“Higher, Papa! Higher!” the tiny mech pleaded, wings fluttering in excitement as he patted one of the dark servos around his middle encouragingly.

“You wanna go higher? Okay, here we go!” the massive Seeker replied, grinning broadly as he gave the sparkling another toss into the air. The child squealed in delight, giggling as he was caught again with a laugh from the other mech.

“Sonicshock, be careful! You make me nervous tossing him so high up,” the red femme chided him, looking up from her datapad to watch them play.

“I’m being careful,” he assured her, his grin never fading as he gave the sparkling another toss. “Besides, look at him go! He loves this. He’ll be flying all by himself before we know it.”

“Come on, sport, wake up! You’re gonna be late for school!” Sonicshock bellowed, knocking on the door with a heavy thump-thump-thump.

“Ngh... Five more kliks...” came the tired whine in reply, the young mech rolling over and curling up on the berth grumpily.

“Nighthawk. Come on. Don’t make me come in there.”

“Fiiiiiine. I’m getting up.”

“Just be careful, okay? I know things can happen sometimes at those parties...”

“Mom, please, I’ll be fine! When have I ever done something risky? Shiftgear’s sire will be home, it’ll be safe: I promise.”

Quickstep sighed.

“I know that, but still. If there is High-grade and you have even a little I want you to call us to pick you up when it’s over.”

“Not a drop, cross my Spark.”

A faint smile graced the femme’s lips, and she kissed the top of his helm before nudging him towards the door.

“Okay. Go have fun. I love you.”

“...to prevent further corrosion of the dermal mesh.”

Applause rose from the rest of the class, a few sage nods of agreement here and there among his peers. He stole a glance at the instructor, and noticed that he, too, was nodding gently: a smile pulling at his lips.

“Well done, Nighthawk. Well, class, any questions for him...? Yes: Flex?”

“Yeah, I was curious about compound’s reaction to acid. Can you elaborate more on the testing you did?”

“Absolutely. I started with samples from different regions. If I go back to this slide here-”

“And the winner of this year’s Epistemus award goes to... ‘Preservation of the Spark Post-System Failure,’ by Professor Nighthawk of Cybertron’s Academy of Science!”

He released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as applause erupted around him. He rose to his feet, glancing briefly over his shoulder to meet his father’s broad grin as the mech’s heavy servo clapped him on the back. He held his head high and his wings flared proud as he left his seat to take the stage, his Spark hammering in his chest. He’d done it: he’d actually done it!

“Congratulations, Professor,” the announcer praised him, clasping his arm as he passed the award off to him. They paused for photographs before he directed the half-Seeker to the podium, allowing him to address the waiting crowd.

Nighthawk glanced up from his datapad when he heard a knock at the door, his horns tipping forward in curiosity. Odd... they weren’t expecting visitors. Setting his reading aside, he got up from his chair to open it. He was greeted by a pair of enforcement officers, faces blank as the larger one addressed him.

“Hello, sir. Are you Nighthawk?”

“I am...”

“Is Quickstep home?”

“She is. What is this about?”

“I’m sorry sir. It’s important that both of you be informed.”

“... I see. Come inside, then; I will fetch her,” he said slowly, allowing the officers inside and indicating for them to take a seat while he went in search of his mother. She was in her studio, practicing, but stopped when he came in.

“Yes, dear?”

“There’s a pair of officers downstairs. They want to talk to both of us.”

She frowned. “What about?”

“I don’t know. They wouldn’t say.”

She made a soft noise of concern, and followed him back to the living area where both mechs were waiting. They hadn’t taken a seat. They gestured for the pair to sit instead, and they shared a look before obliging.

The smaller of the two officers rolled his shoulders, looking pointedly to his partner. He nodded slowly in reply, and turned to face the waiting mother and son with a grim expression.

“Ma’am. Sir. I’m sorry... Sonicshock is dead.”

"He needs energon immediately! You, seal off the bleeding lines. You, disconnect the pain receptors.”

“Which ones?”

“ALL OF THEM. We don’t have time to sedate him. The laser core chamber has been ruptured- somebody get me an aspirator! We need to drain the fluid from it!”

“His systems are starting to shut down, Nighthawk! We’re losing him!”

“NOT TODAY WE’RE NOT!”

"...Mother...?”

“I’m awake, dear.”

She opened her optics to look at him, the light inside them dimmed. She offered him a gentle smile, and he tried to return it, but it looked forced and he knew it.

“Oh, sweetspark... don’t look so grim. It’ll be okay.”

He looked away for a moment, forcing himself to keep steady. “...How is it supposed to be okay without you?”

“You don’t need me anymore, dear. You’re so smart, and so strong. You’ve been doing just fine on your own. You have your own life now.”

“But I do need you. I need you with me.”

“I’ll always be with you, my little Hawk. You know that,” she reminded him, reaching a hand to lay it over his chest: over his Spark chamber. His shoulders jerked in a choked sob, and he leaned over to pull her close against him. A sigh escaped her lips, and she rested her helm against his shoulder, allowing her optics to close one last time.

“Please... Don’t leave me...”

"And who are you?”

“Medical recruit Nighthawk, sir.”

“Hmph. Nighthawk... Nighthawk... ah, there you are. Former professor at the Academy, Epistemus award winner and two-time nominee, ran your own practice in Crystal City... Hm. Also says you know your way around a plasma pistol. Where does a Crystal City physician learn to use a gun?”

“My sire was an enforcement officer, sir. He taught me how to use one.”

“Heh. Good. Field work for you, then. I’m assigning you to M-49. Pack up.”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

Stepping back to let his assigned assistant take over getting his patient moved from the table, Nighthawk set to wiping the energon from his servos. He held the tiny mech who stood a few paces away in the corner of his optic, the silence lingering for a moment before he spoke.

“...I don’t recognize you. What’s your station?”

“O-oh. I’m... I’m just a carrier-bot, sir. I run tools and clean things.”

“Really, now? And where did you learn how to seal energon lines? That was some very quick work back there.”

“From... watching the medics, sir.”

“You’ve had no training?”

The young mech seemed to grow nervous, shuffling his feet. “No, sir.”

“Well. Perhaps it’s time to change that. What’s your name, soldier?”

“Infiltrator, sir.”

“Infiltrator... Come along, then.”

“Everyone on board the ship! We’re leaving NOW!” the commander’s voice bellowed over the sound of gunfire, the incoming plasma shots peppering the ship’s hull in vain. He heard a scream somewhere to his left, and instinctively altered his path: vaulting over a supply cart and ducking beneath more gunfire to reach the fallen mech.

“I’ve got you,” he assured him, slipping the mech’s arm around his shoulders and hauling him to his pedes. He cried out in pain, leaning heavily on the medic as the freshly-blasted wound in his leg bled energon, but Nighthawk wasn’t about to drop him.

“Boss, come on!” Infiltrator called from up ahead, bounding between the legs of others boarding the ship to find him. His optics widened slightly as he caught sight of the medic and grounder, picking up speed to join them and diving in to help Nighthawk support the extra weight. Together, they brought him up the docking ramp onto the ship, letting him sit down heavily upon a crate to start immediate work on the injury.

“Ow, ow, frag...” the mech hissed, gritting his dental bands and digging his digits into the side of the crate.

“You’ll be fine, soldier. We’ve got you.”

“Hngh... th-thanks, doc...”

“It’s Nighthawk.”

“Oh.”

“...And you are?”

“...Mustang. M’name’s Mustang.”

“Leave me, doc! I’m not gonna make it back.”

“Yes you are, soldier. Stay with me!” Nighthawk ordered, hauling the injured mech back up onto his pedes. He groaned in pain, the patches riddling his frame straining with the movement as the medic pushed him forward.

A sudden blast of plasma fire exploded off the ground next to them, sending up a shower of sparks.

“Get down!” Nighthawk barked, nearly shoving the mech down behind the nearest piece of rubble. He hissed as a shot clipped the edge of his wing before he ducked down after the mech, baring his fangs in fury as he drew his own gun and lifted a servo to tap on his communications link.

“This is Field Medic Nighthawk to Decepticon Combat Support Base M-49, do you copy? I need immediate backup to sector 1-7-8 Giga. I have a mech down and we are being fired on. I repeat, one mech down, enemy fire. Sending coordinates.”

He whipped around the corner and took aim, firing a few blasts before ducking back behind cover.

“M-49 to Nighthawk, we copy. We’ve received your coordinates and are sending in support. Hold out a little longer.”

Nighthawk glanced down at the mech beside him, who had flattened himself to the ground and whose intakes were cycling heavily. “Backup is coming, soldier. Just stay with me.”

He whipped around again, laying down more cover fire. As he adjusted his aim, a sudden flame of searing agony blossomed in his leg. He cried out, nearly dropping his gun as he fell backwards back behind cover. He gasped, glancing down to find the source of the pain, and found energon flowing steadily from a hole that had pierced through most of his knee joint. He cursed under his breath between agonized gasps, pressing a servo over it. That backup needed to come faster!

A steady beeping rang in his audios as he slowly became aware of his surroundings. He could make out only fuzzy shapes as he opened his optics, blinking from the bright light that poured in. Every part of his frame ached.

“Hey, doc-bot...” he heard a gentle voice from his side. Slowly, gingerly, he turned his helm towards it, vision beginning to clear. Now he could see the multiple lines hanging at different points around his frame. His chassis armor was missing; so were his glasses and helmet. Finally, his gaze landed on the two mechs that stood at his side: one short and dark, the other slightly taller and mottled greens. He squinted slightly at them, and both grimaced: the shorter clutching his hat tightly to his chassis.

“You...” Nighthawk wheezed, carefully lifting a servo to point at them. “...You are both absolute fragging idiots.”

“Nighthawk...”

“Don’t. What-” he winced in pain, baring a fang. “-what are you two even doing here? Where’s Infiltrator?”

“We, um... We came to see how you were doing. Infiltrator’s out getting energon and seeing how the repairs on your armor are coming along.”

The medic harrumphed, laying his head back and shutting his optics again.

“I think you can see how I’m doing,” he sneered. “And you two are clearly fine. Did you succeed?”

“...Yes, sir...”

“Good. And Tyger Pax?”

“...Still under Autobot control. We got the info we needed, but...”

“Hmph.”

There was a long, awkward pause, and he could hear the two shuffling anxiously next to him.

“Doc, I...”

“Oh, shut up, Mustang. Let me rest.”

Nighthawk leaned heavily on his cane, staring out the ship’s window as it began to rise from Cybertron’s surface. He looked out across the expanse: gray, still... lifeless. Their planet, their home, left a smoldering wreckage that they had no choice but to leave.

This was it.

He felt a sharp pang in his Spark, an invisible weight sagging in his shoulders as the realization truly began to sink in. Home was gone... perhaps forever. He stood there, alone in his quarters, for what felt like an eternity as he watched the planet’s surface moving farther and farther away. The buildings shrank, and the horizon began to curve. He could see the smoke rising from the city far to the northeast. He could see the moons, slowly drifting by in their orbit. He could see Cybertron, sinking away into a perfect circle. Then, in an instant, it shot away as the warp engines roared to life. He sank to his knees, leaning against the window to rest his helm on the glass.

And for the first time in eons, Nighthawk wept.

"...Boss? ...Boss, talk to me.”

Nighthawk didn’t answer him, his gaze firmly fixed on a speck of light far in the distance. He saw the figure approaching in the reflection from the window in his peripheral, but didn’t move.

“Nighthawk. Come on. This isn’t like you… I’m getting worried.”

He rumbled softly as an answer, the vibration swelling from his chassis. He didn’t take his gaze off that point, his claws adjusting around the handle of his cane.

“…This is about Blackout, isn’t it?”

He took in a deep breath, letting it out silently as his optics closed. His optic ridges knitted together, jaw tightening.

“They left him to die.”

“Boss…”

“They left him to die, like worthless scrap. One of Megatron’s most loyal officers, a weapon incomparable, and they abandoned him. They didn’t even bother to see if he was still online! If I had been there-”

“Boss. Stop it. Don’t do this to yourself.”

He released a deep, rumbling sigh, opening his optics again to stare back out into the endless expanse.

“Jaguar One, this is Malevolence Hangar Crew. Doors are open and you are clear for takeoff.”

“Acknowledged. Jaguar One activating primary thrusters.”

Nighthawk lifted his talon back off the communications panel, deftly tapping in the launch sequence. With a rumble, the thrusters roared to life before settling into a steady, humming rhythm.

“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” Infiltrator muttered.

“Hush!” Nighthawk hissed, re-opening the communications line once the initial noise had subsided.

“The Malevolence leaves in five joors. Whatever you’re hunting, ‘Jaguar,’ make it quick. We’re not waiting up for you if you’re late.”

“Understood.”

A shadow, massive, hulking, caught the edge of his vision: a blip of movement on his radar. Snapping his gaze in that direction, he took off in a sudden sprint: ignoring Infiltrator’s call and a jolt of pain in his knee as he tore down the alleyway. He slid to a stop at the corner, turning down the back way to find it empty. His optics narrowed, and he paused a moment before beginning to slowly step down the passage as he heard Infiltrator screech to a halt behind him.

“That’s strange, I thought I saw-”

Before he had a chance to react, a massive servo found its grip on his shoulder from the darkness to his side. It spun him around, slamming him into the far wall to crack his helm against the metal and knock the air from his intakes. His vision swam as he heard a growl from the mighty shadow in front of him, and as it cleared he was met with bared fangs and flashing crimson optics.

“Nighthawk?” it rumbled, voice low, vicious, and... familiar. Shock coursed through his lines, replaced just as quickly by anger.

“What in the Pit are you doing here? You’re supposed to be dead!”

He found himself being slammed into the floor, crying out in pain as something else cracked in his already horribly-damaged cockpit. All he could do was scream as he felt the warlord’s pede slam into his spinal strut, hyper-extending his wings to make the metal groan and the seams begin to crack.

“Lord Megatron.” The voice that echoed from down the hall was gruff and loud, but blessedly familiar.

“What do you want, Blackout?” Megatron sneered.

“Apologies for the disruption, my Lord. I had overheard that you had summoned Nighthawk. I came on behalf of the mech-”

“On behalf of this gutless spawn?” the tyrant snarled, and Nighthawk felt the weight ease off of his back. It was only a split-second of relief before it crashed into his side instead, slamming him against the wall. He dropped limply to the floor, groaning as the pain throbbed through every joint in his aching frame. He glanced up at the shadow looming nearby, and immediately grimaced as he realized the mech was staring at him.

It was enough to draw Megatron’s attention off him. He only half-paid attention as their rumbling voices began a rough back-and-forth, slowly forcing his servos back underneath of himself to try and get up. He kept his gaze on Megatron, reaching one servo for his thigh: pawing blindly for something- anything. A tranquilizer dart, a painkiller, something that would make it stop. The moment it looked as though the tyrant was about to turn back his way, he returned his servo to the floor.

Fear made his lines run cold as the warlord’s wrath was once more turned upon him, his gaze flicking about for some hope of escape as he tried to squirm back: raising an arm in self-defense.

“My Lord, please-”

Useless. Silver claws were already digging into what was left of his chassis armor, picking him up and slamming him into the wall like a ragdoll. He cried out in agony, feeling the servo release him before it slammed into his chest again, driving him upwards to crack his helm against the ceiling. He couldn’t bite back a yelp of pain as it did, his vision swimming as he collapsed back to the ground. He cringed, curling up desperately as he saw Megatron reach for him again from his peripheral vision.

The next blow never came.

“Are all systems functioning as expected?” Nighthawk asked, claws curling and uncurling against the armrest of his chair.

“Yep. I checked her top to bottom: all good.”

“Any evidence Soundwave tampered with anything?”

“No. No bugs, no trackers. If he had tagged us we’d be scrap by now.”

The medic gave a low rumble in his chassis, not entirely convinced. He fidgeted in his seat, unable to shake the nervousness that had settled as a great weight against his chest. His gaze flicked from the scanners, to the windows, then back again, just waiting for something to go horribly, horribly wrong.

“We’ll set course for Cybertron. Keep the scanners running for any sign of the Rising Star and divert as necessary for supplies, but we should try and reunite with Novastrike and company.”

“You got it, Boss.”

Nighthawk guided the ship carefully into the open docking hatch, his servos light on the steering module. He heard the sharp inhale of breath to his side, but remained focused on settling the Jaguar into a gentle landing.

“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.”

He heard the dragon give a snort. Raising an optic ridge, he turned his helm to look at him. “You disagree?”

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

Nighthawk couldn’t help but chuckle faintly, leaning back in his chair to lace his digits in front of himself.

“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.”

His optics opened slowly, light filling his vision. He blinked, trying to focus on the blurred shapes around him. He could barely see. Everything was a blur: his vision, his thoughts, his memory. His gaze was drawn to movement at his side, and he tried hard to remember what had happened.