Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Another blaster shot went by way too close to Bulkhead's head. He returned fire, ducked behind the mound of boulders that was their current cover and desperately strained his processor for a way out. Bumblebee made a pained sound. The unlucky Vehicon shot cracked his chest plating badly. Bulkhead could smell energon from where he was crouching, which was worrying. He tried to contact Ratchet again and received no reply.

Normally two squads of Vehicons would not be a problem. Of course, normally his partner would not be wounded, and they would not be stuck in a dead end behind a pile of boulders. Bulkhead fired over the top of the pile, grimly noticing that Vehicons were getting closer.

The sound of ground bridge activation was music to his audiodials. Except if that was a ground bridge, there was something wrong with it. The color of the tunnel mouth was a disturbing orange, instead of the usual greenish blue. And it was at least five meters off the ground.

The mech who came through obviously did not expect the height of the exit. He fell and landed badly, his knees hitting the rocky floor, and his faceplates were spared the same treatment only because he caught himself with his right arm at the last moment. His left arm was conspicuously missing at the shoulder. The ground bridge winked out.

Bulkhead had a confusing glimpse of threads on mech's back, pitted and scored armor darkened with soot, red optics, and an Autobot symbol on his chest, and then the Vehicons noticed the Autobot symbol too.

On one hand, it diverted his attackers' attention. On the other hand, the mystery Autobot was going to get slaughtered right in front of his eyes.

Bulkhead started to raise automatically, without any plan in his processor beyond stopping that death somehow. Then the stranger shoved himself on his feet and opened fire. The first shot took a Vehicon in the chest at almost point blank range. And then the new arrival revealed himself as a Tankformer, when he materialized his main cannon over his shoulder: a giant energon guzzling monstrocity which you normally wouldn't use against anything lighter than another tank. Vehicons made a mistake of massing too tightly, and the next shot went through four of them and clipped another two badly. The big Autobot fired the hand blaster again, this time hitting a Vehicon in his faceplate. Apparently that was enough for this Vehicon contingent. The rest of them transformed and fled.

Bulkhead very much wanted to just sit down for a second and enjoy the absence of being shot at, but Bumblebee was still leaking, and the new arrival... was wavering where he... no *she* stood. Bulkhead ex-vented and slowly stood up, very carefully not pointing his weaponry at any mecha. "Don't shoot! I am a friendly!"

The Tankformer *did* point a gun at him for a klick, but then put it away and started walking in his direction. It wasn't a fast walk. How much energon did that slagging gun use? And more importantly, how low were the energon levels of his new friend? Because they still had to get out of here without access to the groundbridge. He was trying very hard not to think how far away from the base they were right now.

::Bulkhead, what's your status?:: Oh, now Ratchet can get through to him. Sure, why not? Bulkhead gritted his denta and very pointedly didn't ask Ratchet where the slag had he been.

::We need to get back now. Bumblebee has been injured.::

Ratchet swore. ::Activating the groundbridge.::

Bulkhead grabbed Bumblebee and made for the tunnel as fast as he could in the root mode.

"'Bee?" The stranger didn't move. She was staring at him as if she was having trouble processing visual input. Slag it. He couldn't wait until he could drop this mystery at someone who would actually know what to do.

::Ratchet, I am bringing a friend.:: He hoped, as he ignored the resulting comm squawk. "Well, you coming, or not?"

She didn't look particularly happy about it, but she went.

***

Optimus waited until Ratchet finished fussing with the repair berth and walked up to him, still frowning. "How are they, old friend?"

Ratchet grabbed a proffered energon cube and took two quick swallows. "Bumblebee's injury has been seen to, and I estimate he will recover completely. At this point he mostly needs energon and time for his self-repair to finish the job of putting him back together."

"And the Tankformer?"

Ratchet took another swallow. "Except for the arm, most damage is superficial. Dings and scrapes that are having trouble healing because she is running on low energon protocols and shanting most of what she has to weapons systems. I am also assuming defragmentation problems, since she is having trouble communicating and processing information, but I cannot check on her software, because she has Spec Ops aggressive firewalls and we have no admission codes available."

"She cannot bring down her *own* firewalls?"

Ratchet gave him a look. "You know the drill. Only her superior officer would have the codes. This way she cannot allow anyone in her processor, even under duress... I have no idea why anyone would implement those levels of security on a Frontliner, but there is no way to crack it without a lot of work. I'll have to borrow Arcee and maybe Rafael as well."

"I suppose you will have to make it a priority. Is there any reason to suspect that whatever is behind those firewalls may be dangerous to us?"

"Honestly? I have no idea. I didn't even manage to get her designation before she offlined with an energon drip in her line. The problem I am concerned with is her arm. I will need to get off that slapshot patch on her shoulder and clean things up before I can even think about creating a replacement. I need to anaesthetize her for that kind of treatment, and right now I can't. The firewalls will not allow a medical code to go through to turn off the receptors, and with her consumptions specks she will process anything chemical way too quickly... As a matter of fact, I have no idea how she can be offline right now."

"Why?"

"Because this patch is only supposed to be an emergency measure. I bet she just applied medigel to stop the leaks, and then applied the patch on top to stop things from moving around too much. That's what I would do if I had no time and resources, and had to close up my own shoulder. And that would mean that her pain receptors are still active."

Both of them looked at the Tankformer's frame. She was not showing any signs of consciousness, despite Arcee's very suspicious stare from close enough that the mecha had to feel her EM field.

"Do you know her, Ratchet?", Optimus asked.

Ratchet sent a negation glyph. "I take it that you don't either? I have gone through what we have of the database, and I found nothing on either side of the War."

"That does not surprise me. I am rather certain that Autobots have never counted a Tankformer among our forces." Because Tankformers and Seekers were purely military builds, and the military moved in support of Megatron almost to a mech. They both watched the unmoving frame for a little while more. "Unfortunately, that means that all we have right now is speculation. I am not certain that I am all that comfortable letting in our base somebody with that much firepower, when we are not certain about her loyalties."

Ratchet huffed. "She wears the Autobot brand. She helped Bulkhead and Bumblebee out of a very tight spot. I may not know what exactly is going on here, but I am leaning towards giving her the benefit of the doubt."

Optimus hummed meditatively, "She would not know the coordinates of the base because of the bridge transit, and you have disabled her comms and GPS."

Ratchet scoffed. "And her weaponry. Who do you take me for, a newbuild?"

"And Arcee is keeping a very close optic."

"You mean a *paranoid* optic. " Ratchet could tell that Optimus was still uneasy, but it was very much his job to worry about the safety of his clade. Ratchet's job was to repair them when they got broken. "It is my hope that she will be able to shed light on this situation once she is online."

It was not like they could just throw her back out now. Bulkhead, for one, will not like it one bit.

***

Ratchet finally managed to persuade Arcee to move her lurking to the other side of the main bay. It took some threats about helping with medical inventory, but he, personally, was feeling better with all that aggression out of his teeking range. Bulkhead already commed twice for updates on his patients' status, despite being away from the base making trouble with Miko. And everybody always said that *Ratchet* was a worrier.

He checked on Bumblebee. His vitals were holding steady, the self-repair obviously hard at work. Ratchet turned to his other patient... who was looking back at him.

The red optics were disconcerting. There were Autobot aligned mecha with optics that were not blue. There was no regulation that said that they had to be. But over the years the color of the optics became as much of a declaration as the Faction Brand.

"It's Overkill."

"What?"

"My designation. It's Overkill." There was something in the way Overkill was looking at him. Not something threatening. Something.

"You were not offline at all, were you?"

She waved her hand back and forth. "On and off. You are right about defragmentation problems too."

"How long since you have enough offline time?"

She laughed quietly, "Who the slag knows? Let's say a while. But I actually meant to tell you that you don't have to construct a new arm."

"You like going around with only one?"

"I mean, I still have it."

"Have it?" Maybe he was online without recharging for too long. He was having trouble following this conversation.

"The arm. In my subspace." Okay, so that made sense... No, it didn't.

"Why is it your subspace?" Instead on her shoulder where it belonged.

"I was hit with... something. Some kind of Decepticon experimental slag. I was lucky to only get brushed, because the guys who were directly in line were deactivated before they hit the ground. But all the circuitry inside the arm was totalled. There was no way I could repair it on my own, and its dead weight would have gotten in the way during combat."

"So you... cut it off?" Ratchet fought the incredulous horror down. The worst part was, he could see how that would be a decision someone would come to. He didn't have to like it. He just had to fix it. Right. "Let's see it."

It was as bad as Overkill said. The framework was still there, but his scans confirmed the internal damage. "The good news is, I can fix it."

"And the bad news?"

"I will have to get past your firewalls to anaesthetise you for repairs. And don't even start, " he stopped Overkill before she came up with an obvious but insane suggestion that he do this work without sedation. She gave him a flat look, but did not argue. Well, that was the Frontliner part confirmed. They were crazy by definition.

"So when is the interrogation going to be?"

"Nobody is going to interrogate anybody!"

She looked at him, her EM field a mix of amusement and exasperation. "Call it a debrief then. I can feel that Infiltrator staring from her corner, and would prefer if she didn't try to shoot me. Was that actually Optimus Prime talking to you, or did I hallucinate that?"

***

It might not have been an interrogation. Exactly. But there were a lot of questions. And then more questions, because those answers did not improve on any understanding.

In the end, Overkill was asked to wait in what was absolutely not a cell in the depths of their makeshift base, while the five of them went another round with the questions.

Arcee barely waited for them all to get out of Overkill's audio receptor range before exploding. "You can't seriously say that you believe any of that... story!"

"Because if I was going to lie to my enemies about my history and my loyalties, that would be *exactly* the story I'd come up with," said Bumblebee.

Arcee turned her exasperated faceplates to Bulkhead, who conspicuously said nothing and tried not to catch her optics.

Optimus wasn't watching her performance at all. He was carefully studying Ratchet. "Old friend, I can sense that you have a theory."

"Maybe," Ratchet vaguely waved his hand in the air. "The problem is it is a crazy unscientific idea, and I don't like the implications one bit."

"Would you like to share?" Optimus could do patient sufferance like nobody's business.

"Did you know that according to Cybertronian science, the bridges should not be possible?"

Optimus widened his optics. "No, I can't say I did. But then physics is not really my field of study."

"As far as we can tell, no one knows how they work."

"But... they do work. And some other species use them as well?"

"Yes. And Cybertronians, just like those other species, have gotten the tech from Quintessons. We can duplicate it, sure. But that still doesn't change the fact that science cannot explain them."

"And it's not like we can ask Quintessons." Cybertronians were not the only victims of Quintessons' lust for power and disregard for an idea that other sapiens were people. Cybertronian rebellion may have precipitated the end of the Quintesson Empire, but their former subject races had gotten on the transport fast enough. As far as Ratchet knew, Quintessons as a species were extinct.

"There are actually certain suggestions that they themselves had gotten the technology from some other long extinct civilization.But that is not actually the point.

"Some scientific speculation has been published based on the idea that we accept principles allowing bridges to exist as proved part of physics. And then extrapolations were made as to what other things that might mean."

"Are you deliberately ramping up the suspense?", nearly snarled Arcee.

Ratchet looked at her. "Some of the speculation suggested that the bridges can actually connect together pretty much anything."

"Meaning?", asked Bumblebee.

"I do mean anything. Different locations in space, without any concern for distance. Different times. Different dimensions. Different realities."

Optimus was frowning again. "Like a reality where the military joined Autobots, instead of Decepticons. However, I am pretty sure that the theory that different realities exist was... debunked?"

Ratchet rolled his optics. "It could not have been debunked, because we do not possess scientific proof one way or another. It is all purely speculation. But the Council really liked the idea that we lived in The Best Of All Possible Worlds and the Science Academy went along with it because of political considerations."

Optimus nodded. "Bulkhead, you did say that there was something wrong with the bridge that she came through, correct?"

"Yep." Bulkhead scratched his faceplates thoughtfully. "Looked like there was some kind of malfunction going on, or something.... I mean, *I* wouldn't step through that bridge, if you know what I mean?"

Arcee looked like she was counting to one thousand. "And that whole slag about Unicron trying to eat Cybertron, and you and Megs disappearing, and Decepticons winning the War? Do you all of a sudden believe in *Unicron*, Ratchet?I"

Ratchet settled his faceplates primly. "I have never met Unicron personally, no. But if we are allowing that she came from a reality where things are different, it is not *completely* impossible that there is something dangerous enough to go around trying to eat planets and calling itself Unicron.

"And their technological path does seem somewhat different."

"I was extremely impressed how you did not just jump over the table and try to shake her once she mentioned that she has an energon converter, " said Optimus diplomatically.

"Er... I thought it was broken?" asked Bulkhead.

"Did you miss the part where it is something they issue to their own military all the time?" Ratchet was looking overjoyed. For Ratchet. "That means it would be expected to be repaired in the field. All the time. By idiots.I bet we can put it together with some wire and er... corrective kind words.

"A Universe where you can make energon out of *anything*, but no one has bridge technology. I think that's the part that makes that Pit of tale more believable."

***

It took Ratchet, Arcee, and Rafael almost a whole lunar cycle to break through the firewalls. Ratchet had a dark suspicion that without the human they would have still been trying. Overkill allowed herself to be put in stasis without comment. The reattachment surgery went better than he anticipated, and afterwards he was delighted to throw himself wholeheartedly into investigating the broken converter.

It was a field model, designed to be carried in a soldier's subspace and used for emergencies. As Ratchet suspected, it was also designed to be repaired in the field by mecha who could barely tell one end of the wire from another. So, once he figured out how to adopt the parts he had, the machine was completely operational.

"It doesn't make very much", Overkill said as she was making final adjustments, "it barely provides enough fuel to maintain me without combat expenditures. But it can use a wide variety of energy or chemical sources with only small fine tuning. Usually it gets set up to process solar radiation. You would travel during the night, and set it out to do its work during the day."

After some discussion, they have decided to set it to convert electricity instead, in order to better conceal it from curious hostile mecha. Right now Decepticons had to use a fair amount of mechapower to produce enough energon for their contingent, which limited their personnel availability a lot. Giving them an alternative source would be disastrous.

The energon the converter produced was mysteriously pink, instead of normal blue, but, unlike Ratchet's attempt at synthesis, functioned in exactly the same way as the one from natural sources. After running every test he could think of (and some suggested by others), he finally declared it safe for consumption. Then he started working on creating a large capacity model. Overkill's fueling demands were nearly three times the expected average. They needed to find a way to supplement their supply as soon as possible. It would be great if they did not have to take the risks of raiding Decepticon mining facilities for fuel.

***

Since Agent Fowler has been assigned as a government liaison to a military base of gigantic metal aliens, his life has been filled with shocking surprises. Many of those shocks were unpleasant. Walking into a said base only to come face to shin with a fucking Decepticon was not one of the nicest ones. He didn't even notice himself going for the gun. Not that he thought that the gun would do him much good against the gigantic monstrosity in front of him.

"Put the gun down, Agent Fowler!" Ratchet's dulcet tones, did make him feel a bit better. He didn't sound like he was currently fighting for his life, anyway. "Agent Fowler!"

The giant robot in front of him made two steps that took him to the other side of the main bay. Ratchet, on the other hand, came closer. Probably so he could get a better angle to stare judgmentally at him.

"Ratchet?" Fowler was having trouble finding words, so he just made a wild gesture trying to encompass the situation.

"The gun, Agent Fowler!" Yes, he was gesturing with a gun. All right. Fowler put the gun away.

Ratchet said something in Cybertronian. The other robot came closer and studied Fowler with interest. At least, Fowler hoped it was interest, and not something more sinister. It was kind of hard to tell with the mask covering most of the robot's face. Creepy red eyes peered at him from several feet above Ratchet's head.

"Let me introduce you to our new arrival. Her designation is Overkill."

Of course it was.

Overkill nodded her head in greeting. "It is nice to meet you, Agent Fowler." Her (her?!?!) voice was a rich soprano.

Fowler was extremely relieved to see Optimus Prime walk into the room and provide him with an excuse to escape.

"Prime," Fowler was not sure what he wanted to say exactly, and in situations like this his mouth sometimes ran away from him. (He used to be proud of his diplomacy, but then his diplomacy was not called for in *situations like this* before he met giant robots who turned into vehicles.) "Why is there a Decepticon wandering around your Super Secret Hidden Base?"

Optimus Prime looked at him reproachfully. "You have been informed that Overkill is an Autobot, Agent Fowler."

Fowler looked up at him. "Prime, I was not born yesterday. She does not look like any Autobot that I ever ran into, and she *does* look a lot like some of Decepticons that tried to kill me. Repeatedly. Are you going to tell me that "Overkill" is an Autobot name too?"

"Agent Fowler," Optimus Prime had the ability to speak in a way that reached down to your soul, and his disapproval always made you feel like the lowest of the low. Fowler was frequently surprised that Decepticons didn't just fold after hearing one of his lectures. Like now. "What Overkill does or does not look like has no bearing on her loyalties. Neither does her name. Person's loyalty is not a factor of their appearance. It was my understanding that this was a stance of the polity which you serve. Is my understanding incorrect?"

In other words Prime just very politely reminded him that prejudice is a really ugly word, and suggested that Fowler get over his, before he creates a diplomatic accident.

Meanwhile, Prime was continuing his presentation, "However a mech might look, it is what in their spark that makes a difference."

Fowler suspected that what was in Overkill's spark was a lot of murder, but he supposed that might be beneficial to a handful of soldiers who faced an exponentially superior number of enemies. Still, he could not help but put in the last word, "I hope that you know what you are doing with this one, Prime."

The giant robot inclined his head. "I do."

"Fine. Care to share with me what to put on report to my superiors? You might want to start as to how she actually got here. You told me that you currently have no spacefaring capability."

***

The silo had a fair amount of empty space, all things considered, but there was not enough for even halfway decent training grounds for someone of their size. The solution was to train outside, even if it increased their chances of being spotted. At least groundbridge technology provided them with the ability to go anywhere on Earth. Using random locations at irregular intervals was the least they could do to bring down the risks.

This was the first time Overkill was out of the base since her arm had been re-attached, and Ratchet had provisionally cleared her for combat. She spent some time testing out her transformation sequence and integrated weaponry, patiently waited for Ratchet to double check that all her systems were still in full repair, and moved on to what was clearly the draw of this trip: sword practice.

Mecha's weaponry tended to be as unique as the rest of them. Most preferred integrated blades for close quarters combat. Overkill's primary weapon was a non-integrated sword almost as long as Bumblebee was tall. She, unsurprisingly, wielded it with ease. After half a joor of watching her go through a basic training sequence at a faster and faster pace, Bulkhead said hopefully, "Hey, Overkill, wanna spar?"

Overkill gestured to Ratchet, clearly asking for permission. "Fine," Ratchet grambled, "but I better not see either of you in the infirmary after this exercise!" Overkill thumped her chest with her fist in a mocking salute.

Of course they both ended up in the infirmary anyway.

Overkill had only slight scrapes and dents, and was clearly letting Ratchet treat them in the spirit of gaining future goodwill. Ratchet finished treating scratches on Overkill's forearm and was about to tell her to go find something useful to do, when Overkill twitched her limb, and was suddenly holding his hand in her giant clawed one. Ratchet froze. The unfortunate side effect of treating veteran fighters was first-hand knowledge of the kind of damage they can do by accident while having a flashback or another bad moment. Overkill's thumb caressed his knuckles before she leaned down and touched her lip plates gently to the back of his fingers. He didn't even notice that she retracted the mask. Ratchet pulled, and the hand let him go. When he looked at Overkill's face, she was watching him calmly. She let her field speak instead.

Right. This was more than the usual half-sparked flirtation that half of his patients tended to unleash on the medical personnel that treated them. This will never do.

"I am going to have to ask you to stop that."

Overkill straitened and put the mask up again. "Because you are annoyed, or because you are tempted?"

Ratchet made a point of not spattering. "Because I told you to!"

"As you say." She slid off the medical berth and stepped away. "Thank you, Ratchet. Your repairs are always excellent." Overkill's field was firmly back to neutral. He didn't really process the casual "always", until several clicks later.

***
Overkill stopped her flirting just as he told her to. She did not become unfriendly, or even merely rude to him, but something was distinctly missing out of their interactions now. Was she really doing *that* much flirting before? It took Ratchet two cycles to admit to himself that he felt something was wrong, and half of another one to break down enough to corner Optimus and talk to him about it.

"You are not allowed to say a thing!" he hissed at this oldest and best friend. Optimus gave him an expectant look. "Overkill propositioned me," Ratchet made a vague gesture with his hands, "a couple of days ago. Except now, I feel *worried* about it, and I don't even know why!" He glared at silent Optimus in exasperation. "Well?"

"I thought I was not allowed to say anything?" rumbled Optimus.

Ratchet hit him. "Stop it, you glitch!"

"Sorry, old friend. But what do you mean, when you say you are worried?"

Ratchet ex-vented. "I don't even know what I mean. I keep thinking that she is going to... turn nasty over it, and I don't even know why! As far as I know, she has never been anything but civil to anyone on the base, including Arcee, who makes no secret of her dislike. And yet..."

"Ah."

Ratchet hated when Optimus made that noise. It meant that you are being an idiot and Optimus is not completely sure how to politely bring it to your attention.

"Would you say that you would never worry about rejecting one of the others?"

Ratchet snorted derisively. Worried? He was well aware that every single one was intimidated by him... Wait. "Are you suggesting that I am worried about her reaction because she does not seem to be particularly intimidated by me?"

"Perhaps. But mostly I was wondering if you are feeling intimidated by her."

***

Cybertronians were much less invested in privacy than humans, and the long millenia of war mostly stripped them of even that little level of consideration. The silo has received an absolute minimum of remodeling. The personal quarters were randomly placed alcoves, screened by curtains made out of Earth fabric. If you wanted to be left alone, you pulled your curtain closed. Not that any of them did that particularly often. Of course curtains did not provide much in a way of sound dampening.

"Or you can sit on my face," Overkill sounded like she was barely suppressing laughter.

"I told you what I want!" Aaaand that was Arcee, no less grumpy than ever. Ratchet tried to get out of the audio shot as fast as he could without actually hurrying.

"And I said that I am all for that, remember? It's just something in the way of foreplay. You do remember what that is, right?" Overkill still sounded nearly incandescent with amusement.

Arcee ex-vented loudly. "You are such a fragging glitch..."

"I thought you were going to be doing the fragging?..."

Safely far enough away, Ratchet started to review files on interface-related injuries. He would have liked to think that the two mecha could accomplish something like that without much trouble, but Ratchet's long experience as a medic taught him that that supposition would be incorrect. Interface-related injuries were always the most ridiculous ones, and the large frame-size difference between the two partners is likely to make the chance of an injury higher. Add the part where they both were both prone to risk taking, and about as indifferent to discomfort as any other soldier, and it was a disaster waiting to happen.

***

Overkill's tank alt made her ability to patrol in secret limited. Oh, she still went out, generally to places where no humans would be expected to comment on a random tank of unknown make. Theoretically she should have been with either Bumblebee or Arcee, a heavy frontliner to their scout, but either Bulkhead or Optimus were her usual partners. Of course those "patrols" usually consisted of finding a secluded spot where two Cybertronians could spar unobserved. Overkill and her patrolling partner have run into Vehicons exactly twice. Vehicons lost.

Not that Ratchet thought that they were on an unbeatable winning streak. It just felt nice not to be on the defensive for once.

***

Later they were pretty sure that the accidental intercept of the location of the energon mine was actually a trap.

Then, all Ratchet could do is open a requested ground bridge to his team location and hope that they will all make it back.

They did, though Bulkhead and Overkill were supporting Optimus, who was clearly worse for wear, and all five of them were liberally splashed with energon.

"Any other injuries?" Ratchet asked briskly as he was settling Optimus on the repair berth and starting to run diagnostic scans.

"Nothing that cannot wait," said Arcee.

"Hm." He was going to be the judge of that, but unless one of the other mecha actually fell over, Optimus was his priority patient. "What happened?"

"They were waiting for us." Bumblebee sat down, clearly exhausted. "A *lot* of them were waiting for us. They had to have stirpped the ship bare of most of the crew for this stunt. On the plus side," he sounded savagely satisfied, "this is not a stunt 'Cons will be able to pull again in a hurry."

"No," there was something in Overkill's tone that made Ratchet's self-protection subroutine take notice. "Not until Knock Out manages to do *a lot* of repairs."

Out of Ratchet's visual field, the mecha suddenly went completely silent. Even the extra venting that was cooling down frames overheated by combat has stopped. In the sudden spike of tension, he turned around to look.

You couldn't actually dismiss the fact that Overkill was a Warbuild. Whoever designed that frame (and Ratchet had his suspicions), was pretty upfront about what they wanted to ... convey. Ratchet had never seen her to actually *lean* into anyone the way she was deliberately towering over Bumblebee now. No wonder the rest of the Warframes were getting ready to deal with a violent outburst.

Behind Ratchet's back, Optimus stirred, probably getting ready to throw himself at the problem. Ratchet had a sudden vision of Optimus breaking open all the fresh welds in a pointless fight, that Ratchet would have to repair *again*, and that wasn't even including whatever damages the rest of the glitches had. Or about to add, if the fight breaks out.

"Absolutely not!" Ratchet made a point of reinforcing his command with close-comm transmission. "You are *not* going to start a fistfight in the middle of my Medbay!" Everybody froze. Ratchet would have liked to say that they did so guiltily, but it was kind of hard to tell. Bulkhead, Arcee, and Bumblebee turned to look at him. Overkill did not. She ventilated twice, her back still to Ratchet, dumped something into Bumblebee's arms and walked off into the depths of the base.

Ratchet turned around and glared at Optimus until the fragger laid his aft back down on the medberth.

"Should we, err.." said Bulkhead.

"No," Bumblebee slowly walked into the Medbay, "Let her be. It's not like she can go for a drive to cool down."

Ratchet came closer to investigate the things Bumblebee dropped on the table. "Is... that Knock Out's arm?!?"

"And the energon staff that he was holding in it. I think that those Vehicons would have a bit of a wait for their repairs."

***

With Optimus stabilized and in recharge, Ratchet could spare attention for the rest of the 'bots. Everybody dutifully presented themselves for medical treatment. Everybody except Overkill.

After half a cycle passed without the Tankformer showing her faceplates, Ratchet finally had enough. He supposed he could have sent a comm, but he was feeling sufficiently aggravated to go look for her himself. To his surprise, he found Overkill in the first place he checked--her recharge alcove.

The curtain was not drawn, and Overkill's faceplates were turned towards the hallway. Her optics lighted and then went off almost immediately. Ratchet wasn't sure if he should be insulted or flattered. Apparently his presence was not a reason to boot up completely.

A pair of blue optics under a yellow helm peered over Overkill's shoulder, before Bumblebee unceremoniously climbed over her recharging frame. Overkill did not react in any way, as Bumblebee led Ratchet to the main room in a bee-line to the energon dispenser. Ratchet used the time Bumblebee dissolved supplements in his cube to come up with words to express himself.

"I thought she was 'facing Arcee."

"Oh, she is." Bumblebee made a face at his energon. The supplements necessary to keep their often abused frames in the best achievable condition tasted awful. "Also Bulkhead."

How did Ratchet miss that one? "And you?"

Bumblebee took another unhappy sip. "Never was my thing."

Not that was the only reason to share a berth, of course. "How bad are nightmares?"

"Mine, or hers?" Bumblebee gave Ratchet a thin smile. "She was close friends with her Bumblebee. She says my field helps."

"He is dead, isn't he?"

"She never actually said. But I think so, yes." Bumblebee shrugged. "She has a pretty nice field when she is not having nightmares."

"Are you planning to tell me what was *that* when you came back?"

Bumblebee didn't look him in the optics. "You are not going to let it go, are you?"

"If she is going to go after whoever was in command every time she doesn't agree..."

Bumblebee shook his head. "She wasn't going to do anything to me."

"You can't possibly know that. And Arcee and Bulkhead didn't seem to agree with your assessment of the situation."

"Arcee and Bulkhead are more than happy to get under her panels, but I seriously doubt that either of them had an actual conversation with her that was not about interface or killing things." Bumblebee looked Ratchet in the optics, and his gaze was not entirely friendly. "I am sure that she prefers it that way, but it is still a mistake.

"She was really upset after Prime got hit. In a totally unsurprising turn of events, her reaction to being upset was trying to kill as many 'Cons as possible, which is, shockingly, even more intense than her usual attempt to kill as many 'Cons as possible. She doesn't particularly care how they get slagged, either. If she can't do for them herself, being deactivated because there are no repairs available, is just fine."

Ratchet rubbed his nasal ridge. "Deactivate the medic, and they are going to have much heavier losses, especially given how poorly Vehicon frames are designed. Primus, that's cold. Optimus would hate the thought."

"Luckily, she is willing to accept other mecha's judgement. She was not angry with me because she thought that my order to spare Knock Out was wrong. She was angry because she felt that she was failing in her function."

"She feels responsible for protecting us," Ratchet said, trying to feel out the shape of it. "Like she did not protect her other cadre."

"Probably. But at least she is self-aware enough to recognize her own glitch."

***

Ratchet found himself reluctant to go back to Overkill's alcove. Which was a ridiculous reaction to have. Besides, he had his own function to perform.

The scans had shown minor ninite repair activity. Nothing he needed to involve himself with at this stage of healing. Overkill was online and glaring at the ceiling. Her field was a morass of anger, disdain, sorrow, and guilt. It felt awful enough at its outskirts. There was no way Bumblebee was comfortable enough to recharge right next to her frame. Except he apparently had. Which raised a number of questions.

All mecha learned to control their EM field to some degree, but what Overkill was doing with hers didn't even come close to the usual skill. Add it to the unusual firewalls and you come up with what?

"You are special ops," he said finally, guessing.

She turned her head just enough to look at him. "Not the way you are thinking. I was there to hit things and make sure that they stayed down afterwards... It's just that Prowl has always been a paranoid glitch." Her field was back to bland contentment. Ratchet wondered what he would feel now if he came as close as Bumblebee had been. Would he also think that it was restful?

"Prowl. And Jazz I am assuming. And you knew Bumblebee. And me. And Optimus?"

"Not particularly well. Our cadre never ended up this small."

It took a lot for Ratchet to come up to the berth and gingerly settle his aft near one red shoulder. "What happened to them?"

Overkill looked away to the ceiling again. "They died." *And left me alone.* She wouldn't say that of course.

"We lost the war, then. I suppose Megatron did a lot of crowing about the superiority of Decepticon philosophy and Decepticon warriors and Decepticon worldview."

"He probably would have, if he wasn't dead too. He, Prime, and Jazz were in the party who went into Unicron to stop him. There was an actual Autobot/Decepticon ceasefire to deal with the threat to Cybertron of that magnitude."

"Which Decepticons surprisingly betrayed at the first opportunity?" asked Ratchet with a certain degree of sarcasm.

"They didn't get a chance.

"We lost comms as soon as they went in. After a couple of joors, all of Unicron's biolights went out and his EM field disappeared, but we still couldn't raise anybody inside. Not even Soundwave managed contact. After some more bickering we put together another joint team to find out what was going. I was on it.

"There were dead Terracons everywhere you looked. Signs of a running fight all the way to the Unicron's spark chamber. And inside--nothing. No spark, no greying frames. Just gone.

"When we came out, I think we were all in shock, us and Decepticons both.

"They started squabbling as to who was an heir to Megatron's Glorious Legacy almost immediately."

"It didn't just go to Starscream?" asked Ratchet, interested despite his heavy foreboding.

"No. He was one of six contenders." She was silent for a klik."We honestly hoped that they would all kill each other off. *Really* looked like it is a likely outcome for a while there. And then Shockwave came out on top."

"Shockwave?" It was difficult to control his incredulity. "Does he even have interests in anything that is not a highly unethical scientific line of inquiry?" Shockwave's lack of ethics was epic enough that most of his experiments were secrets even from his own side.

"Soundwave threw his support behind his bid. I have no idea why. Maybe he just had a thing about being a power behind the throne. After that everything was over but executions."

"And then?"

Overkill ex-vented. "And then we started to lose. Prowl tried, but Jazz went into Unicron with the Prime. When Prowl has gotten himself deactivated there were rumors that it was on purpose."

Ratchet winced. Prowl and Jazz were good friends in this universe. And apparently something more in the other one. "Were the rumors true?"

"I don't think so. I don't think he premeditated anything. I think he just stopped being as careful as he should have been.

"Ultra Magnus... is an excellent administrator, but he doesn't have enough flexibility to be any good at strategy. Kup had gone missing in action... Everything to the Pit, basically.

"By the time I stumbled into my little interdimensional adventure, those of us still alive were mostly on the run. Shockwave promised amnesty to those who surrendered voluntarily, but...I suppose he decided he couldn't trust them anyway."

Ratchet looked at the wall. "He executed everyone?"

Overkill laughed. "No. They still needed mech power, if only to mine for energon and restore the cities. Processor control was the world of the day."

"But... slave coding doesn't work! Not the way fiction would lead you to believe anyway. The personality software works against imposed limits automatically. The stronger the limits, the harder it works on repair."

"Ratchet," said Overkill, "it works just fine if you remove enough personality components."

Ratchet thought he was going to purge. "So, what, he made them drones? That's..."

"Yes."

"I suppose by that point nobody cared that it was specifically one of the things Decepticons blamed Functionalists for."

Overkill gave him a look. "Ratchet, seriously, when was the last time 'Cons followed the stated goals of the rebellion? Must have been before I was sparked, because I don't remember it happening."

Ratchet snorted. "Okay, I have to give you that one." He was silent for a breem. "I suppose I knew I'd find out something horrible... but this was definitely above and beyond my expectations."

Overkill turned to her side on the berth. "Apparently the longer you live, the more fragged up stuff you get to experience. Organics should be grateful for their lifespan."

Ratchet put a careful servo on her helm. Overkill's EM field no longer felt like it was trying to contain an explosion. He managed to help that much at least.

Of course the almost companionable silence was immediately broken by Bulkhead's unceremonious entrance. Ratchet was all set at expressing himself about his rudeness (possibly at high volume), but Bulkhead spoke first, "I just got a comm from Breakdown! He is requesting asylum on behalf of himself and Knock Out!"

He ran out of the alcove again, presumably so spread the news to everybody, because using comms was for losers. Overkill started swearing.

Ratchet looked at her in confusion. "Why is it a problem? Neither Breakdown nor Knock Out are exactly dedicated believers. Megatron had already proven that he doesn't care about his people when he decided to leave Breakdown in MECH's hands. Is it so difficult to believe that they would consider Autobots a better option?"

"They would consider *you* a better option," Overkill said flatly, while rolling to her feet. "And what happens after you repaired Knock Out?"

"Well, it is not like they can go back! Decepticons execute defectors."

"They are risking a lot. What proof do you have that this defection is not actually sanctioned by someone marginally sane in Decepticon command. Like, oh, Soundwave. I bet *he* would like to have the only Decepticon medic on this mudball back in excellent repair."

Ratchet rubbed his nasal ridge. "We will take all the precautions we can. But suspicions or no, I cannot refuse him repairs, and Optimus will not refuse them asylum."

"Oh, I know." Overkill sounded like she completely recovered her mental equilibrium. Ratchet refused to speculate how much of that was performative, if only because he had enough problems to deal with, and two bigger ones incoming shortly.

"Hopefully when this inevitably goes straight to the Pit, you will all be around for me to remind you that I have told you so." She stopped for a second and frowned at Ratchet. "How do you think Breakdown has Bulkhead's comm codes?"

Ratchet couldn't help the groan that escaped. He had to hope that Bulkhead was not doing anything extra ill-advised behind everybody's back. "If that glitch was in contact with a 'Con without reporting it, I am going to personally make sure that his life will get very interesting in the near future."

His comm system dumped more data into his neural net. Breakdown was requesting asylum. On behalf of himself, Knock Out, *and* ten Vehicons.

"This," he said to Overkill as he was hurrying behind her. "*This* is how we are all going to die, isn't it?"

"I have no idea. This is nowhere near what happened before."

Ratchet gave her a dark look. "I was angling for a 'No"."

***

"He has completely lost the plot," said Breakdown flatly to Optimus Prime. "He was getting worse and worse before, but since he stuck that chunk of poison in his chest... Starscream's gone."

"Did he finally kill him?"

"I don't know. He didn't bring his frame back to mount on the wall of the Ops center, but that is as far as that goes. Right before the last battle, he brought a new Second onboard. You know Arachnid?"

Optimus Prime was probably too regal for a vince. "I know of her."

"Yeah." There did not seem much else to say on the topic. Decepticon officers tended to lean into violence and sadism. You learned to live with it, or you ended up scrap. Arachnid still managed to be special.

"After Knock Out's injury, she started insinuating that he is useless ballast. Normally, we wouldn't have worried over it. He is one of the very few capable Decepticon medics left." He flicked optics to Prime's face. It was still strange to see it with the battle mask down."..She wouldn't authorize resources for necessary repairs. Soundwave doesn't like her very much, but he does whatever Megatron tells him to do, and Megatron... agreed with her."

"So you came to us, because it was your only chance for repairs. And after that?"

"I don't know," Breakdown lied shamelessly. "We didn't really have time for much planning."

They couldn't go back, of course. That was clear from the very beginning. Even if Megatron was willing to allow their return, the Vehicons that came with them would be deactivated, and he, personally, wasn't willing to leave his friends out to hang. And the way those mecha have been treated was wrong. Wrong enough that he tried to do his best for them, even when it was "discouraged".

Breakdown wasn't much of a true believer. He ended up with a purple brand after his city was overtaken and he was given a charming offer to join or die. Knock Out though... He was into it because of what Autobots did to Velocitron after it attempted to remain neutral, and he had just the right personality to blossom in the Decepticon ranks. The fact that he was willingly abandoning Megatron was really saying something.

So, no, they couldn't go back. If they had had any chance at a ship, they may have tried to go offworld and go Neutral, but they didn't have a ship. And, honestly, he would have urged to scrap that plan anyway. Running into Tarn did not appeal. They couldn't just stay on Earth and try to fend for themselves either--not only Megatron would be burning to repay them for treason, but MECH was also there just waiting for a mech they could exploit. (And vivisect. He was hoping he would have a chance to.. chat with Silas. Where Autobots could not see them.) They had no choice but ally themselves to the Prime and his gaggle of misfits. Still, no reason to let Prime know that he had them over a barrel.

At least he didn't have to worry about Knock Out that much. Ratchet was widely known to be an excellent medic. And Knock Out was glad to find out that his arm could be re-attached immediately. He did worry about the Vehicons a bit. The Autobots were not keen on letting them run around the base, since the former Decepticons were now almost twice their number. The Vehicons were currently locked in a room somewhere in the bowls of former silo. Not that anything in this dump could keep a determined mech locked up for long, much less ten of them. Breakdown just hoped that Vehicons would know better than do anything stupid until more trust was extended. The Autobots looked at all of them with suspicion, and he really shouldn't find an absolutely logical response as infuriating as he did.

Prime's optics unfocused for a second as he received something on personal comm. "I have to cut this conversation short for now," Prime said as he greeted a newly-arrived Tankformer, and left after sending Breakdown an apology glyph. Looked like it was change-of-guard time.
Overkill nodded to Breakdown and settled into the classical relaxed guard holding-up-the-wall position. Breakdown considered.

When he arranged for their defection, he was hoping to have Bulkhead as an ally among the Autobot contingent. And maybe he actually did. Too bad that he was unable to interact with him in any way whatsoever. And in any case, he needed to start making new allies, and staring at Ratchet as he worked on Knock Out would not help the surgery any. Besides, he was curious.

When he and Knock Out were first transferred to Earth, Breakdown made a point to ransack Soundwave's files for info on the local Autobot cadre. You never knew what would turn out to be useful. (Bulkhead's presence was a pleasant surprise. Arcee's much less so.) When a new Autobot fell out of a Bridge and started slaughtering mecha (according to somewhat hysterical Vehicon reports), he tried to do the same with files about her... And was completely unsuccessful.

Tankformers were never the most numerous of Warbuilds. They were expensive to manufacture because of all the structural reinforcements, and required unusually vigorous sparks to power the frames. Oh, sure, there were tens of thousands of them enframed and deployed during the war. And he was sure that there were less than ten of them left still functioning, and that all of them were Decepticons.

Breakdown knew nothing about this enemy, except her name and frame type. And the fact that she pulled off Knock Out's arm and nearly sent him to the Well. It was kind of... infuriating. Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

He walked up to Overkill as casually as possible, and was gratified that attention now focused on him wasn't unusually hostile. You never knew with Frontliners. Prime example: Arcee.

"I hear your name is Overkill," he said cheerfully. "I am Breakdown."

"So I've heard." She had a nice voice, a deep alto, friendly.

Emboldened, he asked, "What else did you hear?"

"Mostly that you are dissatisfied with current Decepticon management practices," her field pulsed with amusement.

"Heh." He pointed to his eye patch. "You see this?"

"Everyone has seen it, Breakdown. There is a betting pool on why you didn't have it repaired."

"I bet 'Because Megatron decided that I should keep my wound to remind me of my failure' was not on the list."

"That's because Megatron is supposed to be good at military command slag. Seems a bit short-sighted to deprive one of his warriors of binocular vision for an imaginary fault."

Breakdown grinned at the pun. "Well, he has not been... himself lately, I don't think."

"Are we not what we do?"

Breakdown had to wince. "Argh, no philosophy, please. I leave that slag to Knock Out."

"I see. So you are a completely uncomplicated mech, without any ability for introspection, or, indeed, tactical acumen. No wonder Megatron punished you. He was probably disappointed when he requested a transfer of an Elite, and ended up with cannon fodder."

Overkill said it completely seriously, her field calmly neutral, and for a klick Breakdown could not decide if she really thought he was a simpleton, or if she was trying to pick a fight. He had to manually preempt his initiating combat protocols. He didn't manage to keep up his friendly attitude.

"You are better than Arcee at provocation."

She laughed at him. "Of course I am. Not Arcee's style at all."

Great. And it was only the first pass. Somehow, he suspected that Overkill was about as glad to see them there as Arcee.

"Look," he tried for as much sincerity as he could master. "We don't *want* to go back."

Radiating that much scepticism with faceplates covered with a mask and field pulled in all the way should've been more difficult.

Breakdown ex-vented. "I was just telling Prime all about it. Ask him if you don't believe me."

"Hm." She studied him for a klick. "Denying his own warriors repairs out of spite is idiotic. For the record."

Breakdown let himself relax a little. It was not exactly an overture of friendship, but at least they are going to get a chance to fuck up on their own.

Ratchet had proved his great grasp of timing, as he picked that moment to call Breakdown to the medical berth. "I've put him back together as much as I can. The rest is the job for his self-repair. And medic or no, he is *not* to re-activate the arm until I say so." Still prone, Knock Out grimaced and extended a servo for Breakdown to pull him to sitting position. "Now, go and rest. And you," he gave Breakdown a severe frown,"I will see tomorrow morning, after I finished replicating the optic. Now shoo."

He actually made shooing motions at them too.
***

Since Autobots' quarters were curtained alcoves, the fact that Breakdown and Knock Out were housed in an actual room with an actual door probably should have been alarming, but Breakdown still felt immediately better as soon as they were locked in. Knock Out was wiped out enough to graciously allow Breakdown to assist him to the berth.

"How is it?" Breakdown asked, knowing that Knock Out was running in depth self-diagnostics instead of trusting Autobot Medic's work.

"He hasn't added anything that shouldn't have been there, from what I can tell," grumbled Knock Out. "Slagging Autobot know-it-all..."

"Please don't start picking fights with Autobots yet. At least wait until you are completely repaired."

Knock Out gave him a superior look. "When exactly did *I* pick fights?"

Breakdown diplomatically decided not to continue this line of conversation. Knock Out had glossa that was as sharp as his saw, and a tendency to exercise it... oh pretty much all the time. At least his digs were usually subtle enough that they went over most bots' heads. Somehow he doubted that would be the case with Overkill.

"And expecially don't get into it with either femme."

Knock Out gave him a curious side-opticticed look. "Right. And what was that conversation all about?"

"No way did you see me having a conversation with anyone. You were in induced statis."

"So I inferred that from how you two were standing together so chummily. Given how my arm was removed in the first place, I am not sure I approve."

Instead of answering, Breakdown set to fitting both himself and Knock Out on a berth that was way too small for two. "I wanted to see if I could find out what the frag is happening with Bulkhead."

"Oh." Knock Out magnanimously allowed himself to be arranged. "The Autobot Medic said that he was "being censured" for unauthorized contact with a Decepticon."

"What is that supposed to mean?" asked Breakdown, alarmed. "He was our best chance for an ally in this place!"

"Oh," said Knock Out airly, "probably a really long lecture from the Prime. Or something. Stop being so worried. It's not like they are going to execute him. There are too few of them as it is."

True, but... "Us."

"What?"

Breakdown signed. "Too few of *us*. We defected, remember?"

"How can I forget?.. What have they lined this berth with? It feels like I am laying on bare metal!"

***
Three months in, and they were all way closer to being a big clade than Breakdown could imagine in his worst nightmares. The Autobots' sleeping alcoves have all sprouted largely symbolic doors, but no one even pretended to lock any of the former Decepticons in any more. Knock Out and Ratchet had achieved a level of armed neutrality that only became possible after Breakdown and Bulkhead managed to triple the medbay area. Now, it was necessary to actually traverse the room in order to get into an argument, and neither medic wanted to confirm that he was, indeed, this petty.

On one hand, it relieved some of the Breakdown's worries. Namely, he no longer spent his time trying to decide what to do if Knock Out and Ratchet had actually tried to kill each other. On the other hand, Knock Out tended to get extra energetic interface-wise when he was riled up.

Vehicons turned their original brig into communal barracks. Nearly two tendays ago the Autobots' human pets were allowed to visit again, at which point the middle-sized one quickly decided that she was the Vehicons' best friend, which from what Breakdown was given to understand by exasperated Bulkhead, was very much in character.

(Breakdown still wasn't sure what he thought about humans. Humans made up MECH, and he hated MECH with the level of passion that he felt was entirely appropriate. On the other servo.. The little squishes were completely unfazed by the mecha many times their size, who could kill them just by not paying enough attention. Knock Out decided that he liked them, if only because Ratchet inevitably expressed displeasure at any interaction with the locals.)

Bulkhead was delighted to have him here. Breakdown felt.. cautiously social. Their work cohort was never very close, but it was almost impossible to meet someone you knew before the war these orns. Another thing not to contemplate too closely if you didn't want to spiral into horror.

The yellow scout was distantly neutral, while Arcee still glowered suspiciously pretty much every time she was in a vicinity of an ex-'Con.

Ratchet was Ratchet, which is to say he treated everyone with different levels of irritation. He always thought that the stories about Autobots' CMO's temper were either propaganda or tall tales. He stood corrected.

There was no way to figure out what the Prime was thinking. Sure, he welcomed them all with the extended servo of friendship and all that slag, but there was something about the mech that gave Breakdown the creeps. At least the Decepticon commanders tended to be obvious about their crazy.

Speaking of obvious crazy, Overkill decided that Vehicons need to be encouraged in expressing their individuality. As far as he could tell, her suggestions were accepted with curiosity, if not enthusiasm. The transmogrification of alphanumeric designations to proper Cybetronian ones was proceeding apace, and some of the Vehicons were experimenting with different color patterns, though none really moved that far from usual purple-and-black scheme. Yet.

It's not like Breakdown was *against* the change. He never liked how Vehicons and Eradicons were treated in the first place. He just didn't understand how this interest fit with the rest of Overkill's personality. Bulkhead, who was clanging her (and once again let us speak of crazy), seemed to think that Overkill was just being her usual friendly self. Breakdown had to remind himself that Bulkhead was never particularly bright.

But all in all, he was feeling pretty good about himself and his decisions.

And then Megatron had shown up demanding Prime's assistance with destroying Unicron who was *the foundation of this Pit-damned planet*. Of course.

***

"You absolutely *cannot* take the Vehicons," Ratchet said categorically.

Knock Out, who was doing his best to unobtrusively put the Prime between himself and Megatron, had to chime in himself. He was not going to be shown up by someone who could barely get up to half Knock Out's top speed! "No, he is right," he said to outraged faceplates of his former leader. "Their armor is too substandard. Given the, ehem, Dark Enegon's toxicity, none of them would be of any use in combat. If they make it that far."

"Fine." Megatron was currently exhibiting an unfamiliar and thus terrifying level of self control. His usual vitriol speechifying was on all time low. He didn't even promise to disassemble anyone *once*. The situation was that bad, then, clearly. If Knock Out was going to get deactivated on this cursed mudball because of the presence of a *mythological slugging figure*, he is going to have words.

To his intense disappointment, the spirited discussion of who was and who wasn't going to crawl through Unicron's internals never got more rowdy than a dull roar.

***

"I am still not certain that this is the best course of action, Optimus." Ratchet could probably think up worse ideas than going into combat against Unicron (haha), in the company of Megatron and Breakdown. He would have to stretch his imagination a bit, however.

"I, likewise, have my doubts." Optimus was looking in the direction of the rest of the mecha, but clearly not seeing any of them. "However, I do not see any other option. We have to expose Unicron to the Matrix. To do so, we need Megatron to show me the way, and fighters to make it possible for me to even get that far... We have to take them both. I suspect they can be trusted until Unicron has been dealt with. "

"And after that?" Primus save Ratchet from self-sacrificing glitches.

"That presupposes that at least some of us will survive long enough for it to be an after." Optimus have been quiet for a klick. "However, I must ask you to be ready to deal with Overkill's response should this mission ends up in disaster."

"Optimus?" Why her specifically?

"She had already lost her cadre to Unicron once. I am not sure she can deal with losing this much again."

***

Breakdown was not sure how he was supposed to feel about being included in this particular escapade. Of course Ratchet had to stay behind to operate the bridge, and no one would have trusted both him and Knock Out alone with the Autobot medic, even if they were all playing the happy clade recently. (Meanwhile, why is none of the Autobots worried that Vehicons are going to take the rusted scrapheap out?) Megatron's refusal to involve his own troops was a thorny and surprising issue. Sure, Vehicons and Eradicons would have been cannon fodder, but why did the old tyrant not call the officers down to share in the fighting? None of the answers he could come up with led anywhere good.

And that brought him to a different problem. Ever since Megatron has shown up, Overkill has been so quiet and unobtrusive, that a couple of times Breakdown actually looked around to double check that she was still in the room. Was she really superstitious, or did she know something he didn't? (Something that will come to bite him on his aft later?)

"Overkill?" She turned to look at him, but he could've sworn her actual processor activity was on something else. "I am surprised. I have gotten a 'If you betray us, I will destroy you' talk from every single Autobot." Arcee's, for instance, have been superb.He took mental notes. "Where is yours?"

He didn't think that it was a stupid thing to say, until Overkill turned all of her attention to him. "Do I need to give you one?" she asked. "I would have thought that you were smart enough to know the score: If you betray us, I will deactivate you. And then I will come back here and tear Knock Out limb from limb."

Right. Him and his big mouth.

***

It wasn't like coming back online, or waking up from stasis, or anything in Megatron's experience that he could name in comparison. But he could clearly feel when Unicron's influence was gone from his mind, oh yes. Even if this absence brought back the pain of an overstrained and injured frame.

And this awakening did come with an extra bonus: Optimus Prime, unconscious and alone. Megatron started to power up his canon, and was immediately hit in the throat by a flying motorcycle. Arcee was too light to do more than stagger him slightly, and Megatron snarled and turned his attention to where she landed when he threw her off, only to promptly be hit from behind. His tactical computer chimed in with a number of warnings. The Autobot escort had caught up to them, and the scouts, with their faster lighter frames, were only the first wave.

The three frontliners were not that far behind. The Tankformer promptly dropped into alt between him and the Prime, the extra strong frontal armor facing him and the main canon starting its own powerup sequence, while the other two moved to flank Megatron with an unsettling accord for someone who were personal enemies not that long ago. If he hadn't already overstrained his processor and his frame, perhaps things would have been different. But now, as Megatron's tactical co-processor reported ever decreasing odds in his favor, he commed for a bridge. There is going to be another time.

***
Something was wrong with Optimus Prime.

The giant robots were acting very shifty, and, more worryingly so were the kids. Fowler (and his superiors) were really unhappy since the ex-Decepticons had shown up at the Autobot base. He had to do some very fast talking to stop certain individuals developing alarmist theories about Autobot/Decepticon war being a huge trick, designed for ease of conquering Earth. He didn't believe in that idea himself. For one thing Autobots tended to be crappy liars.

And then it turned out that there was an actual *Satan* in the middle of the planet. Well, the robots called it something else, but Fowler could put two and two together, thanks. The postponement of horrible death (and possibly Hell) was a pleasant surprise, even if Megatron was involved in it somehow. Fowler didn't step foot in a church since he was sixteen, but if this wasn't a reason to reconsider, he didn't know what was.

On the other hand, he hadn't managed to talk with *any* of the bots since the situation was resolved. You would think that giant mountains of metal will have trouble hiding from you, and yet you would be wrong. Very very wrong.

At the end, he managed to talk to Overkill, who was probably his least favorite Cybetronian out of those who never tried to kill him. "The Prime is not available," she said flatly, and then simply stood there and looked at him, and it was either try to intimidate a giant robot who turned into a fucking tank, or go away and wait for a try at someone more willing to talk. At least he knew that Optimus wasn't dead. He was... pretty sure Optimus wasn't dead.

***

Orion had not been hiding. Exactly. But he desperately needed some time to himself, away from all the concern. He didn't doubt that Ratchet and the others meant well, but their constant worried attention had become suffocating.

The Autobot base wasn't objectively very large, and its layout did not seem to have any logic he could discern. He wandered around at random, trying desperately to stop his processor from trying to make the current data fit some kind of realistic model. He was not succeeding very well.

Orion was thinking so hard, he completely failed to notice the noises from the room right in front of him, so walking through the doorway and finding a mech there was a surprise.

The big Warbuild was practicing sword forms. He was certain there was not enough space to actually fit any kind of vigorous movement, but if she touched a wall with either her weapon or her frame, Orion did not see it.

Because Overkill did not interrupt her exercise, Orion thought that she might not have noticed him watching, but when she finished and subspaced her sword, she didn't look surprised at his presence.

"So," there was way too much amusement in that voice, "how is the hiding going?"

"I am not hiding!" Orion immediately felt stupid about the lie. He didn't even need to see Overkill's orbital ridge come up to express her scepticism.

"Come on," she said, turning around and disappearing into another doorway, previously hidden by bad angles and poor lighting. The room behind it was even smaller. Someone peeled the metal off the walls and welded it in a crude approximation of a bench and table. Overkill settled herself at one end of it. Orion had apprehensively taken the other.

"These aren't your quarters."

"No." Overkill studied him closely. "My alt doesn't really allow me freedom outside the base, unless it's somewhere far away from human habitation. Made me come up with a place to not-hide when necessary. This damned silo is full of busibodies."

Orion settled himself on the bench and fidgeted. The silence caught and held. Orion desperately didn't want to go back. The worry and desperation among the base mecha was strong enough to power an engine. The clear feeling that they all *wanted* something from him was both confusing and disturbing. In contrast, this tiny set of rooms with mecha he didn't know was almost relaxing. He teeked nothing from Overkill except polite interest. They could have been at a dinner party.

"That bad, eh?"

Orion couldn't prevent himself from wincing. "People were never so disappointed by my existence *ever in my life*," he confided. Overkill's EM field flashed in amusement before sobering again.

"Optimus Prime is not just the Autobot leader. He is probably the only mechanism able to match Megatron in combat. If Megatron finds out about his... indisposition, all kinds of really unfortunate things might happen to the rest of us."

Orion had to look away. Normally someone dealing with amnesia would be encouraged to retrieve their memory files on their own, but the current situation had put him in a far too precarious position. Orion couldn't be allowed to stumble around without knowing where the danger now lied.

"I just find it very difficult to believe that Megatronus would do something like this..." He looked up at the Overkill, his frustration boiling over. "He was always quick to anger and eager to jump in a fight, but a *genocidal war* still seems a bit far fetched."

"Do you think that we misrepresented the information given to you?"

Behind his mask, Orion bit his lip. He didn't want to gainsay anyone here, but he was an archivist, and well aware that things that were recorded as history were not always as straightforward as one would wish.

Overkill settled herself more comfortably against the wall. "Or are you thinking that a lot of it was propaganda?" Orion had to stare at her.

"It probably was, at that. I am pretty sure that none of it was an outright lie, if that makes you feel better. I would love to see what Decepticons would produce to educate you. Have you talked to our ex-Con contingent?" Overkill gave him a conspiratorial look. "Maybe you should. At the very least they'll be able to share with you their close and personal experience of dealing with Megatron."

Maybe he should. Providing he can ever actually manage to do so, without his Autobot minders hanging on his every word.

***

"He needs to get out of here for at least a little while." Ratchet did not bother asking who "he" was supposed to be. At the moment there was only one problem that was on the forefront of every mecha's processor. He gave Overkill a quelling look.

"It's too dangerous. He can't protect himself. Sure, Megatron has been quiet lately, but you know how our luck tends to go."

Overkill was about as daunted as ever. Which was not at all. "He is starting to feel claustrophobic. Do you really want him to get into his head to go for a drive on his own?"

Ratched would have loved to refute the idea. But while Orion had possessed a level of naivete that life has beaten out of Optimus long ago, the stubbornness level was the same. And Orion has always been a risk taker. Otherwise a mid-case archivist would have never dared to get his shiny aft to Kaon, much less make an acquaintance of a gladiator.

"I've been thinking," said Overkill. Which was a terrifying statement out of any frontliner. "How much software damage does he have?"

"What?" Ratchet was scrambling to follow the left turn the conversation was taking.

"The software damage," repeated Overkill. "I mean, whatever underlying causes are responsible for this amnesia haven't really changed his actual frame. Do you think that his combat protocols are intact?"

Ratchet stared. "I have deactivated his weaponry. Right now he is more of a danger to himself and his friends than to any enemy."

"Maybe we should work on changing that, instead of wrapping him in padding."

"Optimus Prime had millenia of command and combat experience!"

"And Orion does not. He, however, has a functional warframe. A *superior" warframe. Nobody expects him to go into combat tomorrow. I just want to see if he can be any use in a fight at all. In case the combat comes to us. As usual."

***

It wasn't a *bad* idea. Persay. They could all do with a little airing. But watching Overkill and Bulkhead put Orion through his paces was giving Ratchet unfortunate flashbacks to his own combat training. He strongly suspected that Kup's expression of incredulous despair was currently reflected on his own faceplates.

Orion was fast. He was strong. He had a very long reach. His combat protocols were extremely good.

He had no idea how to use any of those things properly.

Of course, he also always learned fast, and he greatly improved after the three joors of practice they managed, but...

"He should be able to hold off a Vehicon for a breem at least."

"A *concussed* one?" said Breakdown to Bulkhead incredulously. Two steps away from him, a Vehicon (changed most of his purple paint to light lavender, went by Nancy, Ratchet was trying not to think about it too hard) grumbled. Oh sure, a Vehicon would have trouble getting through Orion's heavy armor. But no armor is completely safe. If they managed to get him on the ground... they would likely have a lot of free time to figure out how to get to something breakable.

Overkill ambled over to them while Orion was observing the organic life on the other side of the clearing. (And probably trying to gather together the shreds of his dignity. Ratchet could have told him that at this point in the process, there is *no* dignity, and it will be missing for quite a while.) "Well, you can tell he is an intellectual."

Ratchet glared. "There is nothing wrong with using your logic subsystems once in a while."

Overkill cycled her armor to get rid of debris that ended up in her seams after the last bout. "I am all for using logic subsystems. But if he is going to spend breems analyzing every movement, he is going to get killed by an enemy who does not."

Breakdown said, "He is a civilian now." He didn't say "We are all going to die", but Ratchet heard it loud and clear.

Overkill gave three of them a flat look. "So were you at some point."

"But not you." Breakdown again.

"No. I was sparked as MTO for this war. It's OK. I am not holding your origins against you."

Behind them, Nancy snickered at the joke.

***

He should have noticed it sooner. In Ratchet's defense, the Matrix was never a first priority when it came to his medical observations. It was a mysterious (and ostensibly mythical) artifact that did things that it probably should not have been able to do by methods no one could understand. Ratchet kept up with his scientific notes on it, but he could never figure out what the data meant, or how and why it would suddenly change. Over the vorns, he pretty much threw up his hands at making any sense of the damned thing, and now checked on it only rarely.

He was a complete idiot.

***

"Wait, are you saying that he doesn't remember the last six million years because the Matrix isn't working right?", Arcee glared at him.

"I strongly suspect so. The dates of Matrix incorporation in his frame and the start of his amnesia period do not match exactly, but they are too close for coincidence. And it had been..." Ratchet groped for an explanation that would make sense to the others, "Providing him with the knowledge about some things that he did not have before he became Prime. Which means that it has some kind of way to connect with data storage pathways of his processor, even if we were not able to figure out how."

"So. What does that mean?" Orion frankly looked even more lost than before.

"Orion, you actually found the Matrix... Or perhaps it found you, right at Vector Sigma terminal, one that was a passageway away from the Well. You told me later that after the Matrix had incorporated into your frame, it had created a connection with Vector Sigma, which for lack of the better words "activated" it. If we start with the idea that your amnesia is a side effect of the Matrix not functioning properly, then wouldn't it follow that Vector Sigma can re-activate its function by the same mechanism it did so in the first place?"

"You want us to go to Cybertron," said Overkill, looking about as happy about it as Ratchet was feeling.

"Yes."

"To Cybertron. Which we cannot reach except through the Decepticon controlled spacebridge, which Megatron is highly unlikely to let us use out of the goodness of his spark. Whereupon we end up on the planet, which, if I understand correctly, is currently populated with Insecticons, Decepticon hunter-killer drones, and whatever else horrors Shockwave had cooked up since the last time you had any info about it."

"And scraplets", murmured Bulkhead.

"And that."

Knock Out shifted uneasily. "You are out of your processor. I can see how you are coming up with this, but your idea will just end up getting everyone killed."

Ratchet looked at them somberly. "I don't think we really have a choice."

***

Breakdown came on-line to a cascade of error messages and feeling that he was run over by a cityformer. No that he had a basis for an actual comparison, but he had vivid imagination under certain circumstances.

There was never a question that this mission would go off the track, but he really should have known *how* bad this was going to get once Starscream got himself involved. Granted, they needed someone who knew where the spacebridge was and how to use it, but once you added Starscream's luck to things, the disasters tended to grow exponentially. Case in point: no slagging way could he have imagined being involved in a running battle through the underlayers of Cybetron, while fending off of what looked like half of a Insecticon hive, and concurrently trying not to get devoured by a scraplet swarm.

They did manage to keep Orion Pax from getting deactivated, despite of that mech's best efforts to do himself in, but then Megatron finally managed to get through the screen that Autobots have been running and threw himself on what he still believed to be the Prime, as was his want. Too bad that he decided to do so close to the edge of the Well's chasm.

Under the usual circumstances, the results would have probably been less dire. But, whatever the appearances, Orion Pax did not have the reflexes or the combat experience of Optimus Prime. Before anyone could do anything to intervene, both of them went over the edge, still locked together. Breakdown honestly expected Megatron to fly up in his alt form and proceed to gloat about his victory, but that didn't happen. As they all froze, horrified by the degree of the disaster, there was a sound of explosion from deep below, with the flair of light so bright, his visual sensors shut down in self-defense. The shockwave that followed picked him up like he was made out of tin instead of sentio metalico. The last thing he could bring up out of his short term memory archive, was a decidedly unpleasant experience of hitting the wall.

Beside him something made furtive sounds of movement. His optics flew open immediately, as his combat systems tried their best to come back on-line. The first thing he saw was greyed out scraplet, it's maw still open in mid-bite. The second was Overkill, who was trying to get her hand blaster pointed somewhere behind him. She looked about as great as he felt. One of her optics has gone dark, that side of the helm pitted with what looked suspiciously like acid damage. Did they run into acid somewhere and he couldn't remember it?

From the other side of Overkill, a hand in white and red grabbed her wrist and yanked it down to the ground. "Don't!" hissed Ratchet.

Overkill growled, "Let me go! What, you go religious all of a sudden?"

"Shooting is not a universal problem solution!"

"I see. How do you feel about stabbing?"

Breakdown slowly turned his head to the side Overkill was trying to point her gun. His feeling of apprehension was rewarded--several mechameters from the Well's edge Optimus Prime and Megatron were involved into what looked like a fairly energetic discussion. Unluckily for his curiosity, they were having it on a personal channel, and only the frantic gestures were betraying how heated it actually was.

It was funny, how having met Orion Pax, he could easily tell that the mech in front of him was Optimus Prime. Megatron's intimidating armor seemed to have managed to increase the menace level by a factor of ten or so, the spikes vaguely reminding him of an Insecticon.

Three of the Insecticons that followed them here were clearly on-line. They were also not doing anything more hostile than sitting there and staring...

Breakdown's logic unit finally finished integrating data and he turned to Overkill and Ratchet in incredulous shock. "Fragging two of them?!?"

Several steps behind Ratchet, Arachnid started to stir. Five of Soundwave's data cables reached from his own prone frame to grab her by the helm and knock her head into the ground so hard one of the Insecticons jumped.

***

Ratchet had been to worse gatherings. Orders of non-aggression or not, the absolute majority of mecha from both factions were watching the other side with subdued paranoia. Two lunar cycles, and the ceasefire was still holding, despite the fact that Optimus and the newly minted Galvatron Prime had spent all of their time together arguing. The arguing was happening on the private comm, so Ratchet was unlikely to find out what had caused the latest fight until Optimus had time to digest and self-center, but perhaps it was for the best. All of them were in a terrifying and unknown territory here, and he was quite ready to let the two Primes work out all the problems personally, as long as the shooting didn't start up again.

Still, political sorees were one of the things he really did not miss from the before times. Bleah.

At least he could console himself with the fact that all of the officers had to suffer. Newly reinstated Scarscream have rapidly progressed to crabbily staffing himself with as many energon treats as mechanically possible. Only his Seeker fuel requirements kept him from sliding under the table from overcharge.

Arcee looked ready to do anything to escape, including tearing out her own spark.

Soundwave was... walking towards Ratchet, actually. Well, that couldn't be good. Ratchet didn't like Soundwave very much. Even with the affinity for drama widespread amongst Decepticon Elite, Soundwave's adopted persona was a bit much. The mutism (which Knock Out confirmed had no mechanical cause) was only an additional unsettling oil drop in the bucket of them.

"Can I help you with something?"

Soundwave's faceplate started to display a vid of the current party. It took Ratchet a bit to figure out why. Perhaps he should cut out the highgrade for the immediate future.

They were all twitchy about this sudden togetherness with their enemies, all watching out for the next suspicious twitch. That is not what Overkill was doing. He was watching Decepticons like she was calculating targeting solutions. Too late, Ratchet recalled that Bumblebee wasn't here today to ride herd. Well, this was going to be fun.

Ratchet took a look at the squabbling Primes (no help there) and made way to his current problem. There was a notably empty space around Overkill. Even those mecha who didn't consciously pay attention to her, had reacted to the danger with the same survival instinct that kept them functioning through this war.

"Take a walk with me."

Overkill looked at him, vaguely irritated. "Ratchet, I really don't. .."

"That wasn't a suggestion. "

Cybetron was still very much a field of rubble and ruin.The complex they were trying to restore was the only source of light for megamiles. He and Overkill were as alone as could be managed, give or take some spies listening in. Luckily, Ratchet wasn't trying to keep secrets.

Overkill was quiet next to him, both her biolights and EM field dampened.

"Stop that," Ratchet said, suddenly feeling incredibly tired. "And don't say 'Stop what?' You know just fine what you are doing."

"I don't know why everybody else is suddenly best friends," said Overkill.

Ratchet turned to face her. "You know better about that too. This was a very long war. It went from ideals to personal enmity, and then came out on the other side. We are all tired of losing things. We are all tired of finding, yes, there is actually something more horrible around the corner. I would do... pretty much anything for peace at this point. I know that the old Cybertron is never coming back. I just want a chance to build something again, not turn it into slag. Aren't you tired of this war?"

Overkill laughed. "What exactly my alternative is, do you think?" Her EM field was filled with irony bitter enough that Ratchet winced. "I was built for this war. This is what I am *for*."

"You never gave a thought to what would happen after the war ended?"

"There was only one way this war was going to end for me."

The bleakness of her words was nearly paralyzing. "You are being ridiculous. You are not the only MTO warbuild. Bumblebee an Arcee are looking forward to peace continuing."

"Bumblebee, sure. He is a bold spark, and he is looking forward to new excellent adventures. I wouldn't be so sure about Arcee. Or for that matter, the genericons."

Ratchet searched his processor frantically, wishing he had something to offer that wasn't a generic platitude. Every spark was needed if they were to make an attempt to salvage something. He was blindsided by the thought that not everyone was feeling the same hope for the future that he was trying to nurture in himself. Suddenly all of his own doubts were overwhelming.

Overkill was clearly terrified, which wasn't something he had a misfortune to observe before. He didn't know what to do about any of it, except ask Optimus, but Optimus was currently too involved with something else to be useful. Well, this had all the earmarks of a disaster.

***

Bumblebee found Overkill deep inside the ruins. The roadway here got bad enough that he had to transform and make his way in root form. Overkill solved the same problem by taking her alt and rolling *through* anything that stood in her way. She didn't react when Bumblebee settled himself on the ground and used her right flank as a back rest. "Do you really miss it so much?"

The tank twitched minutely. "Miss what?"

"Trying to kill other people. Trying to keep your spark spinning." Ratchet had contacted Bumblebee in a near panic, concerned that someone (Overkill) might do something to detour or ruin their tentative crawl to peace.

"It gets old, and I am tired, you know?" Bumblebee felt exhausted in a way that he was only noticing now. It was as much a feature of his existence as his own wheels. "I want to see what I can do when people are not shooting at me all the time."

"I know." Overkill settled more firmly on her threads. "I know. I will try, Bee. I *will* try."