, the crimson mech flinched and looked down to his pede. A stain of dull blue liquid was on his appendage now. Foul energon.

He frowned, reaching up to adjust his eyewear with careful precision of his thin claw-like digits. Disgusting. Careless. He had to be more careful where he placed his limbs.

Nighthawk stepped over the corpse slowly as he continued to look around. By impulse, stopping to glance into what open doorway he limped past on the ship. It put him more on edge; his memories could recall with vivid recollection closing the doors on the ship as they’d went. What doors they couldn’t close few and far between; already wrecked and door frames busted, but these… Infiltrator wouldn’t have disobeyed an order to go searching further; especially not in rooms they’d already looked through at that.

A look to the left. Now the right. Pause. Look around the corner.

Maybe he was just being superstitious. It could have been nothing. But why had that been the only thing the mech had been dragging back on the ship at the time?

Disease, maybe? He mused the thought to himself while glancing into another room.

A pede stopped mid-step. Nighthawk breathed out slowly, staring into the recharge chambers just to his right.

Part of the interior had been ripped apart, and one pod in particular seemed ominously empty of its previous contents. The door that had been sealed now lying across the room with clear evidence of something having ripped it open from the inside as his spectacles; even from a distance, could pick up the scratches on the inner panel of the door.

Placing his pede down, the seeker finally inhaled as he reached up to tap the comm on the side of his helm.

“Infiltrator? Do you have the Jaguar running yet?”

“No boss,” an out of breath reply. “I’m almost there.”

“Try running a scan for the ship for signs of life.”

“Again? Boss, we tried that-”

“I know,” Nighthawk testily hissed as he walked slowly down the hall. “But this time, change the perimeters. Anything with a resting sparkbeat of even one pulse per minute.”

“One per minute? Boss, something like that would be…”

Nighthawk dropped his servo away from his communicator, speaking only to himself as he uttered, “Impossible…?”

His spark gave an uneasy warble; feeling an unexplained pull, like it was being drawn to something behind him.

Something like that would be, well… Unconscionable…

Raising his weapon up close against his chassis, the medic pivoted around on his heel. There was a fluidity to the motion despite the jolt of pain it sent up his leg.

Nothing there.

A low, almost relieved sigh breathed upon the back of his neck.

On a knee-jerk reaction, the seeker flung his arm back to strike whoever it was in the helm. There was a solid clank of metal against metal as he turned with the motion, jaw gaping at the figure behind him.

The monstrosity let out an infuriated screech. The metal and mesh wiring around it’s gullet flexed hungrily as it reached out with its stubby fat digits.

Nighthawk reared back with surprise. His wrist-blade caught against the mechanoid’s glossia as it snaked out from its open jaws; tearing away the softened metal. Saliva and surprisingly little energon speckled the creature’s face as well as the seeker’s.

A single coil of segmented metal shards whipped around like a vine behind the mech as they sprang forward with a gut-wrenching howl.

“Slag!”

With a string of even worse curses following, Nighthawk backpedaled as quickly as he could. The weight of the beast connected with his chassis, sending him falling flat on his back with a painful thud as his pedes slid out from beneath him.

He was disoriented. It didn’t register immediately that the monster was gnawing on him. Derma clamped hungrily onto his arm as it grappled with his arms to still him.

His spark warbled in protest; feeling a strong pull upward.

Teeth finally pierced armor. Bending and twisting to the will of the monster’s strength as it chewed.

A single cry of alarm escaped the old mech; strained and short. He pulled his legs in to the best of his ability and pushed up. His knees slammed into the beast’s lower abdomen, sending it flipping over him and to the floor just as further segmented metal tendrils reached for his chassis.

“Nighthawk?” a voice chattered over the comms. “I ran the scan like you requested.”

Infiltrator’s words were only background. He was in fight or flight mode.

Panic. Exhilaration. Adrenaline. His energon was rocket fuel and his spark, a pulsating sun about to go supernova.

Rolling forward, Nighthawk twisted around at the waist to fire his handgun at one of the metal vines reaching for him. He squeezed the trigger; sending a few bursts of firepower to the appendage so that it wavered in the air as the creature recoiled in dismay.

“A few spark signatures were actually picked up, but they’re inconsistent.”

He jolted to his pedes; pressing a free servo to the floor to aid him. Another creeping line ensnared him swiftly by the leg to pull him back down.

“The bots that are on this ship...”

A furious snarl roared out of the seeker’s throat. Flipping around, the end of the pistol whacked the former bot in the side of the helm as its cybermetal limb released him.

“… they’re dying, Nighthawk.”

It came down full force; sharply pointed outer rings like teeth ripping into the medic’s side. He gritted his derma to the agony.

“Nighthawk? Do you hear me?”

He tucked his helm in, narrowly missing another tendril from slamming into his faceplate. It skimmed against his forehead. Metal tore away, leaving a bloody trail beneath.

Those sparks weren’t just dying.

They were digesting.

Shrieking, the sparkeater slammed its servo against his faceplate. The bot’s fat digits gripped his face defiantly as it let out a mixture of a purr and a growl. The pressure of its grip gradually biting into metal.

Nighthawk spat energon against the sparkeater’s palm. His arm twisted; linking around the creature as he brought up his handgun.

An explosive bang went off; fragments of metal flying. Another shot. The beast barely flinched. The back of its helm fell way in disarray.

His spark trembled with terror.

Frag. This wasn’t it. This wasn’t how it was going to end.

Pressing a pede to the monster’s cod-piece, he tried pushing himself backwards with his other pede against the floor for leverage. The tip of his weapon pointlessly whacking against the monster’s head as it ran the remains of its glossia against parted lips.

Quivering tentacles raised up from behind it.

“Nighthawk?”

Curving his arm, Nighthawk dug his wrist blade into the corner of the creature’s mouth and pulled. A line drew against its mouth.

The first coiled line sprang forward.

An eclipse of pain followed.

Energon streamed up from the wound. The jagged pieces of the tendril embedded in the seeker’s dark charcoal armor on his side.

Two more bolted forward. One struck Nighthawk in the chassis; digging in. The other went hurtling past him as the medic threw all his weight to his left.

Crunch.

Shards of metal sliced into him like a razor. He bit back a whimper.

The broken coil of metal whizzed around as the duo flopped onto their sides. Speckles of energon went hurtling in every direction from the damaged appendage.

It was directly in his face now. Maw open, letting out a furious gnarl.

Snapping back his shaky arm, Nighthawk dug the end of his wrist blade into the sparkeater’s dead optic.

With a huff, he shoved his pedes against the mechanoid and shoved away. The optic tore. Remnants of wires and optic fluid leaked and stuck over the sharp glistening metal of his blade.

Nauseated. Dizzying. His spark was fluttering with anguish.

Primus, don’t let this lead him into a spark attack.

Bringing up his other arm, Nighthawk discharged the pistol directly into its face. His arm swiped upward; digging his other blade into its wrist.

Finally, the servo clutching his face released. Energon ran into his right optic, obscuring his vision. No better or worst than his visor, now bent to the point of breaking and askew.

A shaky, ragged breath escaped him. He was free.

Nighthawk scampered backwards as fast as he could manage on his pedes and servos. The sparkeater was already recovering fast; swinging all of its limbs around and staring pointedly in his direction.

It began to crawl towards him like the mindless animal it was.

“Boss I’m coming back-”

Pressing a digit to his comm, Nighthawk pressed his backstrut to the wall to aid in pushing himself up.

“Don’t!” he shouted at the top of his voice, spitting energon. “Get the Jaguar off the ship now and ready the missiles.”

A brief, stunned silence.

“But I thought those were for emerg-”

Raising his weapon, Nighthawk laid out a the remains of the firearm into the sparkeater’s faceplate.

“This is an emergency!”

He lurched to the left, narrowly avoiding one of the creeping tentacles.

Dodged to the right as another collided with the wall, Nighthawk kicked the monstrosity’s arm away. Digits bent backward from the impact in what would normally be painful for a living Cybertronian.

Narrowly, he jumped over the creature’s arm and stumbled. A few uneven steps, and he could hear the furious animal beginning to move behind him. Rising to its pedes now sluggishly.

The same, grievous pulling on his spark once again made it sing in distress.

There wasn’t enough room in this accursed vessel to transform into his alt-mode. With a string of profanity, prayers, and promises that no sane person was around to hold against him, Nighthawk took off down the hallway. His pedes clunked and crashed on and past the deceased bodies left on board he had been careful not to disturb before.

It no longer mattered. It was respecting the dead, or surviving.

And he didn’t plan on offlining here, today.

Behind him, the unsettling sound of the footing from the sparkeater followed. Its cry like a banshee in the night; calling him to his doom.

Swerving around a corner, Nighthawk stood his ground. Pedes planted, he bared his fanged derma as he squinted his crimson optics.

This was crazy. But he couldn’t outrun it forever on his bad leg.

The creature turned the corner, lunging.

With a battle cry fitting of a king, the medic swung hard. His blade cleanly began to slice into the torso before becoming lodged; dragging.

As the sparkeater fell to its side, he too was being dragged with it.

He twisted with the fall, pulling his arm sharply back. The blade popped out just before he could lose his balance.

The sparkeater smashed into the floor. It growled, an area of its torso leaking out a toxic stream of chemicals that hissed as they fell to the floor.

Pulsating light from flickering, dying sparks fluctuated beneath the gouging hole.

It reached for him. Almost begging; it’s jaws parted wide and a helpless cry. Partly infuriated, mostly hunger, a color of almost child-like sadness thrown in.

As a single coiling tendril began to rise up, Nighthawk raised his pede and stomped it into the floor with a satisfying crunch.

Another wild scream escaped the beast. Its many numerous limbs flopped and flailed in the air.

But it still refused to quit. Already contorting its frame in unnatural angles, it began to force itself up again.

If the anti-spark of life was real; if Unicron really existed, this had to be his most formidable creation. A god of its own right. Unwilling to yield or die; unable to communicate or think. The only impulse to feed, to hunt, to kill.

The red seeker moved around the deformed shape of humanoid body and tangled limbs. His bad leg dragging him now; throbbing as it seized up.

It wasn’t going to stop.

He wasn’t going to be able to go on like this.

Optics searching every direction through a mangled pair of spectacles and energon, he stumbled forward. One servo against his chassis, he breathed heavily. In and out, in and out.

Just ahead, an escape. The blasted out hole from what appeared to have been a docking area to connect with other vessels.

Thanking whatever Gods or Thirteen may be looking after him, Nighthawk staggered for the point of exit. Sweet, sweet freedom, he could taste it-

Unparalleled agony erupted from him. Energon ruptured forth from his upper chassis, painting the walls and floor. The same brilliant luminous liquid dribbled from his shaking mouth and to the floor as he choked.

He fell to his knees.

Part of one of the gnarled tendrils was poking partially out from his his upper shoulder.

Behind him, a delighted growl.

His pupils dilated small. Numb, he brought up his other arm.

A wail of pain. The edge of his wrist blade cut into himself as well as the appendage as he twisted; trying to dislodge it. The limb writhed inside of him.

It finally snapped from its struggles along the seam that Nighthawk jammed his blade.

Shrieking, it jumped them; landing heavily on his back. The wind knocked out of him, the seeker fell forward with the monster latched on.

You’re not making it out of this one, old chap.

What a mess.

Derma snapped; scrapping against the back of his helm as he struggled. They finally caught against his helm horn; bending the metal inward.

Exhausted. Defeated. He couldn’t get out of his.

What of Infiltrator? He didn’t ask to be on this mission. He’d went willingly; trusting him, staying beside his friend and mentor’s side.

Are you just going to leave him, soldier?

Scattered memories on a playback loop. Filed so orderly, so neatly. Life flashing in a dead man’s eyes.

The monster tried to bite at his neck again and instead managed to sink into the cable he’d wrapped around his shoulder. It gave a muffled noise, thinking it had snagged something useful. It unraveled the line from his shoulder and chewed, hoping for some delectable energon to come spilling forth.

Pieces from the coil stuck in Nighthawk’s shoulder throbbed. Promises he couldn’t keep. Words said that he didn’t mean. Faces he hadn’t seen in a thousand years.

I am not going to die like this.

Armor snapped; shifting and pulling out in various directions. The sparkeater let out a shrill cry as it was thrown off.

Nighthawk’s right wing scrapped against the wall; bending and shredding in areas painfully. He only transformed part of the way before reversing back into bipedal, wincing.

Before he even had the thought of action to move, he was already running. Shoulder slamming into the busted up air-lock, he turned off the gravity of his boots and floated into open space.

A digit went to his comm channel.

“Infiltrator?”

“I’m here, boss.”

“Blow this piece of scrap up.”

“… Roger that, Nighthawk.”

As he gave his command, the seeker was already transforming again. Space debris was sent flying in scattered directions as kibble and sections of armor arranged themselves; knocking away the shards of the Revenge II and Rising Star left in the vast nothingness. Some areas refused to register the transformation sequence; stuck part-way from damages and getting jammed in odd patterns that didn’t quite replicate his usual alt-form appearance.

He’d barely gotten to jettison a mechanometer when coming from a distant position to his left a barrage of missiles began to pummel into different areas of the space shuttle. Some exploded uselessly against areas of the hull that were still in good condition. Others found their mark in some of the fuel tanks that hadn’t been drained and active terminal systems.

The whole ship gradually exploded outward in a hellfire.

Alarms blared distantly. With a sudden gust of turbulence, Nighthawk was sent spiraling out of control into the galaxy.

Was it his imagination, or could he actually hear the pained cry of that demonic entity?

Too disoriented to tell, he reasoned. Even as he began to steady himself out of the endless flips while space junk crashed into him, he found himself debating his own sanity. None of that could have happened. Sparkeater’s were a myth. This whole situation couldn’t be real. The ache of his body, the sensation of the pounding pain in every bleeding wound a dream…

A quiet hum of engines. His sensors picked up on the Jaguar’s approach as he transformed into his bipedal.

Infiltrator had all but had him thud into the vessel when he was on him.

“Nighthawk! Boss- what happened in there? You didn’t even try explaining anything. Look at you-”

The words bounced around in the medic’s audios but he wasn’t truly listening. He sat there, numb, staring at his servos. There was a distinct blur to one of his optics where too much energon had ran into his visionary area. No matter how much he blinked, it wasn’t going away.

He reached up to wipe the back of his servo against it, but that didn’t seem to improve it any. He’d need to rinse his optic out with some sterile liquid.

“Do you have the data capsule still, Infiltrator?” he asked in a dead voice.

“What? Are you even listening to me?” the dragon fumed.

“Well?”

“… Yeah, of course I do, boss.”

“Good,” he muttered, pushing himself shakily to his pedes despite the wyvern’s protests. “We’ve got work to do.”

Was home here, or was it out there? Here felt foreign. The planet recovering and not full of life; a thousand memories of war, a childhood hardly lived. Here tasted like defeat and sadness mixed with endings and beginnings never fully over or fully starting. Here was an unfulfilled dream and false hopes.

But there was no better. There had beauty and adventure, but it was hollow. There had no connections and no secure place to ever rest your head long. There was just as much muddled with loss as it was with triumphs. There had whispered promises and torn them down; ripping them from outstretched fingers the moment you thought you had grasp.

Cybertron was not home. But space neither felt like home.

Staying or going, Novastrike felt no yearning for either conclusion. At the end of the cycle, the only benefactor of each was one held a somewhat reliable source of energon and the other the possibility of a long overdue retribution. These only positives the top of a pamphlet of further ‘good’ qualities as they were filled with bad.

The answer to leave though wasn’t a question. After all, she could never forget and never forgive. The dreams that haunted her at night; the recollections that would be with her forever now in her processor. So much loss. So much more that could come. Yet it was something she felt had to be done.

Guard had always been the biggest supporter of everyone. He was determined to see the qualities in someone that spoke to a goodness in them. Their strengths could be assets; their weaknesses something he would acknowledge and see them through. It didn’t matter what faction you came from; your history, your background, everyone deserved a justified evaluation and a chance. Everyone deserved the right to live and to change and grow; everyone deserved a helping hand and a smile, a shoulder to lean on, someone to listen.

Should it be so baffling that someone so thoughtful was once a Decepticon? There were tales of glory and sacrifice from them; though most believed to be untrue. To think that Megatron had once vowed for peace essentially considered a myth by all standards now...

She twirled a small artifact between her digits as she mused; feeling the channels and cuts scored into metal. With just a glance, the light of her optics caught on the polished silver sphere. A simple yet elegant design had been painstakingly carved into the surface, with a small set of initials on the other side. Dangling from it, a thin flexible strand of silver to attach to her wrist and slip beneath the armor on her arm for safekeeping.

A smile played across her mouth as her thoughts cleared. With a flick of her digit, she popped open the lock on the penny-sized objects hinge.

Inside, a pulsing light show of silver and blue tones danced across the gemstone inside. A single chip hidden beneath it let out a most unusual sound; an enchanting chime of soft music mixed with a darker, richer undertone. It wasn’t something especially special to anyone but her and one other individual, but the tune soothed her when little else did.

There was a long road ahead. A journey that like the voyage that originally took Cybertronians off their home world and into the unknown left them with hope but no tell of success or victory. Things could go a number of ways. For all she knew, they may never return to this place again.

It would all be worth it in the end. She had to assure herself of this.

Closing the locket with a soft ‘click’, Nova slipped it beneath her wrist and up into her armor with a heavy vent. Her helm fell low as she jiggled her dangling legs over the edge of the chasm before her; watching the world and its people pass her by.

Her audios flicked back and she turned her helm sluggishly to look over at the scorpion approaching her. He blinked his many optics at her out of sync as he approached.

“All okay?”

“Yes- fine, just a bit lost in thought I suppose. Why? Something wrong, Scorp?”

Clicking in response, the bug shook its helm from side to side. Its thin prong legs tapped swiftly upon the metal ground underfoot as he approached the remainder of distance to her side.

Upturning her lips into a smile, Novastrike reached out to brush her digits against the dark gold and silver minicon’s side. There were fissures that lined his armor senselessly; without pattern from wounds battle and nicks and dents that were either old or needed repair from careless digging tactics. He otherwise appeared in notably good shape, thanks to Blackout’s devotion to taking care of his small mechanoid friend.

“Checking on you,” he chirped in response.

“Awwww, what, are you worried about me?” Nova cooed, scratching in the space between his the armor surrounding his helm and his body.

A delighted mechanical whirl escaped the bug as he gave a slight shiver in response.

“Second partner,” he confirmed. “Seem distant. Making sure.”

Offering a reassuring smile, the small white-armored femme turned her gaze off to the side.

“She does appear very far away from here,” agreed a rumbling voice; catching Nova off guard as she whipped her helm around.

With arms crossed, the obsidian giant had crept up on her without her realization. Strange how someone so unbelievably large could do such a thing. The sheer force of his weight and presence shouldn’t allow it.

“I hope she doesn’t stray too far,” he went on a bit quieter as he stepped closer. “Though, where she may roam among stars, I would follow.”

Novastrike gave a snort in response. She could feel the burn in her audios as she smirked up at the moron; his softened crimson optics and the slight smile he usually reserved only for her a few others that she could count on one servo.

“We’re going to the same stars together,” she emphasized, trying to play serious.

“You appear to be walking among them already.”

“I’m just… having some alone time with my thoughts.”

“Do you wish for us to go?”

“N-No you’re both quite alright, Blackout,” Nova hurried in response, raising both hands up to him in surrender before dropping them to her lap.

“Hmm,” he grumbled deep in his chassis. “If you’re sure of that. Notwithstanding; you do appear to have walked in starlight and bathed in the presence of the universe’s light.”

“Bet you tell that to all the femmes,” she hissed, squirming in place.

An amused smile in black, Blackout echoed a deep chuckle to himself. He slowly moved to a kneeling position; offering out a servo to each small Cybertronian.

Scorponok was quick to scale up his master’s arm and perch himself awkwardly over his shoulder. With his frame being built more horizontal, he simply lounged himself over the mech with a self satisfied trill. He wasn’t normally up so tall to take in all the views.

Giving a small shake of her helm and a roll of her optics, Nova huffed and carefully climbed up to kneel on her sparkmate’s servo just before he moved to stand at full. She tried not to look too closely at his damned handsome faceplate or the ridiculous warmth and love emitting from his gaze. Stupid mech had a way with making her spark pitter patter and do flips like it was on a carnival ride. A reaction she couldn’t control.

The giant mech gingerly offered her a place upon his shoulder, which she accepted gracefully. Slipping from servo to shoulder, Novastrike dangled her legs off the edge and leaned back as he dropped his arms to his sides.

“I most definitely don’t say that to all the femmes,” he finally replied with a mischievous grin.

“The only reason you’re saying that is because my armor is white,” she laughed quietly.

“Your armor could be as dark as mine and the statement would still be true,” he disagreed matter-of-factly. “You are a good individual. A very compassionate femme who likes to spread her kind spark with anyone she can.”

“Mmmm,” Nova hummed thoughtfully. “You’re sweet, handsome devil.”

She leaned in to press a light kiss to his cheek. Blackout smiled a fraction more; his chassis rumbling with a noise of appreciation.

Something felt… off.

“You didn’t just come here to smother me with sweet words, did you?”

“I… didn’t know you were up here,” Blackout admitted slowly. “I came here hoping for a little quiet time, too.”

“Well, if you need the space…”

“No,” he breathed in quick response. “Stay. Please. I…”

A ray of emotions moved over his faceplate. Conflicted, hopeful, nervous… Novastrike’s audios drooped a little as her tail swished, reaching out to caress the side of his face.

“Hey…”

Leaving was worrying him. She could feel it. Even with their sparkbond closed off for the time being, it was something that had been building within him. She’d seen it, sensed it, watched it morph and evolve. There was a lot on his shoulders.

And leaving his best friend behind again; not knowing when they’d return, what they’d return to, if communications would be able to continue between them while they were in the bowels of space…

Whatever it was Blackout had meant to say, he didn’t finish. He looked over to Scorponok, reaching up to scratch along the side of his helm for a moment.

His other arm reached up a handful of nanokliks later; digit extending to stroke the side of her faceplate. Nova let out a small little ‘huff’, scowling at him a little.

It didn’t seem to prompt a response, but he leaned her a bit closer and kissed the top of her helm.

Venting out sharply, the small femme exhaled as she murmured, “I’m here for you, you know. If you want to talk about it.”

“I know, Novastrike.”

“We’re a team here: don’t forget that.”

Blackout grinned then; a flash of confidence lighting up his optics. “How could I forget?”

Snickering quietly, she placed her palm to his shoulder for support as she leaned back. Her voice soft and gentle as she spoke: “If you don’t want to do this, love, we don’t have to. Guard wouldn’t think any less of you for wanting to stay here, wanting to spend time with Barricade and Venus.”

A frustrated noise escaped Blackout. He raised a servo to place it against his faceplate. Scorponok on his other shoulder chattered with reassurance.

“I know,” he stressed. “But the bots left on the Rising Star, they didn’t have a choice in what happened and what situation they’re in now. They were as much allies and support as Guard had been. I owe them so much for accepting me, for helping repair me, for their kindnesses. Guard wouldn’t let them down, and I won’t either.”

“And Neutroboost,” he snarled the mech’s name like a curse, “Needs to pay for what he’s done.”

“You know, for a mech who likes to say how dark and vile you are, you’re very noble, sweetspark.”

“You say that after I threaten the life of a mech?”

“Well, yes,” Nova stated, perplexed. “Any justice system would say he needs to be punished for his crimes.”

Blackout snorted. “You realize my punishment will be very different from a just punishment, according to many of Cybertronians old laws?”

“Duh. Trust me: I too want to make him bleed.”

“Heh,” Blackout chuckled shortly. “You spend too much time with me.”

A quiet metallic laughter escaped Scorponok. Blackout tossed him a dirty look, but Novastrike felt a fire burning in her chassis. She scoffed loudly and gave her mate’s face a little shove, causing him to look back at her with some surprise.

“Shut,” she threatened in a scathing tone. “You can’t blame yourself for my thoughts or actions. I… offlined a mech when I thought he was going to kill you. I’ve fought my own battles. I’d have offlined a mech for Guard, too. He took me into the Neutrals group and even when Crookedwing and Neutroboost weren’t certain of me; saw me as an expense but at least one who didn’t consume a lot of their resources, Guard saw potential and said that I should train. That there were things he saw in me and knew I could do with my own skills and size that no one else could.”

“In his name and honor, I want to get revenge on his behalf, too,” she seethed. “He didn’t deserve what his own so-called ‘friend’ did to him. They were together in this war before any of us were, and that was how Neutro repaid him? No, I want to see this through, and if that means that my servos get dirty in the process, it’s a risk worth taking. There’s no governing system for Cybertronian. Even if there was; frag them.”

She huffed dramatically at her last point. In a sulking fashion, she threw her arms up, and then crossed them tightly to her chassis as she pouted.

Blackout stayed silent for some time. Slowly, he turned his optics away from her to stare at the horizon. After quite some time of silence, allowing her to cool off, he finally spoke.

“I’m sorry if I seemed insensitive of your feelings.”

“No you didn’t, not really I just… I want to make it clear: I’m doing this just as much for Guard as I am myself. And I understand that this might not be easy, and it certainly won’t be pleasant, squeaky clean work.”

“You know,” Blackout said quietly, “If things get too much for you… I’m willing to stand up and do the hard stuff.”

“Oh please,” she teased, letting out a shaky sigh as her shoulders relaxed, “I’ll be the one finishing off Neutroboost most likely, anyway.”

“Is that so?”

“You bet your firm aft.”

Dark laughter escaped Blackout. He pressed a servo to his chassis a moment, shaking his helm. With a sharp contrasting bright light emitting from his scarlet optics, he tilted his helm slightly towards hers. Novastrike mimicked the gesture as she stood up, placing her forehead against his.

“I love you, and your spunky fireball of sass,” he chuckled.

“And I love you, and your firm aft.”

He raised an optic ridge.

“What? It’s a nice aft.”

“I knew you only liked me for my frame.”

“Oh, shut up,” she hissed, laughing as she shoved at his faceplate while they both laughed.

A quiet, underlying set of notes sung forth from her spark as she snorted on her laughter. Though she couldn’t make it out through their cackling, its matching counterpart echoed in a resonating deep hum in Blackout’s chassis.

It occurred to her that home was neither here nor there. Home was with Blackout; with Blackout, with their friends and their family.

There was nothing here, once. Nil but an emptiness; an inescapable rage, a thirst for revolution. Change was in fact, inevitable.

These lands were barren, once. Eradicated and reborn. Again and again, the variations in time defined so much of the landscape that would return to its past given the chance.

In so little words, they were much of the same.

< But you are not the same as you once were. >

He would grumble, but resisted in the presence of company. Always listening on the edges of thoughts; he should have known Scorponok would have a listening ear to his internal dialogue.

< There is nothing wrong with you, > the bug informed him. A tone of kindness; an affirmation of concern and friendship.

< I am going to forget who I am… Who I was, > he disagreed faintly. An afterthought, more or less.

A chatter of laughter echoed in his thoughts. Not his own.

< No one is going to let you forget yourself, Blackout, > the minicon protested. < You’ve been acting as a leader for practically a year now. It’s not a situation you’re used to. You followed your wish for freedom, only to follow Megatron- >

< Do not speak that name to me, > Blackout sharply cut in.

< - you need a break, > Scorponok continued, < It’s not your state of mind to lead. Well, at least not helping lead an entire population depending on you. Your thoughts have been jumbled. You say you feel lost. Find your way. >

Easier said than done. If the solution was so simple and right in front of his face, he would have taken its grasp by now. Obviously.

With a growing black cloud of petulance, Blackout could feel the retraction of his partner from his mind. A part of him knew what the mechanical scorpion said to be true. Between trying to ‘rescue’ these neutrals in need of a true leader and warrior to guide them and protect them, the work on the transmission tower, the barrage of questions, checking on the upkeep of their workers, taking time for his friends, his sparkmate… He was stressed and overworked. How did Megatron put up with this, when he’d actually put effort into all his work once? And why did anyone or try stealing their way into this position?

Most for the obvious reason: power. They put themselves on the top without raising a digit for their followers.

But these bots had put their trust in him. And, without realizing he had done so, he offered a servo. Now they relied on him.

It was temporary. Thank Primus, it was only temporary.

With a nudge of his thoughts, the former ‘Con could feel his silver and gold platted scorpion’s location. Like a taunt string that attached them; he got a vague but undetermined sense of him. He could make a guess that the small mech was likely within half a hic’s distance of his location.

Before he could get into an internal debate on whether to request the bug return or not, Blackout’s audios could pick up the distinct call of his designation in a familiar voice.

“Blaccckkkoouuutt are you going deaf, mech?!”

Smirking, the obsidian titan turned just enough to see the owner of the voice approaching him.

“I see the medic didn’t take my request to neutralize your vocalizer.”

“If he so much as tried, I would have- well… No, I’m sure Venus would have broken off an arm before I got to react, actually.”

Blackout released a heartily laugh. He could envision that all too well from the fiery hot-pink accented femme. She’d always been a fighter. Plenty of attitude and sass, but when you went to strike at her she hit back twice as hard. She certainly didn’t take slack and wouldn’t accept disrespect.

As the mech approached him, Blackout offered out a servo. The violet-toned mech grinned, clasping his digits with a fierce grip of his own. They each reached out for each other’s shoulder, though, the smaller mech’s landed more upon Blackout’s upper arm.

Blackout grinned, shaking him a little.

“Hey hey- easy I just got out of my appointment.”

“Sorry ‘Cade.”

“S’alright big guy,” the officer stated with a lopsided grin, releasing his grip to brush at his shoulder.

Worry manifested upon Blackout’s appearance. He glanced over Barricade’s frame briefly, looking for any signs of lacerations or places where samples may have been taken. Common sense would have reminded him anything of such a manner would have been taken beneath the dark armor, but it didn’t stop him from checking.

“How’re you feeling?”

Glancing back up to him, the short mech gave a cocky grin. He flexed an arm, his soft purple optics amused.

“Pretty good!” he offered. “Nothing’s changed. The doc, well… It wasn’t my usual- Venus looked like she wanted to rip him apart and I can’t say I don’t blame her. He had quite the attitude but I can’t… resent him for that…”

Traces of pity resounded through Blackout. Although he, too, was in many ways considered a monster, at least he was considered ‘predictable’. Bots still had a harder time trusting a mech with an undiscovered disease that triggered with seemingly no reason.

“So you’re… healthy?” the giant inquired under his breath.

“As healthy as I can be and have been,” Barricade agreed with a nod. “Nothing’s changed for better or worse. They still recommend routine monitoring and my extra quota of energon to keep my hunger from spiraling out of control.”

Blackout frowned a smidgen. He was no medic; no official background in anything of the sort, so he’d have to trust their input on the matter. Not that it seemed to matter. The dormancy of the ailment of dark energon seemed to be of its own doing.

Shifting around, Barricade side-stepped to the titan’s side. He let out a low whistle of appreciation as Blackout turned to join him in looking at the shape behind them.

“Wow, it’s coming along great.”

“It’s done now, actually,” Blackout stated matter-of-factly. “We’re just testing some things; fueling it up, making final preparations.”

“Got plenty of energon?”

“We’re still filling the stock but… I hope so.”

‘Cade gave a nod as he stepped closer; his friend close at heel. They walked past mechs and femmes wandering around, hard at work. Upon approach, the shorter mech reached up to place a servo against the hard metal exterior with a smile.

“The Guardian’s Light, huh?” Barricade glanced to Blackout as he spoke. “You know, I may not have met this mech, but I can tell he was really important to you. I’m sure he’d appreciate the reference in the space vessel’s name, in his honor.”

Embarrassment flourished in the larger mech’s frame. A simple rumble pressurized in his chassis in response; radiating into his throat like a feral dog. His darkened optics moved to the side as he clenched his fist at his side.

He could have saved him. A thousand times, he could have saved him. Done away with Neutroboost, or warned him better, or shown his concerns. Demoted the fool or offlined him. Refused to let the old mech go at things alone; no matter how stubborn he was that he could still hold the universe upon his shoulders.

Guard didn’t have to do that day. He didn’t deserve to.

Snapping his digits, Barricade captured his attention with a jolt and blink of his optics to the mech. He was offering a sad smile of understanding.

“You looking a bit lost in thought there bud, you okay?”

“Fine, ‘Cade… Thank you.”

“You saying thank you? Uh-huh… Everything alright?”

“Yes; fine.”

“This isn’t you being sour about that mech is it uh… what’s his name,” Barricade tapped a digit against his mouth. “Oh- yes uh, Argonut or something stupid? You don’t need to worry about that flirt; I told him off about flirting with all the femmes.”

Casting a placid glance to his friend, Blackout spoke with a little too much curiosity and interest, “What did this mech do, exactly?”

“Oh- slag you didn’t know, did you?”

“I’m waiting,” responded the obsidian mech.

“Scrap well- you don’t need to kick his aft because I already did it mech- so stay chill. He’s just been caught you know, flirting with the ladies. Venus and Novastrike included with several others.”

“Hmmm.”

“Listen it’s fine Blackout, I already let him know his place.”

“You’re just sticking up for him because he probably reminds you of a younger you,” the larger mech responded with ease. His appearance of indifference was not lost on Barricade, who tapped his pede on the floor lightly.

“I mean- maybe-” ‘Cade grunted, appearing frustrated. “But you don’t need to say or do anything. I took care of it. You can trust me and believe me.”

“I do believe you,” Blackout murmured, looking briefly up to the name painted on the side of the lightweight battlecruiser.

It wasn’t an awe-inspiring creation like many other Decepticon vessels had been that Blackout had traveled on, but it was new and whole and functional for their needs. Most of the engineering was top of the line. Her majestic hull was painted in a startling likeness of Guard’s own armor hues; with the lettering on the side a non-metallic low-key gold that could be altered with a keystroke on the command center to try hiding the name for more discretion.

It wasn’t customary to paint spacecrafts, but this was no ordinary craft. She was a means of justice and vengeance.

Blackout glanced to Barricade once more, realizing the mech was staring at him with intent.

“Not holding anymore secrets from me, are ya?”

Blackout groaned in response, placing servo to faceplate. “I wasn’t keeping a secret from you. You knew Novastrike and I were together.”

“You didn’t tell me that you two had bonded for months!” ‘Cade cried out, pouting. “I’m your Amica Endura.”

“Well, you know now,” Blackout muttered, moving his servo to scratch the back of his helm. “It wasn’t something everyone needed to know.”

“So, you’re calling me a gossip.”

“No… although-”

“Ah! No, I see how it is.”

“ Cade,” Blackout stressed, dropping his servo only to reach out to his comrade. “It was… personal. I… I didn’t know if…”

Curiously, the former cop flicked his optics up to meet Blackout’s. There was a struggle in the larger mech’s gaze as he vented sharply, dropping his servo.

“Hey… Blackou-”

Blackout cleared his vocalizer sharply and abruptly, cutting Barricade off as he spoke quickly: “I’ll be sending out a message for Nighthawk in the coming days to let him know we’ll be on our way. I just need confirmation on the record of our crew to make sure everyone’s accounted for background lines up. Will you be okay here?”

A bit stunned, Barricade let out a shocked laugh. “I’ve lived years without you alone Blackout; we’ll be fine. I’ll keep everything and everyone in line here for ya, don’t worry.”

“You’ll stay up to date on your energon?”

“Even if I don’t, Venus will make sure I do.”

Slowly, Blackout turned his optics down to look at his servo.

His position here was temporary.

This travel was temporary.

He felt out of focus. Goals were in mind, but nothing set in stone. Freefalling into the unknown; not sure where to go, what turns would lead him where. The certainty of sure-footing had been gone for years now but it felt like the problems and concerns were piling up.

Dammit, he hated that he cared. This new line of purpose left him exposed and raw. He felt soft. No manner of criticism or reassurance left him feeling any different. Sure, he was still laser-focused, intent on revenge, a walking weapon and more but he had to take a step back more than ever. Every consequence could cost him.

He couldn’t afford to lose anymore. Vulnerable and sickeningly worried on the outcomes.

“You don’t need to worry about us, Blackout, we’re all adults here,” the mech reminded him. “I can take the reigns a bit and help keep the peace.”

“Peace, huh?” Blackout chuckled darkly. “Not really a line of phrase I ever imagined us saying.”

“Heh. Yeah, me neither. What’s that make us, ambassadors?”

“Frag no.”

The duo’s abrupt laughter had some nearby bots hard at work turning to look back quizzically. They’d shrug it off though, steadily going back to their business without further question.

“You better tell me bye the day you go, you ugly fragger.”

“Certainly, ‘Cade. I can’t go without telling my Amica Endura farewell.”

Barricade offered a smile, but it wavered. He blinked his optics rapidly a few times.

“You better come back. I kinda know you weren’t actually dead now all those years I thought you were.”

Blackout grinned; a peering of derma showing. “Oh I’ll come back, alright. Victorious too.”

Pausing to speak with some of the workers, Venus placed a servo against her hip and smiled to herself as she scanned the area only to lay her optics upon Blackout and Barricade. The two idiots, hugging it out in the open where some bots even stopped to stare and gawk.

She jumped a bit as something clicked to her right.

“Oh- Scorponok…”

The bug whirred mischievously, tapping something adjusted on his frame.

“Camera,” he reported. “Used for expeditions. Now blackmail.”

A wicked grin flashed across Venus’ faceplate.

“Oh, you sneaky little scorpion,” she scolded gently. “Send me a copy.”

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

The bewildering noise from the recorder continued to cycle on the last fragments of static. With looks of befuddlement, most of the bots in the room were busily whispering among each other about the meaning of the phenomena. Some others were rummaging for datapad and stylus, and another servoful were busily jotting notes and taking photographic evidence of the spectacle they were studying.

An entirely new world of discovery and research was in their grasp. It mattered little how hungry and tired they were; this was the dawn of a new horizon. A great unknown; a theory not yet proved- until now.

Those working in the deepest hull of the vessel were crossly waiting for their turns to conduct fields of study. Those not well-known in the field of astronomy and astrophysics found the new evidence fascinating, but were pushed towards the work that would require the most time. Shifts were made to the bridge in order to maintain a safe course away from the oddity, others calculating their rations, here and there the most disinterested were working on their own evaluations and courses.

Neither young nor old but a ghost of forgotten memories, Fireline was left to assist where he was called. Sometimes he was aiding in navigation, other times bringing around supplies, sometimes helping with research. The pity in the optics of those who stared at him too long was a reminder to him but of what, his processor couldn’t recall half the time. He tried his best to make them smile and forget their sadness, and usually it worked.

Except with this mech.

He was always looking to him as though searching for something. In the rare spans of time Fireline could vaguely recall this mech to be looking for his offspring; his son, as it were. But he couldn’t put a claw on why he would look to him with this look. Surely he was not this mech’s youngling; they were two different species of Cybertron. Two different builds. Two entirely different… creations.

The mech sighed gently in his direction, a tired smile on his faceplate. He looked perhaps worse than the majority of the ship. His optics dull of life and his reaction speed sluggish and disorientated. Still, the look of enthusiasm and eagerness was somehow permanently etched into his features.

“A pretty spectacular find, don’t you think Fireline?”

The dragon mech tilted his helm to the side. One of his horns stood straight up, whilst the other tilted at an angle. He allowed himself a chirp in response.

Chuckling, the mech reached out to pat the top of his helm. There was a lack of real joy in the tone, however.

“I know this expedition on the Journey was unprepared and unauthorized,” he sighed. “But one day, our findings will make history for Cybertron. A thousand debates and theories, thesis on these and yet we have the time and means to study it.”

That was exciting! Fireline’s tail swished back and forth lightly; stretching out his forelimbs from his frame eagerly. He looked out the thick pane of glass before him to squint at the swirling vortex of light and energy coming forth from the spectral view. Even from inside of the spacecraft, he could feel the pounding hum of its force pushing him back.

“Cybertron will… have a new age… of science,” the dragon mimicked with agreement through his recordings.

“That’s right!” the mech beamed. “And you’ll be included on that submitted essay, St- I mean, Fireline.”

The sad look returned to the mech’s faceplate. The metallic wvyren hummed softly as he nudged his muzzle against the mech’s arm from his vantage point on the windowsill. The softened vermilion-pink of his optics was nothing if not filled with consideration and concern for his friend.

Little to no change appeared on the mech’s expression. He simply stared off at nothing; no vantage or focus to grasp with his gaze.

Fireline gave a little huff as he was ignored, and jostled his wings so they gave a dog-like shake to whack the mech lightly.

Startled, the mech gave a slight jolt. His smile returned, but it clearly didn’t reach the mech’s optics. Exhaling a puff of smoke, the dragonid gave a trill in response to the mech.

As though the mech had to explain to a sparkling, he spoke gently in response, “White holes have always been but a hypothesis and philosophy of study for the curious. But without any definite records or proof, no one could validate them. We’re quite lucky to have come across this phenomena, untouched in the outreaches of space and known starcharts. We just have to be careful not to get too close, least we be crushed.”

“Crushed?” Fireline clipped from the mech’s own speech, tilting his helm.

“Well, yes. Don’t you feel the energy waves coming forth from the vessel?”

Snorting, the beastly silver mech nodded.

“Unlike a black hole, white hole’s do not drag and absorb energy; rather, from theory and from what has notably proven true thus far, they disperse energy. And light; another counterpart to their black hole opposites.”

“Disperse energy… does it- have uses?”

“Hmm,” the mech scratched his chin thoughtfully at the inquiry. “That will take further study to notify, of course. Why? Do you have something in mind?”

Enthusiastically, Fireline nodded his helm. He hopped down from the edge of the window to the floor, circling around. He tapped a clawed appendage to the floor excitedly.

“The… Ship?” The mech muttered quizzically.

“Yes.”

“I… Don’t know. But such limitless energy could prove useful. We are running low on fuel…”

“And energon,” noted the wvyren with yet another voice’s recording.

Downcast, the mech nodded his helm solemnly whilst turning a glance towards the white hole once again. His mouth pulled into a tight line.

“Unfortunately you’re right. Much as I’m sure no one wants to leave this anomaly, we’ll need to have a bit of a council to go search for energon. It’s just a shame we haven’t been able to make contact with anyone…”

“The- Rising Star?”

“Would be a big help right now, yes,” the mech agreed as he turned his optics towards those at work. He smiled to himself.

Fireline wondered what the smile was for. He wondered if the mech met Novastrike for a moment, before reminding himself how little the mech had spent with her. His tail gave a slight ‘thump’ against the floor as it wagged briefly. He missed the cat-femme. She had been a lot of fun to learn from and learn about.

Not so much the scorpion that insisted on teasingly making jabs at him. Or that colossal shadow that was constantly giving him the stink optic.

Who else was there… That femme medic, the sneaky little commander, oh and-

“I guess Guard and the Rising Star are nowhere near this sector,” the mech mused aloud. “Why risk going into unknown territories of space, after all?”

Ah, yes, that’s right. The mech’s name was Guard. He had seemed pleasant. The older gentlemech was almost always smiling despite circumstances. Hunger amongst ranks, disorder, chaos, a touch of space cramped anxiety and space crazies. He seemed positive.

Venting shortly to himself, the mech gave a slight pat against his side. Instantly, Fireline perked his helm up to look at the mech.

“Come on, Fireline. We should go see about talking to some of those on break about calling a little meeting sometime about where to search for energon first.”

He gave a little nod in response. “Refuel while we’re… out?” he suggested.

“Maybe,” the mech agreed in that fatigued voice; his voice cracking. “Maybe.”

The dragon’s helm-horns drooped uncertainly. Everyone was so worn these days. He wished he could be of more help. Everyone working themselves until they were drained on their research, or simply growing weary and unsettled.

They might be scientists, but they were too involved in their work and not enough on their own health.

Like a good assistant, he moved to fall in line without complaint however by the mech’s side. His claws scrapped the floor quietly as they moved out of the room. He passed a look around those at work and the too-bright spherical like figure out of the window before sliding out the door after the mech.

Maybe if they left this system, they’d come in contact with the Rising Star again! Then he could see Novastrike, and the crew would be happy again to have some contact. He could go  running down the hallways and bots would be sharing energon, laughing and exchanging news. It would be some much needed relaxation and joy.

Outside the window, a blot of darkness zipped by unnoticed in front of the white hole. A bufted shiver raced over the Journey, to the unnoticed crew grown used to the tremors that came from being in proximity of the white hole.

For all the terrible sappy fairytales the Cybertronian media had produced before the war, you’d think they’d use a realistic approach to how feelings worked. For instance: love didn’t come easy. It wasn’t dropped in your lap like a present. It wasn’t a single kiss that left the world in a slow-mo reel that made you feel whole. Sometimes you felt lost in your emotions; too lost to feel anything good about the individual you thought you loved.

Love was loyalty. It was commitment. It was dependability; respect, and the ability to forgive. It was going through the bad times together. It was looking for the light and beauty in each other, even when they felt like a foreigner at times.

She had witnessed love. She’d thought to have found love in all the wrong places. She’d lost love, identified infatuations for love, and made others love her. It wasn’t all too surprising that her name was associated beauty and romance. She had enough to snare even the most cold and unruly of their kind with enough time and cunning.

But this love… this kind of love felt like it was real. Alarmingly beautiful. A turbulent mess of highs and lows. Dangerous yet secure.

She wondered what her carrier would think of this mech as she watched him. A stubborn, witty, flirtacious mech like him whom had a thousand different stories that you couldn’t tell which were true and which were lies. But she knew.

A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. She knew the softness beneath the hot-head, the playful gestures under the sarcasm. The honest answers to the questions of where the scars on his blackened charcoal armor came from and the throbbing hum of his spark. He was certainly a mech of many tricks and legends, but he was more than what others played him to be.

Even as he looked to her now with uncertainty in his violet regard, there was turmoil. The definitions of his shoulders were a stiff hard line and his face a stoic composure. She felt a throbbing pity in her spark seeing him so unsure of himself. The medic, it seemed, didn’t even notice the cues of his unease as he looked over his notes and continued studying his tests.

Tubes and wires plastered on various areas of armor and beneath plating drooped to the floor and connected to various machines. The readings were almost incomprehensible. Thank the Primes for doctors and their ludicrous pedigrees and paperwork. Field medical work was messy and on-the-spot fixes, but Venus’ patchwork had nothing compared to these bots.

For the first in a surprising joor of silence, the anxious mech spoke up: “So, doc, are you going to fill me in on anything or am I supposed to sit here all day?”

“These kind of things take time,” the medic breezily responded without so much as a glance up from his datapad. “Let the machines do their work.”

Clearing her vocalizer, Venus spoke up in a soft-spoken and utterly too sweet voice, “May I go over beside Barricade for moral support…?”

The medical officer looked up. He wasn’t the usual physician they went to see in the ward, but he had been the only one available at the time. Sadly, unlike the mech ‘Cade usually saw, this one wasn’t so flexible in his ideals and not so easily charmed by a pretty faceplate and gentle smile.

“You’re lucky to be in the room,” the mech snapped irritably. “Under normal circumstances, no relatives or friends of a mech in his condition would be allowed anywhere near here.”

An instant sourness crossed Venus’ expression. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The medic looked over to her with a half-bowed head. His optics were a look of knowing. His face said he didn’t care.

Raising his servo, Barricade spoke in a soothing tone in her direction, “Babe, he’s just looking out for everyone’s safety. I just wanna get this over with as quickly as possible.”

“You’re only agreeing with him because you think the same way.”

“Venus, sweetspark...”

She crossed her arms in front of her chassis, waiting for him to finish. To Barricade’s credit, he chose not to. Instead, his shoulders sagged and he merely pouted in her direction for a nanoklik. His helm slowly dropped, though his gaze would still glimpse to her hopefully.

He wanted her to fear him. Venus couldn’t understand it; not fully anyway. They’d come so far; as trainees in the academy, as friends, as enemies, and as lovers. He never made it easy for her just as she’d never made it easy for him. She wasn’t an easy femme to win over with flaunting good showy looks and a charming smile. She wasn’t swayed by pretty words. She’d learned her lesson time and time again.

Caring for Barricade had been one of the hardest learning curves she’d allowed herself to go through. All the arguing, the backstabbing that had tore them apart as friends. Reconnecting in the most unexpected ways and the gentleness; the thoughtful nature, the fury and wrath he presented to anyone who tried playing her like a tool again.

He cared when so few had even tried.

Slag, Venus had even learned to love the darkness that plagued him. The reality that physically made him lose himself. The reason they were even here, in this stupid office, hoping for good news.

Her fist tightened on her lap. Digits trembled with anger and sorrow.

“Have you been getting enough fuel and energon?”

“Y-Yes, more than the rationed supplies as put in my usual medical treatment giver. As per diagnosed.”

“Any signs of intense hunger, thirst, violent thoughts or feelings towards others?”

“No.”

“Any signs of...”

Venus had to resist the urge to stand up and slap the mech as he hesitated. He made a gesture with his servos against his face like he was growing fangs or something as he opened his mouth.

She’d sock the stupid, thoughtless aft in that ugly maw if he didn’t quit soon.

“No, sir,” vented ‘Cade in a weary tone.

“Hmm. Right. Any other history I should know about? Family, past, work, sexual partners...”

“Oh for frag’s sake,” Venus growled furiously, throwing her arms up.

The doctor shot her an annoyed look, which she returned in kind.

“No, doc. Unless not everything’s in my file with the uh, therapy session...”

“Huh,” the medic mused.

Venus had to grate her derma to keep from barking obscenities at the mech. He seemed so completely oblivious to how his attitude and questions came across to his patients. The insensitivity, the mechanical droid-like actions he took and said without thinking. It was infuriating! He treated Barricade more like a broken chair than a living bot!

“I’ll speak to your usual over the results later, but from all indications here, I’ll put in a word of agreement. It seems that, in theory, your condition is in dormancy.”

“How can that be possible?” Barricade muttered, clearly perplexed.

Ignoring the nasty glance the doctor gave her, Venus pushed herself out of the seat she’d taken residence and stepped over. Her servos reached out confidently, gently cupping his faceplate.

“Because you are a strong, kickaft mech who refused to give up.”

The former Decepticon officer gave a hint of a smile. It warmed her spark, but not as much as the slit shift of his face as he kissed her palm. Such a simple gesture, such a way it made her spark flutter.

“I only fought as hard as my biggest supporter fought for me,” he tenderly responded.

Unacknowledged, the medic stared at the two with a look of disgust. He gruffly made a noise in his vocalizer box as he shifted in place, looking down at his notes.

“Yes well, we can’t be sure if you’ll have any relapses. That said: it appears that whatever happened the day we had dark-energon infused zombies rising from the dead, it seems to have just… gone,” the mech looked up as he continued, “Whatever Shockwave did to infect you, it’s still present in your spark. You’re still most likely contagious, but the disease that inflicted you is just… unresponsive to tests.”

Frowning deeply, Venus placed a servo against her hip and dropped the other to her side. Her mouth was drawn in a firm line as she eyed the medic behind half-closed fuchsia optics.

“You could just say it: you don’t have any fragging clue what’s going on, but you don’t think he’s going to try draining you of fluids so you’re not leaking yourself-”

“Venus!” Barricade hissed.

“-like the piss sparkling you are.”

A vain little grin appeared on the mech’s face as he looked to her. His optic twitched slightly. Venus could only smile smugly in response to the clear irritation the mech was going through. How unfortunate and tragic for him.

Tight-lipped, the doctor finally responded: “In so many polite words, miss, you’re technically correct. We simply don’t have the answers. There’s never been a studied nor reported case like Barricade’s.”

“A half-living half-undead Cybertronian, unable to functionally predict his outbursts of hunger and contain himself, is simply untested and undocumented,” he went on. “He has a walking pathogen in him. We don’t know what it could do, when it will activate. However, from our studies, even when he goes hungry Barricade no longer seems to undergo the transformation to… well, you’ve seen it.”

Impatiently, the ebony-pink femme tapped her pede against the floor.

“Therefore,” the medic testily continued, “We have no conclusive evidence as to why he’s behaving more rationally. We can only continue to prescribe consistency, and keep our optics on him.”

Exhaling slowly to calm herself, Venus leaned in towards the medic. He looked behind himself as he leaned away, giving her a look of doubt and alarm.

Venus took a great deal of pleasure out of his lapse of anxiety. It was even funnier, considering the mech was at least a good two or three feet taller than her.

“Thanks for your insight, doc,” she breathed venomously. “Now if we’re done here, maybe you can take all this crap off my spark’s desire and keep your judgment to yourself, hmm? I thought medic’s were supposed to be unbiased.”

As she spoke, the femme offered her most tantalizing smile. A glimpse of derma and a raised optic ridge to go with it. She slid her arm across the distance to casually, almost seductively caress the side of the medic’s arm.

“I wonder how good a medic is without their servos...”

“F-Femme,” the medic stuttered, taking a step back. “I’m w-warning you-”

“Venus,” Barricade pleaded gently, reaching out for her arm.

Satisfied as it was with the mech’s response, she took a step back from the cowardly physician. Venus’ servo instantly reached out to find ‘Cade’s, offering a reassuring squeeze as palm met palm and digits loosely intertwined.

The medic glowered at her for a brief moment as he straightened himself. With a look of superiority in his gaze, he stepped around the operating table to Barricade’s backside to begin removing monitor cables.

The femme tore her optics off the snotty medic to her beloved to see the accusing look he was aiming towards her. Slightly hurt, Venus pouted just a smidgen and watched the upturn ‘Cade resisted in the corners of her mouth.

Peeling off the last of the cables as he walked around, the medic gave a flick of his wrist towards the door. “You’re free to go, we’ll be seeing you in another mega-cycle.”

“Hopefully not you,” Venus muttered.

“Sure,” Barricade vaguely answered, dropping onto his pedes. His digits squeezed against Venus’ softly as he turned for the door.

Venus allowed herself to be escorted out of the medic’s ward by her mate. Her optics sweeping from side to side; a survival instinct not quite grown out of. Nor was her constant surprise at just how many bots had come to this little refuge. It had already been a surprising size of neutrals when they’d first come here, and ever since the transmission tower had been built, it was a bustling and flourishing underground labyrinth of a city.

They’d decided to keep the majority of their factionless organization where it was safest; in the crust of Cybertron. Although they had to compete and beat back some of the beast’s that had thrived longer in the planet, it was a better bet than the surface in some qualities.

No other groups could determine the size of their utopia from above solely. Groups of warriors were often patrolling the area and the skies to keep the tower secure from any bandits or air strikes. There was still a regular threat from any bots, neutral or otherwise, trying to take advantage of the resources that the countless joining groups and companies brought into their ‘city’.

The place was busy no matter what direction she looked. It was almost like being back in the heat of the war again yet it wasn’t. Bots tended to be friendlier, usually. Maybe not the war then; maybe more like the academy she’d gotten training in before the Bot/Con war.

As they came to a halt outside the entrance to the underground city, Barricade reached around her. His servo skirted against her hips and down her lower back to rest against her lovehandles. As she looked to his face, she caught him staring at her with a stupid fondness on his face.

She felt a warm radiation of heat move from her neck into her face. The hue of pink in her optics brightened as her pulse quickened.

“You lost your cool a bit back there, huh hot-head?” he teased gently.

“Oh- well-” she fumbled, now feeling irritation latch onto her thoughts. “Look maybe if he acted like an actual medic and less like some stupid wimpy slagger, too scared to evaluate you-”

“I know, babe… But he has a right to be scared. A lot of bots saw what I did that day; what I’d become…”

“That doesn’t give him an excuse,” she disagreed with a shake of her head. “It’s his job. He should act more professional.”

Venting heavily, the dark armor toned mech shook his helm. He reached out with his other servo, placing it very carefully upon her waist. The sullen look in his faceplate pulled terribly at her spark.

“I know you aren’t scared of me, Venus, but they are. They don’t understand it any better than I do. It’s unpredictable.”

“You’ve been fine for nearly a year now,” the femme pointed out. “With all the exams and remedies and medicine they hand out to you- ‘Cade, you’ve done nothing but beg for forgiveness since that day. You’ve been complacent to the way they treat you and you shouldn’t be. By the Thirteen, you’ve allowed the curious to play with you like a ragdoll for months so they can see what makes you tick.”

He only gave her an infuriating shrug in response. “If it solves the problem, or can make it easier on anyone else ever fed dark energon, I can live with it.”

Venus narrowed her optics slightly. Of all the things for the mech to say…

She shoved him away. His optics widened as she turned slightly away from him, huffing.

“I miss when you were more selfish,” she growled to herself.

Behind her, the femme could hear the shuffle of Barricade’s pedes as he moved in close again. One arm wrapped around her waist again; his servo resting over her chassis as he slid his helm against her shoulder, beside her face.

“What if I told you I was being selfish?” he breathed.

She snorted with disbelief in response.

“If they ever find a cure for this, my goddess, I know the very first thing I want to do...”

Emitting a sigh, Venus glanced to his faceplate. “And what’s that?”

Triumph blazed in ‘Cade’s twinkling surveying gaze. He leaned in to kiss her cheek swiftly as he beamed a brilliant grin.

“I’m going to make you mine.”

“I’m already yours, you possessive aft,” she laughed, unable to help herself.

“Nuuu-uh,” Barricade crowed in answer, his digits swirling over her chassis lightly.

She jerked an elbow back into his side, resulting in a soft ‘oof’.

“That’s not how you ask someone to be your sparkmate you dolt,” she chided gently, leaning over to kiss the side of his neck.

“Oh come on, I already asked you once before!”

“And I said no.”

“You said yes!”

“The third time you asked.”

“Yes- and it had been a romantic, extravagant, sentimental gesture-”

“The first time it had been,” the femme taunted, “Aren’t you supposed to be a charming womanizer mech? Charm me.”

Relenting, ‘Cade let out a disgruntled ‘hmph’. He nestled his face alongside Venus’ neck as he pulled her closer to himself. A bit taken aback, the femme glanced around. She made awkward optic contact with a few busy bees wandering around off to the right that managed to spot them. They hurriedly looked away and went about their work.

“‘Cade I was kidd-”

“You are a goddess in fact, gorgeous,” Barricade cut in softly. “However, no matter how beautiful and ethereal you may appear, I could have fallen in love with you without optics. It takes a fool not to see the beauty in every part of you.”

Heat thrummed in Venus’ quivering spark as Barricade released her. She stood, a bit dumbfounded for a moment, before he reached out to aid in turning her around. She knew she was gaping a bit at him, but couldn’t seem to stop herself from doing so.

Primus don’t let anyone ogle at them. She wasn’t fond of onlookers.

“You put so many of my needs first, and I appreciate that,” he said with strength and determination in his voice. “If it wasn’t for you, I don’t know if I’d ever have gotten free of Shockwave… I…”

Quirking a smile, she reached out to place a digit against his mouth.

“I love you too”

A softness entered Barricade’s already warm, affectionate purple regard. He kissed her digit lightly.

“You’ve no idea how much I do,” he indicated boldly. “And I’ll prove it.”

“You already do- I was kidding on the whole woeing thing,” she remarked, “Trust me, you’ve got that down pretty good.”

“Oh, do I?~”

“Don’t flatter yourself too much,” she giggled, bumping her hip against his gently.

A warm chuckle followed from Barricade. His optics mostly closed, digits tightening against her side. The small things. Small things like this, the way she could so easily find her place in the world and fall in love all over again. Fall in love with his smile, his caring, his endurance to his beliefs.

As his laughter died away, the mech wondered offhandedly aloud, “I do wonder, however, what has brought on the change in my...”

“Don’t question it; just be grateful,” Venus hurringly interjected. No need to jinx a good thing.

Watching the question still play out on the mech’s features, the stunning femme pulled free of her betrothed’s grasp. He watched her with a look of puzzlement as she indicated with a curl of her digit for him to come with her.

“Come on, darling. We should hurry along. Blackout did say he wanted to see you after that examination, remember?”

“Oh- drat, you’re right. I’ll just blame you,” he laughed. “Distracting me with your own charm.”

“Mmmhm,” Venus hummed, shaking her helm with a suspicious glance. “I’m sure Blackout will definitely believe that. And not that you were getting too handsy.”

“Well, not if you don’t tell him.”

Venus flashed him a kittenish grin as she winked.

A hunter should never corner it’s prey, least it turn and retaliate. It was a nugget of wisdom that should be common sense; however, very few Decepticons seemed to live by it. Nighthawk found it hard to judge them for that. After all, once upon a time, he had thought himself to be a cunning young mech and jumped rashly into action without thinking through the consequences of his actions.

Energy is wasted on the youth. Ha! Only the most apathetic spoke in such ways. He was an old mech now and still found the energy to put forth his knowledge in the best ways he knew. Energy be damned, he’d find it or make it, one way or another.

With a brash grin rarely seen on his face the least few years of the war, the medical officer steered the Jaguar One carefully around the lone floating structure. Every reading gave off a distinct lack of life form signatures. There was no ping in reaction to his own to access the vessel; no sign of weapons coming online or defense systems reacting to his presence. Left on it’s own and now a floating ghost town in the middle of nowhere.

To his left, Nighthawk could feel the exhaling warm breath upon his arm whilst he clutched the controls. Beneath a placid expression void of expression, he felt an internal rush of comfort. The seeker released controls with one servo just long enough to put a supportive touch against his ally’s shoulder without sparring a glance.

There was an appreciative echo in the throat of the mech to his side. Only then did he allow a glimpse away from the Revenge II. The dragon’s gaze upon him appeared mildly concerned and partly inquisitive.

Nighthawk gave a single nod to the metallic wyvern. It returned the gesture with a glint of understanding within it’s red optics.

Grasping the steering module once more, Nighthawk moved his craft into closer proximity of the former Decepticon ship. The shuttle appeared worse than he imagined now that he got a good look at it. He’d spotted it at a safe distance for quite some time now; trailing and always tracking a safe distance behind the Rising Star. He had fallen back when they’d become suspicious and sent out parties from the starship, and now it seemed they decided to drop their cargo behind.

Clearly this Neutroboost wasn’t the most intelligent of mechs. Nighthawk scoffed softly to himself. If he’d been outrunning the law, he wouldn’t have bothered to lug it around this long, anyway. Too much dead weight. Not to mention the prisoners he was technically hold onto. It would only be a matter of time before someone likely turned to bite the servo that fed it. Or, in their case, likely was hardly caring for them at all.

It was going to be an enormous pleasure to connect fist to faceplate with that detestable creature. True he may only know what information had been provided to him during the time spent with Blackout and Novastrike, but he sounded disgustingly similar to another well-known Decepticon traitor. Backstabbing his superior officer, twisting truths and lies, succumbing to a darkness in his soul to turn on every servo offered to him.

That and perhaps he’d found a little too much to like about that femme. She was a soft and considerate curiosity in a world of darkness. She’d gained favor the first day he’d spotted her, on his own hunt. An Autobot helping a Decepticon. Novastrike was easy to listen to and believe.

How bizarre his world had become since those days.

Wreckage drifted in every direction around the Jaguar One as he piloted slowly towards the Revenge II. Soft bursts of his thrusters maneuvered him through debris with care. On the off chance the idiot decided to leave any mines or explosives setting among the ruin, he didn’t wish to be added to the causalities left behind.

The lowered docking hatch had been left wide open for him. Suspicious. Tentatively, he glided his ship into the behemoth with caution.

Drawing in a sharp breath, the dragon spoke quietly: “Do you think it’s safe to go in, boss?”

“I haven’t a clue,” Nighthawk answered honestly. “We have a good vapor trail still to follow the Rising Star; too far for a solid signature but we know a direction to follow. We can allow ourselves a moment of study. There is an off-chance they left something here we could make use of.”

The dragon snorted, his helm-horns tilting just slightly back.

Nighthawk raised an optic ridge as he tiled his helm towards his apprentice. “You disagree?”

“I’m just worried we’re walking straight into a trap, Nighthawk.”

A quiet chuckle emerged from the seeker. It sounded a bit rusty and ill-used, but light-sparked.

“I’m not going to let an opportunity to gather intelligence or supplies stop me, Infiltrator, you know that. I’ve been doing this for years. I think I can manage.”

As he spoke, the medic leaned smugly back in his chair and laced his digits in front of his chassis. His chin was raised and a light flickered behind his softened purple visor as he smiled. There was a sense of calm and pride that was undeniable in his tone that echoed in his thoughts.

With a look of doubt forming in a small frown on the corner of Infiltrator’s maw, he turned to trot for the back of the Jaguar One. To himself, he hissed a few words that Nighthawk suspected he wasn’t meant to hear.

“Don’t get too proud, boss.”

He thought to counter, but left it be. A ventilated sigh escaped the mech as he moved a servo to his forehead for a moment. Infiltrator had always been a true friend; always concerned about his well-being. He seemed a bit more on edge for his well-being ever since their run in with Lord Megatron on planet Earth. Every time he limped or stumbled, the dragon was there against his leg like a support. Every decision he made that felt a little too-quickly devised, there was a color of uncertainty on the dragon’s expression.

So he hadn’t been utilizing his hunter instincts for a few years. One didn’t just lose that sort of instinct and training.

Maybe you’re just trying to relive your glory days, his thoughts chided at himself.

Nighthawk mentally waved off the thought. He didn’t have time or room to doubt himself. Hesitation lead to mistakes. He couldn’t afford mistakes.

He climbed out of his chair and went to fetch a few precautions; a set of frag grenades and some fusion grenades to his arsenal tranquilizer darts and surgical precision wrist blades. With a shrug, he decided to grab a neutron assault rifle he’d traded for and stored for emergency use as well. If there was anything on board or anyone, he probably wouldn’t be needing any other weapons or sniper utilities. A quick escape to his ship would suffice.

Armed and ready, Nighthawk strode out to meet Infiltrator; activating the magnetic false gravity in his pedes as he did. The dragon had already made quick work to secure the area; pads light on the floor as he moved swiftly to and fro the room in search for evidence of any traps. The moment Nighthawk stepped out, he gave pause to turn his helm around and nodded.

They progressed the Revenge II slowly. Each hall checked and scanned for snares and hidden ambushes. As they walked, his scanners on and glimpsing around every corner and checking every seam where metal fused and bolted to metal, Nighthawk took notes and captures images of the condition of the ship for reference. The further in they moved, the more signs of battle there were to be found from the inside just as there had been on the out.

Dried energon splatters flecked and blotted from ceiling to wall to floor. Missing sections of the ship’s walls; sometimes deep enough to lead to the exterior where you could see the distance stars. Scorch marks here. Slices in the walls there. A nearly faded but still functionally noticeable scent of tarnish, oxidization, and decayed lifeforms.

Poking his head into the next room, Infiltrator spoke loudly: “This one’s empty too.”

“Let’s check it for anything, just to be safe,” Nighthawk muttered.

Stepping inside, Nighthawk skimmed their surroundings. It appeared to be a former recharge area where a lot of bots had bunked together. Instead of berths, they had recharge chambers that stood vertical at a sixty degree angle. Efficient for stuffing as many bots as possible in one area.

Stepping to the closest one, Nighthawk scanned it for signs of life. When the results came back negative, he went to skim his digits lightly around the chamber. Nothing of interest.

“Uh… boss?”

The nervous chirp of Infiltrator’s voice had him raising his helm.

The dragon’s trail was whipping nervously behind him. In one of the chambers, a clearly offlined specimen was stuffed inside. Locked behind the door, their mouth hung slack open and their posture half crumpled.

Knees creaking, Nighthawk moved to stand and brush himself off, wincing.

“What is it? He looks offline to me.”

“Yeah but- don’t you find it a bit off-putting? The mech’s just been shoved in there.”

“Hmm… I suppose… We can always investigate if it would put your processor at ease-”

“Nighthawk,” Infiltrator said quietly, “I think he was pushed in there after he was offlined.”

“What difference would that make?” droned the older mech somewhat tiredly as he approached. From a look around the pod, indications would suggest that there wasn’t a struggle in or outside of the chamber. No scratch marks for escape, no energon, no weapons or flaked armor or rust or scuffs on the floor.

“Who would take the time to put someone in a recharge chamber when they’re offline?” Infiltrator inquired, his voice both uneasy and curious.

“I don’t know,” Nighthawk vented. “Maybe someone was honoring this particular mech. Who am I to say.”

“Do you think we should-”

Before Infiltrator could grasp the external door latch, Nighthawk’s servo shot out to grab his clawed pad. The dragon froze, turning his helm up to him.

“Leave them be.”

“You don’t think we should-”

“I don’t want to chance a rigged chamber,” Nighthawk said quietly. “We can’t see behind the mech. There could be an attachment to the door to some device behind them. Let’s just leave the offlined to rest. We can’t do anything for them, anyway.”

There was something sparkbreaking about seeing the look of hurt in Infiltrator’s haunted regard. He was still young and spry in some ways. Wandering into unknown territory to follow his inquisitive side and satisfy his mind. Trying to fix what was long since too broken to be fixed any longer.

I was just as foolish, once.

No. He wouldn’t allow himself to stew in sorrow and self-pity right now. You simply couldn’t save everyone. And you certainly couldn’t bring the dead back to life.

With reluctance, Infiltrator nodded and moved to follow him in inspecting the remainder of the room. Other than the one oddly placed mech in a recharge chamber, the room was otherwise empty. No secretly placed weapons, no discrete datapads, nothing.

They left the room in peace, and the offlined to their eternal slumber.

Much further in the depths of the ship; in a larger passageway big enough to fit a Predacon, they came across a war zone.

“What do you think happened here?” Infiltrator asked with awe and wonder. The amazement turned quickly to a cringed horror as he mistakenly slipped into a crater in the floor; not looking to where he’d been placing his pedes.

Nighthawk said nothing. Analyzing the room, he let his gut do the talking. A larger extensive fight. The warped floor where Infiltrator had nearly tripped in caused by a tremendous weight- looking around, he decided it was likely from the rather massive mech or from a weapon that had went missing. Another massive indention in the floor appeared too weak to sustain weight if they tried walking on it. That was definitely caused by a weapon; the pattern it left too destructive, too wide-spread.

A dented wall.

Shattered pieces of metal everywhere. Unrecognizable if it was from the floor, the walls, or the lusterless gray forms twisted and mangled on the floor. Half smelted and hardened metal as far as the optic could see.

His senses were overloaded with the smell of bad energon. It was everywhere. The entire area had a dull bluish sheen.

Stepping around the turmoil and chaos, Nighthawk’s optics were drawn to what little color there still was. Armor that had been ripped free of corpses before their demise. He bent at the knee, reaching down to brush aside an energon-splattered red section to pick up a small, insignificant shard of white. His digits turned it over in his servo carefully.

To his right, Infiltrator stiffly walked over to join him. Utterly silent; even the mech’s ventilation system was temporarily shutdown to avoid inhaling too much of the odor from the foul area.

“Boss?” the assistant swallowed dryly.

“Novastrike’s,” Nighthawk stated flatly, clutching the metal in his fist.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. It matches the structure of her armor and it’s metal alloys. I can tell by touch. And according to the curvature, I’d say it was likely a section from the armor on her arm.”

The wyvern remained silent as Nighthawk went to subspace the piece of metal. He pushed himself to stand despite his aching knee joint and continued walking slowly down the corridor.

The massacre only grew more unspeakable and violent as they went. Hard to identify what belonged to who. Nighthawk could easily identify this hurricane, however. It was maddeningly obvious. This was Blackout’s work. A frenzy of savagery and violence; a wake of destruction and mayhem.

He had made it a mission to tear apart everything in his path, no matter the cost. It was cold and disturbing; the work of a bloodthirsty killer.

Nighthawk felt nothing. Not a sense of remorse, not a shred of humility or fear. No regret or pity. He felt nothing at all.

They made their way to the upper deck which served as a partial observatory almost; a ridiculously high ceiling and every square inch from top to side to side all panned with thick glass. A control center was square center in the room, with various terminals branching off around the entire area. Worker bots probably once slaved away in the room, following commands that only lead to the downfall of their kind. Recklessly throwing themselves in harms way, following the orders of insane individuals.

Nighthawk curled his lip and sniffed rudely. To the Pit with all of them.

A walk around the room revealed about as much as any other room they’d bothered with. Nothing had been left behind that could come of use. Infiltrator had insisted upon trying to dismantle and take parts from the command modules, but Nighthawk turned him down. It was a waste of time. Besides, there was no telling what might still be bugged and logged in the system. Best not chance it.

“See about taking a spare data capsule and extracting what you can from the system. Logs, updates, who worked here; anything old or new. But make sure it’s empty. We don’t need to lose information because someone left fail safes to keep thieves out.”

“I’ll get on it, boss.”

While his subordinate got to work, Nighthawk stepped just outside to study the area further. He documented some photography of the area, noting a rather large pede step made by someone who I made tracks through energon. It didn’t appear to be Blackout’s but had the same stature of someone largely built.

A ping to his private comm signal had his posture straightening halfway through as he busily snapped off a couple pictures.

“What is it, Infiltrator?”

“It’s done boss- but I thought to let you know, there’s some footage I’ve got on here too. And it seems pretty recent.”

“Excellent. I’m coming back. Let’s see if we can’t access them via the command module first before we check the rest of the ship.”

“Roger.”

He pivoted on heel and made his way back down the hall towards the bridge. Mentally, he made note of the direction the track pattern had been heading in for future reference. There was plenty of ship to explore, but his instinct was telling him to follow where those prints lead.

Nighthawk entered the control room with a stride of purpose as he approached Infiltrator and his rigging up to the commander’s terminal. He gave a grim look up to his mentor, before turning back to his datapad and tapping his clawtips across a few keystrokes.

They looked up as a screen blimped into existence before them. The quality of the imagery was sharp. Not a bad security system. There were bots walking around inmass, hard at work it seemed.

“When was this taken?” the seeker mused.

“A few thousand deca-cycles ago. Here, let me speed through these logs looking for anything more recent.”

“Try a camera in the main hall while you’re at it.”

“Right.”

Images flashed faster than the processor could configure. Nighthawk watched with interest, folding his arms in front of his chassis. He resisted the urge to lean against the console for his bad leg as he waited.

“Stop. Stop! Stop- there.”

Frantically pressing buttons, Infiltrator paused the footage and hit playback as he looked up.

Both mechs grimaced.

“By the Primes, Blackout.”

“I don’t know whether I should be grateful or upset there’s no audio,” Nighthawk muttered. “It could be useful to hear for anything else we find but in this case...”

“I’d like to keep my audios from breaking from the cannon fire,” Infiltrator disagreed in a whisper, skimming through the logs prior and after the encounter.

As the screen skipped along various time frames, Nighthawk caught a glimpse of a towering shape between glimpses of the feed. They had to be around Blackout’s height; maybe less. He tried to make out a definition of their pede’s shape and dimensions, but it was difficult with the film moving so swiftly.

He opened his mouth to ask Infiltrator to go back as the screen extended into a lengthy stretch of nothing but watching the dead bodies and some fuzziness, when another figure appeared.

“This is a few cycles ago,” Infiltrator piped up, frowning deeply.

With screen paused, the twosome leaned into the holographic screen. The mech had a shady appearance about them; shifty dark blue optics, a sneaky posture and sly grin.

“What’s he carrying?”

Terror and understanding slowly crept into Nighthawk’s faceplate.

“We have to get off this ship,” he hoarsely choked. “Now.”

“Boss bot? What is it-?”

A horrific bone-chilling screech echoed down the hallway in response. Nighthawk’s energon went cold as he exchanged a look with his apprentice.

His wrist blades extended with a flick as he gave a firm nod down at the wvyren.

“Take the data collector and whatever else you have, and make for the ship. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Nighthawk, I don’t like-”

Victory is sweet; or so they say. It was a bit more bitter to some. Less refined; a fight that left with the sharp aftertaste of death stuck on your glossia and the smell of rust. Victory was a dirty business. Servos were hardly left clean. Thoughts often left tainted.

They spoke of how he lost his mind but they knew so little of the circumstance. He was doing them a favor. Did none of them remember the war any longer? A constant state of strife; the look of their friends as the light died from their optics and the sound of their spark a resonating echo in the back of a tormented mind. All you could do was stare down at their once lively skeletal remnants of a creature you knew knowing there was nothing you could do to help them. To save them. To ease the pain.

Colors were left bleak. And not just in their physique, but in your vision. Friends torn apart. Families lost. Generations gone in the blink of an optic.

They didn’t understand now. He knew that. Give them time. Time would make them see that he had meant well. Time didn’t heal the grieve wounds and scars of a broken Cybertronian it seemed, but it was a story that would unfold upon the reader it’s truths given time.

Yes, the truth...

Even as he slept or daydreamed, Neutroboost could still see the image in the back of his mind. A truth. His truth.

He sneered; fists clutching at his side. The slightest of tremors in his arm as armor groaned and flexed. His palm resisted the strain of bending beneath the will of his digits. A mech like him didn’t nearly have the strength to form metal into new shapes with such dainty appendages.

It was failure to have allowed that shadow to live. He couldn’t have stopped him on his own, however. One after another, he’d witnessed those repugnant Decepticon rogues fall to the floor. Crippled messes of twisted metal.

It tasted of victory. It tasted of loss.

There would be other opportunities, or there would not be. As he thought, he lifted his fist; digits uncurling as he reached forward. The tips brushed a button. A tap to ignite the relay message system.

“...Monacus, quadrant Nexus-00439 star Mortius section...”

This one seemed old, or outdated. It was definitely out of touch, regardless.

“...Identifying unit N: unfound. Last transmission received on [DATA ERADICATED, ERROR]”

Blast. He tapped the button beside the one he’d previously touched, fast-forwarding through static and ignoring the computer’s constant monotone speech of missing or corrupted log information. It had to be in there, somewhere…

A rapping on the door behind him. Neutroboost paused, tapping the playback button to silence the transmission. He turned with deliberate slowness to the door; ignoring the deceased crumpled up corpse off to his right. His expression lacked emotion as he spoke a single word: “Enter.”

With a woosh of slightly more fresh air entering the cabin, the doors hissed open to reveal a short Cybertronian figure. Some sort of small motorbike alt-mode from the assembled placement of their armor and wheels. Their optics flashed and flickered a dull gold as they swayed unsteadily in the doorway.

“Commander Neutroboost,” they spoke; feminine, voice hollow.

“Yes?” Neutroboost testily breathed.

“We’ve had our best analyzing the transmission you gave to us,” the femme spoke tiredly. “Trackcontrol managed to decode a message in the broadcast using an old Decepticon tactic.”

“Out with it, what did it say?”

“R-Right,” swallowed the femme, pulling out a datapad as she read aloud: “‘We depart in three cycles.’ The day this was sent was Cybertron’s cycle Maleksol Boltaneon.”

“Hmm, interesting,” Neutroboost muttered softly. “That would have been… two days ago according to our Cybertronian calendars, correct?”

“Yes, commander.”

Thoughts occupied, Neutroboost stood in momentary silence. The femme’s optics swept across the room nervously; capturing his attention. He could tell by the rigid posture in the femme’s frame that she was refusing to use her ventilation system. Although it had long since mostly passed his observation; the decay of energon within the offlined former medical officer was causing the room to have nauseating odor of murder.

Her faceplate spoke of hunger. The crew was starved. To keep a line of obedience, Neutroboost had decided to reevaluate the former rationing procedures. He left the freshest and majority of the cubes within a select few; himself of course, and a select few of trustworthy and not-so-trustworthy aid. Until they found adequate energon, the crew would go hungry.

At least they weren’t hungry enough yet to reserve to slaughtering each other or finding the foul stench of death of appeal. The idea even made him ill. Prioritizing a location to substance more energon would be next on his agenda. Even a raw form might not be a bad idea; although they’d need to fabricate a machine to refine it into it’s liquid form for consumption.

So many problems he had to come up with solutions too. Surely they would all come to see the sacrifices he had to make in order to keep the balance; the purity of light and good on the ship.

Stepping around the centermost commander’s chair in the room, Neutroboost made his way over to the femme. She leaned away from him fearfully as he approached. Although her optics were cast away, he could see his reflection in the mirror-like glass that made up her vision. The shadows from her helm gave his figure the appearance of having wings in her gaze in a fashion almost eeriely capturing the complexion of a well-known traitor among Decepticon traitors.

With a scoff, the mech jutted out his digit towards the femme’s chassis. “Go to see to your work and quit sitting around. Unless there’s something else you have to inform?”

“N-No commander.”

A twisted grin appeared on the grounder’s smug expression. “I thought not. Have Prismlaser see to give you the next transmission for evaluation.”

The femme nodded, moving to turn. Her pedes moved uneasily; almost like they wanted to collapse beneath her.

“Oh- and femme?”

“Yes, commander?”

Taking a step forward, Neutro examined the femme’s fearful optics closely. She cringed from him visibly; trying to shrink her frame against herself.

He couldn’t stop himself from chuckling a little as he reached out to place a servo against her trembling shoulder.

“You’ve nothing to fear from me, femme,” he said gently. “I just wanted to request if we’ve had any leads on that signal from the receivers end yet?”

She spook quickly in reply. Too quickly.

“No sir-”

Swiftly, Neutroboost’s servo moved to clutch the femme’s throat. She froze, mouth agape and shaking tremendously.

“Well, you had better work your team that much harder,” he hissed a bare inch from her face. “I’m running out of patience, and your reply seems awfully suspicious. I hate to request assistance from the Decepticon filth residing on this ship for the time being, sweetspark. Don’t make me resort to speaking with Catalyst or Fringedwire about checking your work or giving you and your team an incentive to work harder.”

“O-Of course, commander,” her raspy voice answered.

He released her neck from his grasp. She wobbled a moment before him before taking a wobbling and precarious step back.

Flicking his wrist with a wave of his servo, he gestured in a be-gone motion. The femme bowed slightly before turning to leave with an unsteady pace.

Neutroboost’s optics followed her, slightly narrowed with mistrust. As her form turned smaller the further she moved down the passageway, two three figures passed her coming in his direction. His posture instantly shifted to look more strict and professional around the larger femme and mech that approached.

“Catalyst,” he stated cooly to the bulky femme, followed by a look to the mech with a mutilated underbite with enlarged derma protruding. “Gadget.”

He didn’t even get to acknowledge the third member of the party when someone had to pipe up.

“We’re getting sick and tired of just sitting our afts around here, Neutroboost, while you get to pretend to play leader,” Catalyst assertively snapped, leaning into him. Always the hot-head, that femme. Primus how he despised her.

Gadget’s voice followed; a slower, more primal gruntal snarl as he spoke: “We’re not your lackies, mech. We’re ‘Cons; and we don’t do well to just sittin’ ‘round babysittin’ Cybertronians.”

“I assure you, I’m working on a solution-”

Catalyst swung. Her arm hit Neutro in the abdomen hard enough to pin him against the nearby wall. He wheezed softly; legs struggling to find traction on a floor inches below him. The fierce light of his optics glared up to the femme as she growled furiously at him.

To her left, Gadget showed more of his derma in a gnarled and crooked grin. His optics shifted hues as he stared; going from a distorted green to a very dark violet.

“Friends, friends, there’s no need to fight~”

A surprisingly gentle set of servos reached out to be placed upon Gadget and Catalyst. The duo both turned, grimacing unpleasantly at the third individual who had been following behind them down the hall.

“Buzz off Maulbasher,” barked Catalyst.

“Let the mech go, Catalyst.”

“We don’t need him-”

“Catalyst!”

Snorting through her ventilation system, the femme retracted her arm suddenly. Neutroboost found himself gagging as he landed on his pedes, nearly falling against the twosome before him. He bared them both a toothy snarl of defiance and anger as they stepped back, crossing their arms in front of their chassis’.

He didn’t trust the mech that stepped forward. With a name like Maulbasher, one would expect someone as built as the other ‘Cons that had stepped forward. Sure he was bulkier than Neutroboost; but his form was still sleek; lacking kibble and unnecessary prizes from his victims and from war. Very little scarring and scuffs and at the more common height range like Neutroboost himself.

There was something about the mech he found himself constantly judging. He played his cards too close. Always observing, often offering a servo. Maulbasher was a threat; likely the biggest of all the remaining Decepticons here. And although the ‘Cons had to be, unfortunately, bartered with and allowed higher rations for their services, Neutro looked forward to removing them from his ship as well. Their antics were a trouble in of itself, but at least for the most part, he could still persuade their allegiance with supplies, energon, and empty promises.

How he looked forward to ripping the floor out from beneath them eventually and watching them all crumble and offline. He needed more strategy and more time. He had plenty of the later to work on the former, if only they could find a source of energon to scrounge up before a riot started aboard the Rising Star.

Maulbasher pushed Catalyst and Gadget aside. With a harsh look and chatter of metallic Cybertronian; a dialect and translation Neutroboost didn’t recognize, the pair of ‘Cons grunted and moved to sulk down the hallway. He could only stare, partly perplexed and mostly unsure at the mech whom had bothered to save him.

He wasn’t on his side. No Decepticon was on his side. What did he want?

Turning in his direction, Maulbasher offered a surprisingly polite smile. “I’m so sorry about the misunderstanding Neutroboost,” he stated calmly. “We’re all a bit rallied up and hungry, you see. Not much work. Folks start feeling like they’re losing their helms.”

Neutroboost snorted. “You’re all more used to having prey you can chase and offline.”

Maulbasher laughed. It was charming. Not so much so to let one’s guard down around though.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he agreed. “But you are the acting captain of this vessel for the time being. We’ve got no better or worse alternative. You understand.”

“Of course,” Neutroboost tightly agreed.

“Excellent! So, we’ll make a headway to the nearest known energon reserves?”

He hated the tone in his voice. It sounded more like a demand than a request. Like it was his idea. Neutroboost ground his derma together, and gave a short nod of agreement. Much as he didn’t want to let the mech think he was playing him, it was something they needed before the Cybertronians he’d saved die. All of his work would be for not.

“I knew you’d be understanding! I’ll check on our fuel reserves and get back to you. We’ll have a mapped location of the best candidates for energon in a few joors. Does that sound suitable to you?”

“Yes.”

Primus, he wanted to know what this sly slagger was playing at. What had he been saying to those other two? He knew these fraggers thought they had the upper servo here. They had the experience the rest of the ship didn’t in warfare. They probably thought they’d all be relatively easily to mow down if they wanted control of the vessel, yet they hadn’t attempted to do so yet. They had to be planning something…

“By the way sir, an excellent idea to cut the tow rigging to the Revenge II. It’s saved us so much fuel to do so and siphon the remaining from the vessel.”

“Quit kissing aft and get back to work, ‘basher,” Neutroboost grumbled with annoyance.

“Of course, sir, my apologies~” the mech suavely agreed, bowing his helm. He pivoted cleanly on his heel and marched down the hall. A perfect little solider.

A perfect little lie, no doubt.

With the mech out of sight, Neutroboost closed the door to the bridge. It was nearly always empty, save for him. He vented heavily and trudged down the lifeless passageway. Once upon a time, he would have seen dozens of Cybertronians moving back and forth. Hard at work. Bringing reports to and fro. Faces smiling, faces worried; all different assortment of faces.

A smile brimmed on his lips. So peaceful, so quiet. The serenity of order.

Coming upon his room, he tapped in a code of entry and slipped inside. Neutroboost’s shoulders sagged as he heaved a heavy sigh. Just to his right as he entered stood a rather tall stash of house-brewed highgrade he kept hidden for himself. His servos snatched upon one; sliding it open as he had a healthy drink while moving deeper into the dark and dimly lit dwelling he called his own.

“Not a bad day’s progress,” he mused aloud whilst he paced. “We’ll find that little spy, one way or another.”

His optics moved slowly. Their blue light, nearly an identical hue of the energon and dull lighting in the room, falling upon the figure pinned to his wall.

He raised his energon cube, smiling.

“Do forgive me, old friend,” Neutro stated gently. “I’m just seeing to the survival of our friends and our species. You’ll understand.”

Tipping his cube for a drink, the haunted offline faceplate gave no reply. Jaw slack and armor long-since gone dark. It’s optics stared forth in silence at the disaster the ship had become.