#keferon

Jazz wasn't entirely sure what it was. How to explain it.

One minute he was on one of the tables in the rec room as he chatted with his Autobot pals, mecha parked next to it for easy access.

The next he was in his mecha, connected and sprinting to the bridge.

There was no warning. No buildup. No evidence, no logic. Nothing that should have triggered the response.

He tore through the Lost Light in a path of chaos, leaving shock, confusion and panic in his wake.

He was halfway to the bridge when his first conscious thought registered.

It's here.

It was just a whisper, an instinct, a feeling.

It's here.

He pushed harder, ran faster.

It's here.

By the time he reached the bridge everyone was on high alert, Red Alert sparking between the horns and a couple mechs ready to grab their weapons.

It's here.

Jazz hardly noticed them all. He leapt over consoles and heads to the front window, pressing his face to the glass.

"It's here...!" He whispered.

There, in front of him, off the right side of the ship, was the Milky Way Galaxy.

A hand on his shoulder snapped him out of his daze.

"Jazz? Are you alright?" Prowl's voice was hard to hear through the ringing in his ears.

"It's here!" Jazz practically wheezed out. He felt like he couldn't breathe. "It's right there!"

Jazz saw Prowl frown out of the corner of Bebop's vision. "What's here?"

Jazz finally tore his eyes from the window, turning slowly to face Prowl. Despite any way of recognizing Jazz's emotions while he was in his mech, Prowl's eyes widened as they met his visor, before Jazz even opened his mouth.

"Home."

--------------------------------

It was a month before they found the right arm of the spiral galaxy, and another week after that to find and reach the right solar system, and it felt both like eternity and only a moment.

Jazz was on the bridge again, visor pressed to the glass as he watched the Lost Light come out of hyper speed.

And there it was.

It was barely visible from Jupiter, where they had slowed down to approach at a more cautious pace.

The Sun was blinding, reflecting off of the 2 planets between Jazz and Earth.

Home.

They passed Ceres and Mars quickly, and Jazz felt tears stream down his face at the sight of Earth in all its beautiful glory.

He turned and started a new mad dash across the ship, this time to the main airlock. He hardly felt it when they entered the atmosphere, skidding to a stop and bouncing impatiently as he reached the doors.

Once the ship landed, the airlock doors unlocked and Jazz practically punched the panel to open them, leaping out onto the flattened out plains of Minnesota, as soon as there was enough space. Mille Lacs Lake was visible in the distance, ruins of Brainerd and St. Cloud scattered across the barren landscape.

Jazz stood in front of the ship for a moment, just staring out at the broken land around him.

A loud whoop broke the silence, and Jazz only recognized it as his own voice a moment later as he began running and jumping around, crying out his excitement to the earth and sky surrounding him.

When he finally turned back to the ship, cheeks and eyes burning from smiling so wide and running out of tears, Prowl was standing just outside of the airlock with a tiny smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

The sky was dark, clouds promising rain with a deep roll of thunder that made Prowl jump slightly, looking up in surprise. Jazz ran to him, grabbing his servos and pulling him out into the rain as it started to drizzle.

Jazz danced in the rain, dragging Prowl along with him as they laughed in absolute joy.

They started to settle down as the rain really started to pick up, but Bebop's sensors picked up something large heading right for them.

Several of them, actually. Moving fast.

Jazz turned, pulling Prowl behind him just as they came into sight from around the ruins in the distance.

Jazz froze, new tears springing to his eyes, breath caught in his chest.

He saw the lead mech falter, orange visor flashing, before it picked up more speed, throwing standard caution to the wind.

Jazz mirrored it, sprinting towards the mech that mirrored his in all but color, vision blurring and lungs screaming as his heart pounded in his chest.

Jazz slowed just enough to catch Ricochet as they collided, swinging him around to prevent their momentum from doing any damage. When he finally let Rico's feet touch the floor again they dropped to the ground, clutching each other through their mechs.

They didn't move for a long while, sobbing in each others arms, too afraid it was all a dream to let go so soon. When Jazz finally pulled away, just enough to look Rico in the visor, he noticed the Terror Twins flanking them.

Jazz quickly pulled Rico to his feet. Now in a bit clearer state of mind, he sent a comm. connection request to Rico for the first time in years, holding his breath until it went through.

"Jazz- you're- you're actually- you're here, you're here and you're alive-"

Jazz let out a small sob at the sound of his brother's voice, nodding frantically.

"I'm here! I'm here, I'm so sorry it took me so long to get back to you, but I'm here now and you're still alive and you're okay-"

Rico pulled Jazz into another hug, repeating 'you're here' and 'you're okay' in a whisper.

Jazz finally pulled in a deep breath, for the first time in a long while feeling free.

I'm home.

-----------------------------------------

Omg this took literally FOREVER to finish, just went back and checked and I PROMISED YOU ALL THIS FIC IN JANUARY

What is even my life anymore

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed, there wasn't really much jp in this one but I'm working on more I promise!

Let me know if you guys want part two of this, I have some of it written but dialogue is so hard.

Prowl himself, a standard sized mech, will be moving in considerable discomfort, and will have to resort to vehicle mode for several areas on their designated path. 

Prowl walks to the ship, having just fully integrated the virus. 

Knockout leaps out of Prowls way. The Decepticon medic had not had a direct servo in making the virus but knew and heard enough to know that outside of its containment firewall it would instantly snuff the spark of a mech. 

Cliffjumper waits at the ship. He’s been unusually (65%) amicable with Prowl, with no micro-aggressions or insults to Prowl’s character. 

“Didn’t think a VIP such as yourself would volunteer for a mission like this. I don’t gotta save your aft, do I?” Cliffjumper asks. 

Ah. 

Prowl would have to retract that calculation. Cliffjumper was a ‘frequent flyer’ in their interpersonal incident reports as the seekers like to put it. Prowl often had to get on Ironhide’s case to fill out the documentation properly-not that he didn’t care, it’s just the constant paranoia of the Quintessons dropping out of space and potentially firing upon them meant Ironhide neglected his data-pad to check the turrets for the umpteenth time. Ironhide had found himself a kindred spirit in Red Alert. Still, Prowl after vorns of interrogations to mechs trying to keep their fields hidden from Prowl, he can detect the worry and concern in Cliffjumper's field. 

“Do keep in mind that just because you haven't heard of any feats of mine, does not mean they didn’t happen.” Prowl felt no need to brag about his accomplishments. 

“Oh yeah? Is that so?”

“Most of them are classified.” The few missions that Prowl personally had to go on were always incredibly delicate and high stakes. 

This causes Cliffjumper to stumble briefly in what should be the practiced motion of checking and assembling his blaster. Prowl must grind his denta together to prevent himself from snapping at Cliffjumper for improper handling of a blaster. He could have gotten injured or someone else injured! Prowl would have made him do the reports himself, hovering the whole time. Prowl has had weapons safety training classes longer ago then the minibot has been alive. 

Hm.

Prowl is being…unusually irate. 

He can’t deny that it’s taking a toll on him to carry the virus. 

Cliffjumper lowers his maintenance rag. Prowl wonders if he is recalling the rumors that had circulated of the time where Prowl had come back from one of these classified missions, door wings agonizingly grinded off, one optic cracked and lightless. It had been an assassination mission taking out a member of the DJD. Part of his reputation being a decision maker behind the scenes and not a front-liner meant they never looked for him on the field,

And never saw him coming.

The DJD was a unique exception to that. Prowl had completed his mission in tracking down through calculations and then taking out Nickel (The DJD’s chance of survival dropped to just 12% without their medic, as it was too big of an ask to see if anyone could confront the DJD head on) and dragged himself back before his pain units were overwhelmed from his doorwings after Tesarus had briefly gotten ahold of Prowl. He had woken up from Ratchet's surgery just in time to suppress most of those rumors.

But Cliffjumper must have heard them anyway, 

The minibot’s optics flare again in surprise, consideration, optics flickering to Prowl’s doorwings as realization sets in (98% chance he had heard the rumors). 

How could Prowl get Cliffjumper to believe his intentions were sincere? 

Normally mechs would overlap fields here but Prowl’s field has been more abrasive than normal due to his most recent tacnet induced glitch and the payload virus he is carrying. 

And the answer is spit out by his tacnet. 

It’s such a personal thing to show, but…

(86% certainty it will work)

Prowl activates his T-cog to transform some of the armour on his servo, the one that had pulled Smokescreen back from falling into the Well. The differences in color and composition is apparent to the optics and their EM fields.

“One of my first acts in life was pulling another newspark from falling back into the well. Still cooling, our protoforms melded together where our servos clasped.”

Cliffjumper’s intake drops open in shock. His blue optics, as fiery and fierce as a bluestar, have widened in awe. There is no way to fake that sort of imprint on protoform.

“I nearly fell in while doing so, and got in trouble for not showing proper deference to the priestess. The price was worth it to me. I have carried the physical reminder of the necessity to protect, to serve, and to help my comrades with me ever since then. I understand your worries. You have not personally seen me in action. But I have not gotten to my position by knowing nothing of fighting.”

Cliffjumper’s intake finally closed, denta snapping shut. 

He nods, oddly silent, and gestures that he’ll be waiting in the ship. 

Prowl nods, and turns to see Soundwave approaching with his cassettes. Soundwave, Blaster, Red Alert, Ratchet, and Shockwave had put their considerable processing power and had put together the most atrocious virus Prowl had ever seen. His tacnet had nearly crashed a second time trying to compute the sheer destructive potential in that line of coding. It was encased in a protective firewall meant to compliment Prowl’s tacnet, and Ratchet-the only one other than Smokescreen who knew his aberrant spark-made sure it was compatible with his spark too. 

The tension from their EM fields is thick. 

While most Decepticons could not fit, the exceptions to that were Soundwave’s cassettes. Blasters would have to stay for their unique broadcasting abilities in the comms tower. Soundwave’s would also be going because Megatron wanted Decepticon representation on this mission. 

Laserbeak and Ravage will be accompanying Prowl and Cliffjumper. Prowl will be going because he is the only one capable of processing and delivering the virus, and Cliffjumper will be going because he is the one who scouted the planet in the first place. Any more and they loose the advantage of subtly. 

Prowl begins to feel some of Soundwave’s telepathic waves. The overwhelming calculations of his tacnet was one of the only effective counters to the telepath’s abilities, but even still Prowl can feel the old hate and grief.

“Soundwave. You know I would look after my teammates to ensure a successful mission.”

Prowl thinks of the sheared off Drone arm. Who had done it? They must have been brave (100%). 

Maybe…

Maybe it was time for Prowl to be brave too.

And despite it taking immense effort to rein in his taxed tacnet, even knowing it would leave him vulnerable to Soundwave, Prowl allows his strained, natural EM field to slip through to show his sincerity. 

Soundwave recoils in shock.

Prowl has such a handle on his field because it is abrasive due to its potency. Prowl is not emotionless. Contact with his unrestrained field wouldn’t immediately reveal Prowl was an aberrant to the average mech but to someone like Soundwave? The spymaster? Who was an aberrant himself, who already suspected Prowl was one? 

This confirmed it.  

It is precisely this show of vulnerability that is the deciding factor (100%) in letting Ravage and Laserbeak board Cosmos. Soundwave gives a single, sharp nod to Prowl and walks off with rumble and Frenzy following.

“Goodbye Ravage, bye Laserbeak! Hope you don’t run into any ugly organics!” Rumble calls. 

The take off in Cosmos from the Ark-Nemesis. Prowl calculates that (93%) of the ships population had come to watch them go. 

…

…

…

“As long as the portal holds stable, we should be able to make it off and back on the planet.” Prowl states. 

“If. You mentioned the drone arm was spit out by one of the bridges, Autobot?” Ravage asks. 

“It’s Cliffjumper-”

“He did.” Prowl answers. 

Ravage’s field spikes in amusement before she continues as it settles into contemplation. 

“What caused that then? I doubt the Quintessons would intentionally send a drone arm through. Is there some sort of conflict we could be caught in? Why did the portal randomly shoot that out? What if the system collapses? You all noted the ability to detect the spacebridge coordinates exactly because of its instability.”

“Hopefully it stays still while I wait for you all in orbit!” Cosmos frets around them. The space is rather cramped but it increased their odds of not getting caught by (56%). 

“We must make all due haste. The dwarf planet has several ground bridges that could further complicate space-time.” 

…

…

…

Using cloaking technology they are able to get past the many probes and sensors surrounding the dwarf planet. Drones roam the skies and the hardier ones even orbit. 

On land, there are dozens of patrols.

It’s certainly secured like the galaxy wide nexus of Quintesson transportation it is. 

If they can pull this off…

It would cripple the Quintessons. 

This dead area must have once held organic life.The gravity is low, and the atmosphere is thick with water vapor and filled with an explosive amount of oxygen, with trace amounts of other elements. 

 The Spacebridge network needed to use an entire dwarf planet as its nexus. This dwarf planet had several smaller moons that generated electric fields strong enough to supplement the network. That combined with it orbiting a stable dwarf star enclosed in a dyson sphere that could last for billions of years yet be near undetectable made this the perfect option. Prowl’s tacnet was reluctantly impressed with the Quintesson's strategic choices. If it wasn’t for the odd stutters in the spacebridge hidden between this dwarf planet and its star they would not have found it. 

“We will limit our usage of blasters.” It would not mix well in an oxygenated atmosphere. 

Laserbeak dips her head at Prowl. 

“Wasn’t sparked yesterday, thanks.” Cliffjumper grumbles. Prowl does not fault him for his unease. 

The planet is covered with Quintesson structures, structures Prowl knows from Cliffjumpers report go deep into the ground. 

Where they will go.

…

…

…

They use an underground, naturally formed cave system to infiltrate. Laserbeak had gone ahead and scanned as much of it as possible, and had sent the map to all of them. 

It seems the Quintesson’s were aware of it but mostly left the caves alone. 

A few paces under one of the drone making laboratories they encounter the discarded remains of what must have been this species largest organisms. 

The cave system had long since lost all of its water. This world’s natural oceans that encompassed over (85%) of its surface at one point had been evaporated and used to cool the spacebridge’s ground calculation systems. This creature was bigger (by 12%) than a minibot and smaller than a Quintesson (by 14%). Prowl records this information for Skyfire later, although that might be an optimistic action. 

It has long since been dead. There is a strange shell structure, and many pedes. 

“Looks like we ran into an ugly organic after all, huh?” Cliffjumper comments. 

This irks Prowl. 

More than it would have before. 

“This organic died watching its planet invaded and everything it knew turned to dust. Be respectful.” 

“Give me a break!” The minibot scoffs. 

“It should have been stronger.” Ravage comments. 

“We should have been stronger too.” Prowl’s voice is heavy with disappointment. And pointed. The Cybertronians weren’t in a much better position. He is finding his more authentic emotions coming through as most of his tacnet goes into containing the virus. 

Chastised, Ravage slinks behind Prowls pede to wait, field radiating shame. 

…

…

…

They make their way into the primary research facility. This is not a suicide mission but they are all equipped with ion bombs. After seeing what the Quintessons have done to samples of alien life forms, turning them into drones, Prowl will take no chances finding out what they would do to a Cybertronian. 

The planet is sparsely populated other than the Drones. There is evidence of Quintesson life, but keeping with the strategy of secrecy the planet was not heavily occupied with them. Too many Quintessons and the planet would not be easily kept hidden. 

It’s a miracle they found it at all. 

Of course, that is the moment they see their first Quintesson.

A member of the scientist caste. 

He has an oval shaped core, with a steady jet of organically generated energy emanating from the lower, pointed oval. Its many tentacles wave around its five faces. The humidity in the lab is nearly overwhelming and entirely predictable as the Quintessons originated from oceans-like most organics species, but not that Prowl could personally attest as the Quintessons had been so thorough with their eradication efforts the Quintessons were the only organic species he and most other Cybertronians had ever met- and the amount of oxygen Prowl detects in the air through his doorwings is making his tacnet spit out calculations of how likely a fight between them and the Quintessons could spark a fire. 

He floats with a datalog, moving to report to a Quintesson of the leadership caste. For creatures that had wreaked such havoc on the galaxy they had an oddly strict caste system. But outside of that their information on the Quintesson’s was severely lacking. 

The scientist moves briskly, hurriedly. Prowl finds himself fascinated with the way an organic moves despite himself and the mission. His processor spins out calculations of the mathematics of such movement, predicting the smooth patterns of motion so unlike that of a bots. There is a swiftness and effortlessness that is almost enviable. 

From what Prowl peaks at on the datalog looks like a rough outline of the dead organic they had just gone past. 

Drones. 

Making drones from its remains. 

Laserbeak flies to keep the datalog in view and broadcasts back. The screen changes from a view of the Drone prototype to what are unmistakably space bridge calculations.

And they are fluctuating oddly. 

…

…

…

They follow the scientist back to the control room.

The air is so thick with electricity and power from the galactic headquarters that it sparks in the form of static electricity along their plating. 

The virus sparks in his circuitry. 

They must circumvent more Quintessons. Prowl overhears several conversations in Quintian, and a few more in what was previously universal common-back when there were still other species still living to speak it. The topics range from space and ground bridge management, to the study of the preserved remains of species for drone-making, to exactly how long was it going to take to conquer Earth?

“E-arth? Never heard of it.” Cliffjumper’s face clouds wonder. If such an accomplished scout has never heard of it before, then it must be rather remote. The word ‘Earth’ has harmonics and a vocal effect Prowl has never encountered before and the softness yet solidness strains his vocalizer. It’s light but heavy, with strange inflections. His processor spins in delight at having such a puzzle to run calculations over. 

What language was that? 

The scientist leaves. 

The Drones on patrol begin the descent of their patrol down the hall.

Now. 

Prowl transformers to alt-mode and makes sure the other three are prepared. 

At his signal, they advance. 

Cliffjumper shoots a Quintesson dead through two of its faces, the other three faces begin screaming as Ravage claws them off. Laserbeak clears a path for Prowl to the mainframe. 

He jacks in.

Prowl’s firewalls barely hold against the sheer amount of math. 

He captures a glimpse of the deeply rooted circuitry in the planet and to his horror sees that the once ample life in its miles long underwater cave systems were turned into conduits to power the galactic network. For a bizarre second Prowl loses feeling over his own body.

“Prowl! The upload?” Ravage snarls. 

Laserbeak had shut off the room from the rest of the planet. Drones and Quintessons struggled for access, as the many already in the room tried to kills the Cybertronians. 

“7%.” He gasps back. 

Prowl won’t be able to go far from this spot. His cord provides some reach but each step away dramatically increases the risk of disconnect. He physically needs to be connected to the mainframe in order to upload such an incredible virus without it risking transmission to the cassettes or Cliffjumper with a radio transmission. Although if the situation becomes serious enough Prowl will have to resort to that, at the collective cost of all their lives (11% of that scenario).

The emptiness the massive virus left behind feels like the worst relief. Prowl could almost collapse without the weight of it pressing him together. 

“That’s not fast enough!” Cliffjumper shouts, barely dodging a swipe of tentacles. 

The network lights up with attempts from other mainframes to either hack into this one to stop him or to open the room. Prowl watches the data as several ground bridges local to the planet try to open in the cavernous ground control area to bridge in reinforcements since Laserbeak had physically welded the doors shut. It was known to not open two groundbridges adjacent or risk inexplicable space-time phenomena so for the Quintesson’s to attempt it they must truly be desperate. 

He grits his denta.

Like pit he’d let that happen! 

It’s an overwhelming stream of calculating even for a single bridge. 

But the several on this planet? 

Prowl laughs. 

“Wh-are you okay?!” Cliffjumper sounds worried.

Prowl uses his access to abort the groundbridges from fully forming, watching in complete wonder as his own processor comprehends the rapid stream of infinitely complex coding- and then is able to stop it!

It should be impossible!

A stream of calculations like that wouldn’t just overheat but blow out the processors of any normal mech. Speciality external computers were needed for a single groundbridge! His spark spins and stretches in a way it had never been able to before, but with the tacnet occupied uploading the virus his spark is allowed to fly. 

“29%” Prowl shouts, unable to hide his awe. 

He’s holding groundbridges

In the divot of his servos. 

Prowl does a quick scan of his memory banks to double check if anything like this had happened in Cybertronian history.

(.002% it has). 

He can find no proof other than some faint implications. 

“36%” Prowl utters, completely enthralled with the stream of calculations across his consciousness. They have given up on summoning groundbridges in and are now doubling down on sending in physical reinforcements.

“Be on your guard, they will attempt to breech in just a few breems!”

Cliffjumper curses. 

The Quintessons and their Drones breach the doors. 

Prowl feels the singe across his plating of blaster bolts. 

They were a stealth team.

They were not meant to hold back waves of hostiles! Cliffjjumper’s report indicated there were less on the dwarf planet then this. Cliffjumper is gritting his denta clearly thinking the same thing and is frustrated at himself for it. 

“45%” Prowl informs. Almost halfway. The mainframe was beginning to spit out impressive coding errors but there was no way to take the galactic system offline unless it was 100%. If it was uploaded Prowl would activate one last, massive spacebridge opening to fully transmit the virus to the Quintesson’s galactic wide system. It would cripple their ability to send out drones and ship resources extracted from sterilized planets for several vorns to come. The equipment that made the spacebridges would be completely corrupted and unsalvageable. The Quintessons could still travel in ship by lightspeed and brief bridge jumps but that took significantly more time, energy, and moved significantly less. It would save countless worlds and give others the time to recover.

It increased the Cybertronians’s chances from (7%) to (43%) and that was with taking into account the lost of Prowl’s tactnet if he perished here. 

It is at (51% uploaded) where the two cassettes and Cliffjumper are overwhelmed. 

“Laserbreak!” Revenge howls.

One of the drones, a design similar to the dead organic they passed on the way here and saw on the Scientists’ datalog, has her in it’s pincers. 

Cliffjumper is struggling under it. 

Ravage’s hindleg is sparking. 

Prowl holds out his servo and runs the calculations in a stream of numbers so powerful the glow from his optics changes from the solid Autobot standard of 485 nanometers to ranges below 280 and above 740 to everything in between.

His optics emitting the exact varied shades seen in groundbridges. 

A ground bridge opens right at the spot where Prowl’s servos are directed, where his optics see the joining of the limb grading Laserbeak.

The portal opens and severs the limb, and spits it out on the other side of the room at such a velocity it impales a second drone that had been charging at Ravage’s injured form. It reminds Prowl of the others sinched off limb that had started this all.

The portal is too small to be kept open longer then that and dissipates. The Drone shrieks and Prowl puts it out of it’s misery with a bolt from his rifle. 

Silence. 

“...Prowl? How…” The bombastic, loud, minibot is speechless. 

Laserbeak is staring like she does not want to miss a single detail, wings bent, and the distant, normally prickly Ravage is limping to Prowl’s side like she believes him to be a place of safety. 

Prowl goes as far as his cable allows him (67% uploaded) and lifts the injured Laserbeak. She looks so much like her lost split-spark twin, Buzzsaw, and for the first time, Prowl feels a pang of regret. He does not regret defending his own life, but he wishes that Buzzsaw hadn’t seen such sensitive intelligence while trying to assassinate Prowl, intelligence that would have gotten several autobots killed if he had delivered it back to Soundwave. 

“I promised Soundwave I’d see you two back safely.” Prowl informs gently. “And even if I had not promised him, you two are still under my command, and therefore my responsibility.” He uses the last error neutralizer he had Ratchet equip in his subspace to smooth over the worst of the feedback from Laserbeaks broken wing, and hands her to Cliffjumper, who takes her with nearly limp arms, optics never leaving Prowl, denta finally clacking shut. 

Prowl is about to seek status reports from them all, when-

The mainframe starts blaring alarms.

“Two more waves are inbound. These are there last pushes before the virus is uploaded!” Prowl shouts.

The second wave had a (62%) chance of stopping them.

The third had a (97%)!

The second wave arrives and Prowl’s tacnet goes wild. Prowl had handicapped the space bridged the second he was in the system, and then had handicapped the groundbridges, bending them to his will. Cosmos and Astrotrain had both checked the rest of the system for any other straggler ships, but it had all been quiet. 

These came from deep inside the planet (98%). 

He feels a thrill of horror.

How thoroughly had the Quintessons hollowed out this once thriving planet? 

They are able to use the bodies of the fallen drones and Quintessons as barricades, and Cliffjumper is deploying some of the ion bombs down the hallway and blasting organics and the infrastructure. Unfortunately a breech of the vacuum seal won’t kill the organic creatures as the Drones seems to be a mutation of the lifeforms that had once lived here and the Quintessons colonized this plant in the first place because of their compatibility with it. 

But it does allow Prowl a spectacular view of the spacebridge outside.

(72%)

From this view it looks impossibly huge, a swirling circle as big as an orbiting moon around the dwarf planet.

It backlights the flying swarms of drones heading towards them.

Prowl is filled with despair.

What has happened to his faith? His hope? Had he doomed them all by supporting this mission? 

He does not want to use his last resort option but he would if he had to. 

The ion bombs are only working so well, it’s difficult to deploy in this area without hurting themselves. 

The wave breaks thorough. 

Laserbeak screeches, 

Ravage snarls.

Cliffjumper yells in pain as a drone makes a direct hit to his chassis. 

And Prowl optics light up once again with the oscillating array of nanometers that make up the coloration of a groundbridge portal. He takes the table previously holding the Quintesson datalogs and hauls it up and over with such force it slams into the drone on top of Cliffjumper, killing it as it slams against the wall. 

Prowl opens a new portal.

The nexus is at the core of a Quintesson and it being so small and unstable it explodes almost immediately in a shower of gore as Prowl collapses to his knees, spark spinning at a rate which would have Ratchet barking out orders. 

A drone lunges for Prowl.

Prowl dodges while keeping the cable from his digits in the mainframe, kicking the drone through a new bridge he opens, as it flies through it exits on the other side of the room and crashes into newly arriving Drones, delaying them further. 

The next several movements are done entirely by his spark doing the portal calculations and his tacnet deciding his strategy in a combination of portals-arcs of electricity so powerful they form a current between his sensitive doorwings-and maneuvering to stay connected. 

“How do you keep doing that?!” Ravage croaks in awe. Laserbeak is next to her where she had fallen from Cliffjumper's arms.

Cliffjumper himself is supine, unable to get up. The drone lays dead next to him, eerily similar to the first one they saw on the way here. 

Prowl is venting heavily, desperately trying to get cool air to soothe his systems which are so hot there are steam trails from his plating for where the fluid of the drones and Quintesson’s had splashed onto him. 

“C-Can’t be mad at her. This was her home once, wasn’t it?” Cliffjumper rasps. “She’s just scared, isn’t she? Just like I was?”

There was a (89%) match between the now dead creature’s frame and the remains they had encountered in the remote cave on the way down into the crust. It’s likely that creature’s being was most inspired by the previous life of this planet, with a few other alien lifeforms welded in.  

“Primus, sorry I was so scared, hated that feeling. Didn’t want to leave home, certainly not with you ‘Cons!” Cliffjumper spits. “But…you’re alright.”

Ravage dips her head.

“You as well.” 

Cliffjumper’s optics are flickering.

“She just, she-she wanted these ugly aliens off her home, she just wanted her friends back, but she got us instead, calling her ugly, intending to blow up what was left of her planet. Primus, I’d blow a gasket too!” Cliffjumper rasps out a laugh.

Laserbeak wobbles silently to her talons next to Prowls pedes. Her field is somber. She had not been friends with Cliffjumper but they had respected him as a fighter, and for saving them.

“Prowl, is this what happened to the ones we left behind?” The minibot pleads with him, gesturing to the downed drone, and Prowl offlines his optics. 

After the Quintessons invaded they had repelled the first wave with their Autobot-Decepticon truce, but could not hold against a second and needed to evacuate. Cybertron's trajectory was sporadic and therefore capable of throwing off the Quintessons even with them gone. In an hauntingly silent operation Prowl and Soundwave had coordinated somber mechs to gather all the visible frames of the fallen and put them in the deepest parts of Cybertron-the mines. There had not been enough energon at that point to smelt them all and return them to the extinguished cybermatter of the Well. Oh, how Megatron had raged at Prowl for coming up with such a strategy, and Prowl could not blame him. The prison like mines he had fought to escape for being such a deadly pit for so many now a final resting place for beings who had fought for freedom. What horrid irony. It significantly lessened the chances of their frames being found, but it did not eliminate those chances. 

Prowl decides to be honest.

“Unlikely, but not impossible.” Prowl answers quietly. 

“Then…Prowl you finish uploading and we use the ion bombs so they don’t get our frames.” Laserbeak says. 

Prowl’s lips twitch into a smile. With most of the virus now gone he’s thinking clearly again. 

“83% uploaded.”

“That won’t be completed before the next wave.” Ravage points out. 

“It won’t. Which is why I will open a ground bridge for you three next to where Cosmos resides. Cliffjumper you will transform into alt-mode and have Ravage pull you through. I will stay behind and finish uploading.” 

The highest chance of success while minimizing the loss of Cybertronian life (77%). Prowl’s new found ability to run groundbridge calculations had been folded into his latest round of strategizing. He had simply never needed to jack into a groundbridge before, and never had his spark operating without his tacnet also active around one to find out about that ability.   

Cliffjumper tries to protest, but as his optics fade and his body forces itself into emergency stasis, he transforms automatically to preserve power. 

Ravage ties a tether cord to Cliffjumper, and pulls him through.

She turns back to dip her head one last time at Prowl, who returns the gesture as she and Laserbeak both hobble through the portal and to Cosmos. 

(87%)

Prowl traces the design of the ion bombs in his servos. Wheeljack had truly outdone himself. In a few moments he will have to disconnect to finish the upload through radiowaves-as the final wave would be here at (92%) before upload completion- causing irreparable damage to his processor. He will have to set this to explode manually in the event he can no longer operate his digits. 

He uses the security systems to watch through the screen as Cosmos escapes the dwarf planets gravity well. 

He smiles bitterly. 

That 43% chance will just have to be enough. 

Prowl goes to disconnect his cable when the space bridge warps. 

It begins fluctuating and oscillating and the new wave, nearly upon Prowl, so close he can see wind kicking up dust in the blown out command bridge, all pause to stare upwards in dumb shock. 

Something passes through the spacebridge.

It’s a destroyed dropship.

It’s Prowl’s turn for his intake to drop open in shock. 

What could have destroyed a dropship? It was a feat the Cybertronians even struggled with!

And why is the space bridge fluctuating now, rippling as if in the aftermath of an explosion? 

The ship gets caught in the planets gravity well and begins heading for a crash landing to the surface.

Right where Prowl is as the Command Center had been station under the space bride for optimal control and viewing.

Prowl almost laughs. 

Every single calculation he had about his chances of survival are thrown out.  Error codings are abundant and his vents audible shriek in terror as they struggle to cool his systems. The drones are being commanded to flee by the Quintessons as far from Prowl as they possible could which increased his chances of survival by being able to stay connected to finish the upload and because they won’t be here to attack him. But they’re fleeing because the defeated dropship is about to crush him and the command center. 

Which decreases his chances of survival ‘somewhat’ as Moonracer would say. 

At least Cosmos and his passengers were out of harms way. 

Prowl now has enough time to finish the upload manually and be conscious of being crushed while doing so, instead of the arguably more merciful way of simply destroying his processors with a radiowave upload and then smelting by ion bomb. 

Prowl hopes Smokescreen won’t take his death too hard (100% he will). 

The rest of high command will miss him, and his ability to run a tight meeting (long meetings wasted valuable resources). 

Prowl would above all miss Bluestreak, and Elita-One, and-

-A figure falling from the space bridge and to the dwarf planet.

What happened!? 

Had Cosmos been caught!?

But no, the shape is different. 

This is no Cybertreonian frame that Prowl knows of.

It is a mech with white and black coloration, with the occasional red and blue highlights. A battle mask covers his intake, and a visor like crystal covers his eyes. Prowl must max out the distance viewers in the command centers-his own optics would not have been able to see that far.

But yes.

As the mech falls rapidly Prowl can now see him through the huge holes Cliffjumper left in the command center. He gleams like a fallen prime in the mythical battle against Unicron. 

It makes Prowl rapidly spinning spark nearly stop.

For the first time in his life, his ever present always calculating tacnet finally stops without him crashing.

Merciful, quiet.

The arc of his frame as he seemingly soars to the ground, refractions of light from the space bridge off of armour smooth and in a design not even seen in the most important art museum on all of cybertron he had once been tasked to protect from an art thief. 

He’s transfixed as the mech continues his fall. 

There is no time to waste.

Prowl cannot stand the idea of such a being being destroyed before Prowl can learn more of him, especially since Prowl can help him. 

Even with the lower gravity and thick atmosphere slowing his descent, the fall will at the very least severely injure or more likely kill (78%) the mech. 

Prowl reaches out his hand, energon gushing forth from his intake as the strain of forcing another groundbridge calculation overheats energon lines to the point of bursting in his helm.

From this view it looks like he’s cupping the fallen mech in his entirety in the curve of his servos, and it is right there that one of Prowl’s groundbridges opens in the sky below the mech, mere moments before impact. 

It sends him deep into the compound in the areas cleared of drones of quintessons where hopefully he will recover. Prowl hopes the mech can either find a way off planet or failing that, destroy himself in his entirety to prevent Quintesson experimentation.

(100%)

Prowl completes his upload of the virus. 

The spacebridge screams.

It looks like the corona of a sun as it flails, the virus immediately transmitting through it to ever single other spacebridge in the galaxy, and as Prowl remains connected.

He sees.

Millions of them!

Oh, by Primus!

This is incredible information that Prowl had not anticipated getting his servos on! A map like this, revealed by the transmission of the virus and revealing where ever single major Quintesson settlement was? 

If the rest of the Cybertronians got their hands on this it would increase their chances from (43%) to (76%)!

An incredible difference!

And right now, the only copy resided in Prowl, in his tacnet with the space cleared from releasing the virus. 

Immediately his priorities switch from the destruction of his frame to survival-at-all-costs.

Still plugged into base command, Prowl uses the last dredges of his strength to run the calculations and force the command bridge to open him one last groundbridge, to the exact place Prowl had sent the mystery mech.

Deep into the tunnels of this planet, to alike the mines of Cybertron for Prowl’s liking. The irony his frame might end up in tunnels very much like the ones he condemned his fellows to does not escape him.

Prowl flings himself through the portal just at the dropship makes contact, pushed forward by a new and unexpected faith.

(Thank you for reading! Linked here on ao3!)