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Chapter Text

It is difficult to explain the comfort darkness brings.

To those who dread exposure, dread being perceived, darkness is a friend. Darkness is a disguise.

There weren’t many things the RAF shared with their Luftwaffe counterparts, at least none they could stomach to consider. Yet both mutually understood that in their night bombing missions, light was death.

And fuel was lifeblood.

“30 minutes to target.”

The navigator's announcement was almost drowned out as four great propellers, rumbling like wrathful thunder, thrust each of the Wellington bombers onward through the frigid, cloudy darkness. The din of one bomber, let alone twenty-three flying in formation, meant it was only a matter of time before someone below was alerted.

The ominous whine of blitz sirens blared eerily from far beneath them. Blinding beams of light shot upwards, slicing through the night as they grazed the underbellies of the British aircrafts. It seemed like only seconds later, the stomach-tightening blasts of anti-aircraft artillery began bursting all around them, jostling the bombers' occupants like a newborn with a rattle.

It wasn't long before the drone of propellers, notably higher-pitched than the bombers, grew louder as a flock of Messerschmitt Bf 110's closed in.

“Steady, lads!” the captain growled, “Here they come!”

Within half a second, the metal wrappings of the plane were peppered with holes as bullets pierced through the steel sheets with ease. The fighter planes zoomed past the lumbering bombers as they, unable to match their speed, could only resolutely stay the course.

The captain lifted his head, recovering from his pitiful attempt to duck for cover. His breath grew ragged, heartrate spiking from the adrenaline. Behind him came the wailing groans of someone in pain, a lot of pain.

Ripping the mask free from his mouth, he glanced back at his fellow flyers.

“What's our status?!”

“Georgie’s hit!” 

"Any engine damage?"

“Clipped the wings, sir!" one comrade replied, "She'll still fly.”

The injured soldier sucked air through his teeth in agony. It was clear from the strained breathing he was desperately trying to stifle his cries for the sake of his companions.

"Shit! It's in his leg! He's bleeding bad!"

"Get the tourniquet!" the captain barked, eyes turning forward.

"You and Jerry alright?" the navigator called up.

The captain glanced over to the crumpled, slumped form of his co-pilot.

"Jerry's gone."

Grip tightening in suppressed fury around the throttle, the captain urged the plane forward, eyes locked on the ariel hellscape before them. He dared not see what damage the other planes were suffering. 

“10 minutes to target!” 

Nazi fighters dove viciously at their foes, buzzing like angered wasps protecting a hive. They knew very well what the RAF were after.

“Achtung!” leader one's voice crackled through the fighter speakers, “Go for the motors! Don't waste time on the gunners!"

"We'll never stop them in time!” one German protested helplessly, “There’s too many!”

“They absolutely, cannot hit the refinery! Stop them at any cost!"

The fighter pilots dove recklessly at the Wellington planes as they were greeted by a hail of bullets from the forward gunners. One teenage gunner's fingers clamped down on the triggers with such iron-clad, revenge-fueled hatred, it turned his knuckles white.

Each burst of ammunition was like a photograph flash across the boy's face. The line of yellow-orange fire curved towards the ill-fated Messerschmitt. With a burst of crimson, the young gunner watched as his target spiraled downward in his fiery tomb. A grin crept across his face as he felt sure he hadn't seen a parachute emerge from the wreckage.

Still the other dog-fighters would not be deterred. They attacked with merciless abandon, managing to send two bombers spiraling out of the sky whilst another five were barely continuing to fly. 

The captain kept his attention fixed on the upcoming city. If they could only hold out until they hit their target, it would cripple German fuel supply. 

“5 minutes to target!”

The captain flicked a series of switches on his panel, he could feel the plane shudder as the bomb hatch opened.

"They've opened the bomb hatches!" shrieked Luftwaffe leader one.

The bomber captain hovered his thumb over the final switch, his surviving comrades surely doing the same.

KA-TA-TA-TA-TA-TA!!!

A horrid, ear-shattering roar screamed over the cockpit. The captain reeled in bewilderment as he saw the nose of his plane explode with gunfire.

"Edmund!" he cried instinctively, knowing full well the poor gunner wasn't going to give him any response. 

The navigator swore. "The hell was that?!" 

"Something flew over us!"

"Clearly! But what, damn you, what was it?!"

"I couldn't see!"

The captain snatched the radio.

"Crankcase to Red Leader! Red Leader, Something just went over me! Flew past headed 3 o'clock! Sounded like a giant rocket! Did anyone manage to get a loo-?"

An explosion rattled the plane as the captain looked over to see the bomber right next to him split in half and fall out of the sky. 

"Bloody hell!" another pilot hissed over the radio.

German fighters let loose whoops of joy and pounded their fists against their cockpit's glass with elation.

"It's Ghost!" one exclaimed with explosive joy, "You hear that?! Der Geist!"

Barely illuminated in the overcast darkness by gunfire and searchlights, the phantasmic shape of a plane zoomed at the Wellington bombers. With unreal accuracy, it decimated the cockpits and forward gunners of four planes in a single sweep. 

"I can't see it!" a bomber pilot panicked over the radio, "The cloud cover is too thick!"

"It's too damn fast!"

"What the hell is it?!"

"We're over the target!" The navigator yelled.

The captain, dropping the radio mouthpiece, quickly flicked the switch. One by one, bombs fell out of the plane, hurtling towards the earth until they burst into great flowering blossoms of destruction.

"Miss!" cried the navigator, "We missed the target!"

"Damn!" the captain slammed a fist against his control board.

Over the radio came the distorted sound of crumpling metal and screaming men.

"Oh, God!" a terrified voice stammered from the speaker, "Oh, God, what the hell is that thing?!"

The captain picked up the mouthpiece.

"What?! What do you see?!"

With a sharp buzz, the com-link shut off. Seconds later, the captain spotted their plane falling from the clouds in a plume of smoke and flames. Scanning the darkness frantically, he tried to spot the elusive machine that stalked them from the night.

The whole plane shuddered as if hit with a wrecking ball. A terrible metal scraping and ripping reverberated in the captain's skull. With a chill, he was reminded of the sound one makes when opening a can of sardines.

Freezing wind swept through the gaping opening as the entire cockpit was all at once bathed in a blood-red light. The captain looked up through the yawning tear in the plane's roof.

His whole body went limp.

Gaping in frozen terror, like a deer bewitched by headlights, he beheld that which drowned his world in red.

"Good Lord..."

The frame of the bomber was outlined by the artillery fires and search lights swinging back and forth wildly. The fuel tanks groaned in protest as they were ripped free from the Wellington's wings and crushed empty, like cans of beer.

For a moment, it seemed as though the brief illumination of the plane betrayed a second set of wings shifting strangely. The strain of four distinct, yet congruous, mechanical shifts emanated over the screaming Wellington as the shape of the mysterious plane separated itself from the silhouette of the burning bomber.

With a victorious shriek of its engines, the phantom aircraft burst free from the clouds, and disappeared into the night as swiftly as it had come.

***

Piano music wafted through the lounge as squads of Luftwaffe pilots drank and smoked to their hearts content. A Mozart record played in the corner as attendees eagerly chatted amongst themselves, excited by the recent news of their elusive ally.

"I know this one fella," a dark-eyed pilot piped up, "Actually got a good view inside the cockpit. Swore it was completely empty."

"Oh, come on." replied a sallow-faced pilot, "How could he possibly have gotten a good look during combat. At night?"

"I caught sight of the markings when one of the bombers exploded. It's definitely one of ours, though I've never seen that design." the dark-eyed pilot sipped his bourbon, "The red fuselage was an interesting choice."

"Bullshit." one particularly skeptic pilot frowned, "They'd never color the body of a fighter red like that."

"Maybe the color of the fire reflected off the frame?" yet another pilot offered.

"The body was red, wings were white," dark-eyes retorted in annoyance, "I could tell the difference, Danke very much."

"It'd stick out like a sore thumb!"

"Look, I didn't paint the damn thing!"

"It's a symbol!" the youngest pilot chirped, "A color that screams German pride!"

"It's a color that screams 'shoot me'." the skeptic scoffed.

"Why else would they fly only at night?"

"That's a piss-poor reason to not change colors."

"The color can't be changed. Haven't you heard?"

One pilot, known for his comical nature, stood up. Raising his arms, he gave a mockery of spectral wails as he wiggled his fingers.

"It's the ghost of the Red Baron...! Back from the dead to avenge Germany's lost sons from the first war!"

Some of his companions offered up complimentary chuckles. The rest only offered gravely serious glares.

"Why not?" shrugged the comic with a smile, "I wouldn't complain of having a ghost on our side. Certainly would explain why we haven't heard anything about the model."

"Wasn't a prop plane, that's for sure."

Everyone turned their attention to a pilot whose face bore a vulgar scar from a near-death injury. He looked over their confused expressions.

"Haven't any of you figured it out? Those were turbine engines. It's a jet."

The pilots went quiet, sharing glances between one another.

"I thought they were still in testing?"

"Ja, well..." the scarred pilot puffed his cigarette, "Seems someone decided it was ready for combat."

"But why use only one?"

"Maybe someone jumped the gun. Screwed up. Makes sense they'd keep a low profile."

"You couldn't keep that kind of slip-up quiet for long." dark-eyes noted, "They'd have to refuel sometime. Besides, that kind of plane can't land just anywhere."

"How would you even hide it?" the skeptic questioned.

The scarred pilot merely shrugged, raising a glass to his lips.

"Who the hell knows."

The sallow-faced pilot took a swing of his own drink when he felt a gentle pat on his shoulder. Turning, he saw the familiar face of a mechanic, eyes heavy with exhaustion as they stared down blankly.

"Otto!" the sallow pilot sprung from his seat, slapping the mechanic's back. "How's the wing looking?" 

"Good as new." replied Otto flatly, "Found some shrapnel in your oil lines. Went ahead and fixed them up."

The sallow pilot smiled and turned to his fellow flyers, grabbing the work-worn fellow around the shoulders.

"See this man?" he chuckled, pointing the index finger of his drink-holding hand at Otto, "Best damn mechanic in the whole base! Never let my plane get fixed by anyone but him. I suggest you all follow suit."

"Please don't." Otto groaned, "I'd like to go home at a decent hour for once."

Sallow-face laughed.

"A stick in the mud as ever, eh Rattenfalle?"

Otto grimaced, his expression turning sullen. He growled sourly, coldly sluffing off the pilot's grip.

"I told you never to call me that." 

Ignoring the taunting laughter behind him, the mechanic made a prompt beeline towards the coat rack standing adjacent to the exit.

"Tell Max I said hallo!" sallow-faced called after him.

Otto plucked his jacket, coat, and hat from the rack, checking to make sure his Volkswagen keys were still in the pocket. Too often items had fallen out of his trousers while working on the planes in the hanger.

As he slipped on his jacket, the sallow-faced pilot stepped up on the bar and chimed a fork against his glass, grabbing everyone's attention.

"Freunde, we've all had a exciting news and reason to celebrate, but I think it's important we acknowledge our elusive hero."

Otto pulled on his coat slowly, curiosity urging him to stay.

"Whether he be some renegade ally, a secret weapon, or some long-lost ghost come to avenge our fallen brothers, I salute the comrade who, for so many nights, has not only protected us, but saved the precious lives of God-knows how many German citizens."

Eyes beamed, agreeing wholeheartedly in the gratitude they felt towards the phantom pilot.

The sallow man raised his glass. 

"To Ghost!"

All raised their glasses.

"To Ghost!" 

Otto gave a nasal sigh as he placed his hat upon his head, and exited the lounge into the cold twilight air. A passing guard and his German Shephard only gave him a passing, familiar glance as he left. He climbed into his Volkswagon and drove off down the winding, lonely roads.

(opening credits)

                                                              Die Grenzwacht hielt im Osten     The border watch in the east held
                                                              Dem Feinde lange stand               Out against the foe for a long time
                                                              Heut kehrt ihr letzter Posten        Today, its last post is returning
                                                              Zurück ins Vaterland                    Back to the fatherland

                                                              Erschöpft und aufgerieben           Exhausted and decimated
                                                              In treuer Ritterschaft                    In loyal knighthood
                                                              Die Besten sind geblieben            The best have remained
                                                              Uns ander'n brach die Kraft          We others have lost our strength

                                                              Doch bringen wir die Fahne          But we bring the flag
                                                              Die wehend vor uns stritt             That fought, waving, before us
                                                              Von Rigas blut'gem Plane             From Riga's bloody grounds
                                                              In allen Ehren mit                         With us in honor

                                                              Die sturmbewährt sich nimmer    The battle-scarred flag has never
                                                              Vor einem Feind geneigt              Bowed to a foe
                                                              Und heute noch und immer          And today still, as ever
                                                              Den Weg nach Osten zeigt            She points the way to the east

                                                              Es rauscht dorthin zu mahnen      She roars tither to remind
                                                              Zu ihr der Väter Geist                    To her forefather's spirit
                                                              Trotz aller Not ein Ahnen              Despite all the hardships, a sense remains
                                                              Das deutsche Zukunft heißt          Called a German future

                                                              Sind wir auch fremd geworden      We may have become strangers
                                                              Euch Brüdern aus dem Reich         To you brothers from the Empire
                                                              Aus West und Süd und Norden      From the West, South and North
                                                              Das Banner blieb sich gleich         The banner remained the same

                                                              Ob wir auch hier verderben           Even if we are to perish here
                                                              Das kümmere euch nicht              Do not bother
                                                              Die Fahne zu vererben                  Bequeathing the flag
                                                              Ist unsere letzte Pflicht                 Is our final duty

                                                              Ich darf nicht länger zagen           I must hesitate no longer
                                                              Bald zwingt sie euren Sinn            Before long, she'll force your will
                                                              Nach Ostland sie zu tragen           To carry her back to Ostland
                                                              Sie will sie muss dorthin               She wants, she must go there
                                                              Nach Ostland sie zu tragen           To carry her back to Ostland
                                                              Sie will sie muss dorthin               She wants, she must go there

***

Otto gazed down into his copy of "Metropolis". Despite staring at the page for minutes on end, it felt like none of the words were actually sinking in.

The radio sure as hell didn't help.

"...those brave men of the U-16, whose blood now flows as one with the solemn quiet of the North Sea, gave their lives for the future of the Fatherland. In glory they fell, in honor they were sacrificed, but not in vain! For in those final moments they retaliated, striking a fatal blow to the USS Yeager, dragging her down to the watery hunting grounds of our Seawolves...!"

There'd been a time, not terribly long ago in fact, when the Fuhrer's words would've filled him with pride; giving Otto a hope and an unbridled vigor whose euphoric effect could only be understood by those who had to endure the economic despair following the Great War. 

Now it only served as a constant drain on his soul.

"...Both our loss and gain remained unknown to us, disappearing near two months ago with the remains of our enemy and the tomb of our men. But fate smiles upon the brave, for in hearing the Americans lament their own loss, the memory of their victory was rescued from oblivion-!"

Having endured the speech for half an hour, Otto got up and flicked the radio off. He was in no mood to read anymore.

Turning, he tossed the book onto a nearby table as he retrieved his cigarette case, a bronze container with a simple map of Germany carved in the front. Inside, in elegant cursive, was the engraving:

Zuhause ist es am schönsten.
Alles Gute zum Geburtstag, Otto!
~ Renard & Johann

Otto raised the case to his mouth, biting a cigarette and pulling it free with his teeth.

"kshk!- Therefore fellow Germans, hear me well! Let us not be remiss in honoring their memory...!" 

With a click and a whine, the radio turned back on, the grating speech still droning on. Otto looked up to see his wife Alexia's hand recoil from the dial as she wiped her soaked hands dry with a weathered apron.

"It's not everyday the Fuhrer gives a speech."

Otto stared at her, casting an accusing, albeit listless glare.

"An Austrian woman was taken away last week for listening to the BBC." she relented, heading back into the kitchen, "The neighbors noticed she hadn't been listening to German broadcasts."

It was true, the whole reason they kept the windows open during this time was to ensure any passerby would hear them listening to the radio. It wasn't illegal NOT to listen to the radio, but it was strange for someone to own one and not use it, especially if Hitler himself was speaking.

The sounds of pots and utensils clattering emanated from the kitchen doorway, barely audible over the radio. Otto wished he could just listen to the sound of her preparing dinner. It would've been music compared to the alternative.

He sighed, stepping out to smoke. 

As he lit the cigarette with his cylindrical trench-lighter, the din of the radio crackled faintly behind him, but he could ignore it easily from outside. He was glad to be situated in a more rural area on the outskirts of the city. It could be inconvenient at times, particularly with supplies and work travel, but living in Berlin meant always being at risk of allied bombs dropping on their heads. Not that anywhere was completely safe, but the odds here were considerably preferrable.

Besides, he liked his little cottage; the gravel road leading to small clusters of homes on one side, a grassy slope leading to a forest on the other. He headed towards his old-style barn seated atop the small hillside, encased by a grove of trees. Cracking one of the double doors open slightly, he looked inside.

Tools, spare metal, welding torches, a drafting table with unfinished blueprints, and fuel canisters containing gasoline, ethanol, and hard liquor, all untouched, all perfectly preserved, sat inside. He hadn't used the workshop much in recent years, always having to recover from sleepless nights whenever he was home. He only entered whenever he needed something for his Volkswagen or occasionally cleaned so his materials wouldn't degrade.

Before the war, he used to tinker regularly. Mainly on cars, but planes had always been his true passion. He might've become a pilot had his vision been better. 

Machines calmed him. Reassured him. Everything was logical, functional, made perfect sense. There was no guesswork, no double-speak, no deception. It was one of the only reasons, besides ample pay, that kept him going back to such a exhausting job. Machines seemed to be the only thing that made sense anymore. 

But even then, the joy he'd once felt at even just mending was slowly being whittled out of him. Some nights he was only able to keep at it because it came so naturally to him. He didn't even have to think anymore, his hands seemed to move independently of his thoughts when it came to repairs.

From the cottage he heard the speech end as "Deutschland" played faintly over the radio. It was nice to finally hear something he could actually feel a bit of pride in.

The night rolled in quickly as the light of dusk began to wane.

"Do you think Ghost will come tonight?"

Otto looked down to see the six-year old boy Maximillian, or rather "Max", at his side. His little hands gripping a small, tin plane, a toy Otto had personally made, as he stared longingly up at the stars.

Otto patted his son's head, ruffling his flaxen hair as he too turned his gaze to the sky.

"If he does," he muttered flatly, "He'll never show himself to us."

***

Chapter Text

The stew of potatoes, bacon, cabbage, and beans was a dish the Schmidt family ate regularly, but never truly tired of. The recipe usually called for sausage to be added as well, but Otto preferred eating it separate to really enjoy the flavor, so Alexia always served it as a side-dish.

The meal was quiet. Not out of any ill feelings, there just generally wasn't a lot to talk about. Besides, even these small moments of quiet peace had become precious in their own way.

Eventually Alexia, noticing Max stirring his food half-heartedly, leaned towards him.

"Something wrong, Liebling?"

Max shook his head, his squished cheek resting against his free hand.

"I'm not that hungry."

"Well try to finish." urged his mother, "You're a growing boy. You can't not eat."

Silence returned to the table, but Max had begun to shift apprehensively.

"Klaus is going to school in Berlin next week."

Alexia and Otto froze. They cast distressed glances at their boy, then to each other. Without a word, they resumed eating.

But the quiet had lost its peace.

"Klaus is six months younger than me..." Max continued cautiously.

Otto swallowed a mouthful of stew, dreading what was about to be asked.

"So maybe...that school...could I go with-?

"No."

"But why?!" Max pleaded.

"You're smart." Otto forcefully continued to eat, "You'll learn fine at home."

"My friends are there!"

"You'll make new friends."

"How? The other boys have gone to school! I'm all alone here!" 

"You have us."

"And no friends."

"You're not going, Max."

"Why does everyone get to go but me?"

"I don't want you in there. It's a bad place."

"That's not what everyone else says."

"You don't live with everyone else, you live in my house under my rules."

"But you wouldn't have to pay for anything! And-and if I need money, I'll take care of it! I'll do work and save for-!"

Otto raised a stiffened hand, slicing it through the air.

"Max, we're done."

"But-!"

"That's enough, Max."

"It's not fair!"

"I said that's enough!"

"Why! Why can't I go?!"

A clatter of dishware erupted as Otto's palm slammed down.

"BECAUSE I SAID SO!"

The boy recoiled, his mouth clamping shut. Alexia shuddered as Otto struggled to recompose himself. He swallowed spoonful's of the now ruined meal through gritted teeth.

Max choked down the rest of his stew and fled to his room without another word.

He didn't emerge for the rest of the evening.

***

"I don't know what to do."

The words came out between grief-stricken whimpers. Otto and his friend Johann listened as their third friend Renard looked up at them, face twisted in agony as tears squeezed from his eyes.

"It was only for three years, and this is how they... Oh Gott, Otto, Johann, I...I can't even recognize them!" 

Otto heard the cocking of a pistol behind him.

He turned to see a tall, immaculately dressed soldier, his face in shadow, fire a bullet through Johann's head. The soldier turned his gun towards Re nard.

"Stop!" Otto cried, "You can't-!"

His words became stuck in his throat as the man turned towards him.

Despite the matured face, he knew who this was. 

"Max?"

With a smile as cold as frozen metal, the grown Maximilian raised his Walther P38 pistol, and leveled it at Renard's head.

"Not much." he growled.

Max fired. Renard slumped to the ground, lifeless.

Otto ran, but it felt as though he were slogging through a swamp of mire. Behind him, more bullets fired off in his direction.

"Father!"

Max gleefully called out to him in a singsong voice.

"Faaaatheeeer!"

Otto collided into a brick wall that rose higher than should've been possible. It was impossible to scale.

He turned as the adult Maximilian drew closer. Otto saw the gun in Max's hand had grown, its barrel longer, the frame turning a silvery color, a bizarre violet symbol etched into the side.

"Father." Max snarled.

"Max, please!"

"Father."

"Don't!"

"Father!"

Otto's eyes jerked open to see his boy, his own little boy, at the edge of the bed shaking his arm. 

"Father," Max hissed in a terrified whisper, "there's a troll in the barn!"

"Was?" Otto murmured drowsily.

"I saw its glowing red eyes and big jagged rocks on its back! It went inside the barn! I saw it!"

Otto groggily forced himself from his much desired sleep. Alexia was roused by the activity as her husband sat up at the edge of the bed.

"Okay, okay," Otto yawned, "I'll go take a look."

"Nein!" Max whimpered, burying his face into his father's chest, "It'll eat you!"

"I'll be fine, Max." Otto rubbed his son's back reassuringly, thinking up a convincing excuse, "I'll take my rifle. Even a troll can't survive that."

Alexia walked over and grabbed hold of Max's hand. "Come on, let's get you back in bed. Father will be alright."

Max gave one last worried look at his father, before following his mother like a duckling.

When Alexia returned, Otto was fully dressed and checking his firearm.

"He probably saw a bear, especially if its eyes glowed." He grabbed a flashlight, "Don't wait up for me. I'm gonna do a thorough check, then lock it up properly. It might take a while."

"Don't stay up too late, alright?"

Otto gave Alexia a quick, half-asleep peck as he headed outside.

Trudging through the dewy grass, he shivered slightly in the chilly night air as he made his way towards the barn.

I'm getting too old for this.

Reaching the double doors, he carefully examined the bottom, expecting to find some scratches or indications of some creature trying to break in. Finding and hearing nothing, he yanked the door open and shone the flashlight inside.

He froze.

Before him, barely illuminated by the light, was the sleekest and most streamlined plane Otto had ever seen in his life.

It was a Messerschmitt, no doubt, he'd worked on enough of them to recognize the company's engineering tendencies, but it was a model he'd never seen before.

He'd only ever heard scant rumors from other pilots. Experimental planes being worked on in secret, their speed supposedly able to surpass all other aircrafts ever made. What he'd heard seemed so exaggerated, the capabilities so impossible, Otto had begun to doubt if such an aircraft really could exist.

Yet here it was, right in front of him.

From nose to aft, barring the alabaster underbelly, the entire fuselage was a vibrant crimson. The swept wings, reminding Otto of a swallow in flight, bore a subtle off-white hue which, aside from the Balkenkreuz, were only accented by a thin red stripe and a white line running parallel to the back rim of the leading-edge slats.

The massive podded engines, fused to the bottom of the wings, were painted in stark contrast to the rest of the body. Their sky blue color, only ever used on a select number of planes, was also streaked on the back half of the tail's horizontal stabilizers. It was not a color Otto would've expected the designers to use, especially alongside the red paint. In any other instance he would have found the combination garish and ostentatious. But somehow, the contrast managed to enhance the appeal of the other colors; it certainly made the red pop all the more.

But the most unusual design choice by far, something never seen on any plane ever, was the slight orange tint present in the glass of the cockpit.

Otto's heart felt ready to leap out of his chest.

Maybe it was the shock of having such a valuable plane in his barn, maybe it was the danger that having something like this might bring, but deep down he knew, it was the sheer joy and euphoria of just marveling at a really, really, really beautiful plane.

And this was a damn jet.

"Ghost."

Otto brushed his fingers along the frame. 

Still warm.

Which means...

He cocked his rifle.

The barn had been retrofitted to serve as a workshop, but there were still traces of its former function: stalls, feed bins, plenty of places where one might hide. He looked behind every nook and cranny he could think of, even climbing up to check the open lofts on the sides of the barn. He checked the double doors in the back, both securely locked from the inside. Cautiously, he stepped out of the front entrance, listening carefully for even the slightest sound of movement.

But there was nothing.

No one.

Something shifted above him.

Nearly firing off a shot, Otto found himself face to face with a pair of glowing red eyes.

He sighed with relief and annoyance. 

"You'll burn through those seven lives at this rate."

Indifferent to his warning, the pale-orange tabby jumped down from its perch and sauntered into the barn. Otto lowered his rifle. 

If there had been an intruder, they were long gone by now; most likely having slipped away into the woods. For whatever ill-thought out reason, they'd seen fit to hide their precious aircraft in his barn. Shutting the front doors, Otto flicked one of the smaller lights on. The barn was pretty cut off from view thanks to the surrounding trees. It was unlikely anyone would notice the dim light.

Taking a more critical look, he noticed several bullet holes had clipped the crimson rudder on the vertical stabilizer. The whole craft was in want of a good wash.

The mechanic in him couldn't bear to leave it that way.

There was no way he could sleep now.

Scouring through the numerous tools at his disposal, Otto grabbed the necessary materials as the cat, shaping itself into a loaf of bread, watched him work with the most condescending squint it could muster. Otto grabbed a ladder from the wall and set it against the plane's tail, hauling the sheet metal, welding torch, and heavy-duty shears to the top. By sheer convenience, he'd found a bit of red paint leftover from a previous project. 

In the old days, he would've put on a record and listened to some music while he worked, but it was enough of a risk having a light on at that time of night. The best he could do was play the music in his head, "Du und ich im Mondenschein" being the first ditty that came to mind. Even over the sparks of the welding torch, he could hear the melody in his thoughts as clear as day.

The tail soon was looking good as new, and Otto set to work sponging down the plane. The suds dripping from the frame, he could fully see how every piece fit together flawlessly. There wasn't a warped plate to be seen, a rivet too shallow, a gap too wide. It was a tapestry of nuts, bolts, gears, and steel, woven together with such perfection that surely, surely could've only been achieved by German engineering. 

No wonder the jet had taken so long to finish, it was a work of art.

Cleaning away the layers of filth, part of him desperately wanted to take off one of the panels and just explore the inner machinations, see how everything functioned and fit together. But he had neither the time nor energy for such exploration; plus he didn't want to risk damaging anything by carelessly tinkering around. He was, after all, doing this, in part, as an act of good faith. With any luck, the flyer might respond in kind.

He scrubbed and scrubbed until his hands ached. Once finished, he moved the ladder, climbed up the nose, and crawled inside the cockpit with a damp rag. It was surprisingly roomy for a fighter, he certainly wasn't expecting a two seater. He set to work detailing the back area before moving to the front. 

As he slipped into the forward seat, cleaning around the instruments and checking for any visible damage, his attention drifted to the throttle between his legs. It was as if he'd become a little boy again, back when he used to watch the old biplanes practice their aerial dance; spinning, diving, pulling off daring loops in the sky. He wondered what it would feel like to fly an aircraft like this.

Otto clasped his hands around the joystick. He glanced at the backseat.

It felt like someone was in there with him.

Carefully watching, studying him.

He looked over at the wing.

The cat stared back with judgmental eyes.

Hoisting himself out of the cockpit, Otto finished washing up the topside before sliding down off the turbine engine. He grabbed the barn hose, rinsing off the suds before grabbing an oil can. Once thoroughly taking care of the wheel struts, he clambered back onto the wings and oiled the rudder, elevators, cockpit hinges, leading-edge slats, flaps, and finally the ailerons.

Having finished, he leaned back on the wing with a contented sigh, dangling his feet over the back edge. He looked at the cockpit.

"I'd give you a buffer, but I'm pretty out of it."

He had a habit of talking to machines whilst working on them, similar to how a doctor might speak with a patient being diagnosed. It wasn't unusual amongst pilots and mechanics, most of them did it, some more than others. When one poured so much time and care into a craft, and especially when their safety depended on the mechanism working correctly, it was difficult not to indulge in the idea that the machine was, in some way, alive.

He gave the wing a friendly pat.

It felt warm.

Running his hand along the surface, he became keenly aware of the heat emanating from the metal.

Otto frowned, brow furrowing in befuddlement. Getting on his hands and knees, he ran a hand over the wing.

He'd been working on the plane for hours now, it would've been obvious if the engine was running; even electrical equipment would've shown some indication. He might've understood if there was a hotspot coming from the turbines, or over a fuel tank. But even the wing tip, which had absolutely no method of creating heat, was warm. It was a uniform warmth that radiated from the entire wing. 

Thinking back, the fuselage had been warm too.

As had the tail.

And the cockpit.

And the throttle.

And even the wheel struts.

And the warmth wasn't like when metal sits in the sun for too long. It was more subtle; self-sustaining.

The difference was like...

Like petting a heated fur coat versus petting a live animal.

Something felt off.

He looked down to see his hand at the edge of the Wehrmacht symbol on the wing. The surface under his fingers felt uneven, soft. Scratching at it with a fingernail, he realized there was some sort of plaster-esque substance adhered to the surface, probably having been softened by the wash.

He continued picking at the edge until he got a firm grip underneath the material. The bar cross had been painted onto this covering, not onto the plane itself.

But something else was. Something the Balkenkreuz had hidden.

He crinkled his brow.

It was an emblem Otto did not recognize.

The surface beneath his hand suddenly gave way. He slipped from the wing, slamming head-first into the brick floor.

His mind reeled, stars blinking in and out of his vision. His skull swam as he saw the aileron fully collapsed in a manner that shouldn't have been possible.

Had he broken it? 

Blacking out, either from his body's desperate want of sleep, or the savage knock to the head, the last thing he could recall was the image of that collapsed aileron.

He could've sworn it had quietly shifted itself back into place.

***

Chapter Text

Harsh, pale light flooded the baren, metal room as the door opened with a resounding clank. A triangular, crimson aircraft, sleek and streamlined, bizarre but beautiful, sat chained and clamped down to the floor; like a prisoner sentenced to solitary confinement.

Heavy footfalls strode into the room.

"This brings me no pleasure." a tinny, feminine voice reverberated softly.

The aircraft seemed to shudder, but never moved against the restraints.

"Letting yourself be tampered with by a stranger? Because they seemed trustworthy? Surely I've taught you better than that."

Metal lips drew near the cockpit.

"Stupid."

A hand gently caressed the side of the front fuselage, the way one might caress the cheek of a small child.

"Don't be stupid."

***

"OTTO!"

Otto jolted awake to see Alexia hovering over him, her face stricken with worry.

"Oh, Gott sei Dank! You scared me half to death!"

Otto craned his neck up only for a sharp pain to immediately shoot through his skull. He winced, sucking air through his teeth, as he rubbed the now very prominent bump on the side of his head.

"Ugh..." he groaned, feeling his whole body ache as he moved, "I feel like Scheiße." 

 "Well no wonder! You slept on the barn floor the whole night!" Alexia huffed, "What happened?"

 Otto rubbed his temple as he leaned up, going step by step through the events of the evening prior. His eyes flinging wide, he swung his head around, looking about the barn.

"Where is it?!"

"Huh?"

Otto scrambled to his feet, turning round and round.

"It was right here last night! Right here!"

"What was?"

"The plane! There was a-!" He quickly lowered his voice, dashing to the front entrance to ensure nobody was nearby. Alexia watched him in utter confusion.

"What do you mean a plane was here?"

Otto turned back to her.

"I mean a plane was here! A jet plane! Ghost!" Otto grew increasingly animated as he spoke, "They hid their plane in our barn! I spent the night fixing its tail, it was all shot up and-!"

Looking for the tools he'd used, Otto realized they were all sitting back in their respective spots, as if they'd never been touched. Even the red can of paint was back in its place.

"But it was here. I was...I...I saw it, I touched it..."

Otto felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He turned to face Alexia who, with a worried yet stern air, cupped his face.

"Love, I want you to think very carefully about what you're saying."

Gazing back at the empty barn, Otto quietly reexamined the experience in his mind. A hand drifted up to his forehead.

"I'm....really....not getting enough sleep, am I?"

Of course not.

It was ridiculous. Why hadn't he realized it earlier?

There was no way such an aircraft could've landed in the area without notice. There was no road wide enough, or long enough, within the vicinity to land such a plane. There was not enough air clearance with the small forest surrounding them. There was no way to move it without the engines running and waking everyone up. There was no way to silently push it up a hill, into the front entrance of his barn, and turn it around inside. And there was absolutely no way any such feat could've been achieved by one, nay even two, rogue pilots. 

There was no way a jet plane had been in his barn. It just didn't make sense. 

"I'm calling the base." Alexia headed towards the exit, "You're in no condition to work."

"No!" Otto begged, grabbing her arm. "I just need some sleep then I'll-"

He wobbled, the room spinning as he took a moment to recover himself. Alexia grabbed his arm for added support until the episode subsided.

"You think you're in any condition to be fixing up fighters?"

Otto opened his mouth to protest, but found himself unable to give any satisfactory answer. 

"Get cleaned up. I need groceries, and you need a checkup."

***

The little Volkswagen ventured deeper into the streets of Berlin. Despite scattering two and fro, all pedestrians and drivers obeyed the traffic laws with utter perfection, like a well-oiled machine. It was to be expected of course, it was Germanic nature to follow rules with mechanical rigidness.

"I'm glad it was nothing serious." Alexia spoke as she drove. She'd insisted on driving, lest Otto suffer another dizzy spell whilst at the wheel, "At least we got written confirmation you need sick leave."

Otto rested his cheek against a hand, staring blankly out the window at the houses that sped by. His head had been wrapped up in a small, clean bandage, with a cooling cloth pressed against his injury.

"Still thinking about the plane?"

"Hmm?" Otto looked up, pulled from his trance.

"It must've been quite something for you to keep fantasizing about it."

"It's just..." Otto slumped sheepishly in his seat, "I've never had that happen before. Lucid dreaming to that degree. It felt so real."

Alexia gave a sigh and a shake of the head.

"You know, most women have to worry about their husbands going after prettier women. My competition is a hunk of flying metal. How am I supposed to compete with that?"

"What can I say?" teased Otto, "It was a pretty hot plane."

"Hot enough to replace me?"

Otto smirked.

"Too high maintenance."

They shared a laugh, the first they'd had in a while.

Alexia parked and the two exited the vehicle, heading inside a grocers she liked to frequent. Otto held the burlap bags they'd brought as Alexia looked through the produce, carefully picking through what was available, making sure nothing they chose was bruised or too old.

"Goodness, Otto! What happened?"

Both turned to see Fräulein Greta Vogel, a woman infamous for her gossiping tongue, examining Otto's head dressing with keen interest. It was impossible for any information that funneled into her ear not to spread like wildfire by the next day. 

"He hit his head badly." Alexia answered, "We just came from the doctors. They said he'll need a few days to fully recover, but it should heal alright."

"Dear me! How'd it happen?"

"Our son was spooked by something last night, so I went to the barn to check it out. I haven't been sleeping well so I must've passed out and hit my head. I don't actually remember what happened after that."

"Spooked by something? I've heard enemy fighters who survive being shot down take refuge in barns and abandoned buildings. You should probably report it!"

"No, no." Otto waved off, "Max said it had glowing red eyes. It was probably a bear or some wild animal."

"A bear?" Greta blinked, "I didn't think bears wandered so close to civilized areas."

Alexia smiled endearingly. "Max thought it was a troll at first. He didn't want Otto to look because he feared it might eat him."

"Trolls? He still believes in such nonsense?"

Alexia's smile disappeared.

"Honestly, you mollycoddle that boy too much! Why, when my sons were only five, they'd put away foolish things like fairy tales and were already well-versed in eugenics."

Intense discomfort rippled across Otto and Alexia's eyes as they glanced at each other. Alexia in particular looked deeply regretful for mentioning her son at all.

"He will..." she rebutted feebly, "When he's ready."

"Speaking of which, isn't it time he enrolled in school?"

The two felt their throats tighten.

"No. I-It's still a bit early."

"Really?" Greta started counting on her fingers, "But if I recall, isn't his birthday...?"

A haunting wail radiated in the air. For the briefest of moments, everyone stopped, dead still, like a photograph. It was a sound everyone had grown quite familiar with, but the familiarity didn't lessen the terror in the least.

Then came the mad scramble.

People scurried to nearby shelters, basements, underground stairwells, anywhere to protect against the American bombers flying overhead. Otto grabbed Alexia and the two made their way into the store's cellar with the other attendees. They clung to the walls, crouching down and covering their heads. Even in the cellar they could hear the rumbling of the propellers.

Bombs shrieked as they fell.

They were far off at first, but Otto could hear and feel them creeping closer and closer. Each explosion shook the ground more violently than the last, knocking plaster and dust from the ceiling down into their hair and eyes. He listened as they detonated in groups. They always detonated in groups.

A string of bombs erupted, and Otto could hear the first boom fall closer than the others. 

One. 

It was close.

Two.

Even closer.

Three.

Moving towards them.

Four. 

Nearly on top of them.

Five.

The street outside.

SIX.

The whole building shook violently. Otto grabbed Alexia, hugging her close and curling protectively over her. He braced himself, waiting for the ceiling to collapse.

It held.

He heard the explosions gradually drift away.

Otto's hold on Alexia relaxed as he cautiously craned his neck back to look up. Around him came sighs of relief as others listened, waiting for the sirens to stop.

When they finally did, people shuffled out of the cellar and back into the main floor. Aside from some cracked glass, the store had miraculously survived with minimal damage. They wandered outside. There were no fires catching nearby, fortunately, but it was clear that a bomb had exploded just two properties down the street. The building was nothing but a pile of brick and splintered wood.

There'd surely been shoppers inside.

Otto pulled Alexia close. He wanted to get out. Get home before the bodies were exhumed and the wailing worsened. Not the wailing of the sirens, but of people. He strut over to where his car was parked, ready to escape, but in an instant his melancholy shriveled away into frustration.

A piece of concrete had embedded itself into the hood of his Volkswagen.

***

Otto managed to limp the car home thanks to the towing assistance of a Mr. Vogel, Greta's husband. Fortunately, Greta insisted on checking up on relatives and friends and remained behind. Otto was grateful; having someone so prone to gossip as her around wasn't exactly easy on the nerves.

"If you open the doors," Vogel offered, "I can drive it into the barn."

"No thanks. Over to the side is fine."

Vogel shrugged and towed the damaged Volkswagen to the designated spot. As he stepped out to unhitch the cars, Otto took the opportunity to sneak over to the barn entrance and peek inside. Though dark, it was easy to see there was no contraption of any kind occupying the space; no machine, no plane. Sighing in relief, while simultaneously berating himself for harboring such foolish suspicions, Otto swung the door open and went to flick on the lights.

It stayed dim. He flicked the switch back and forth a couple times. Nothing. Walking over to where the light hung overhead, he noticed the wire hung loose. 

Otto sighed. "It's always something."

"What are ya standing around in the dark for?" 

Otto turned to see Vogel enter. 

"The lights won't work. Wire's been damaged."

"Oh?" Vogel walked over as Otto traced the loose wire with his hands, until he came to a torn section where the rubber coating had been roughly removed.

"Might be squirrels." Vogel suggested, "They'll gnaw through anything."

The cat, still lounging around on the work table, flicked its tail with languid annoyance. Otto narrowed his eyes at the creature.

"You squat in my barn all day and you can't take care of some vermin?"

The cat yawned, unimpressed, and proceeded to groom its face. Otto rolled his eyes as he twisted the exposed wire ends together tightly. Flicking the switch, he was relieved to find the light working again.

"Let me fill up your tank." Otto offered, walking over to a table where the numerous gas tanks sat, "I always keep extra gasoline..."

His words petered off as he noticed the weight of the tank. Opening the lid, he peered inside.

"Huh, that's strange."

"What is?"

"I could've sworn I had a full tank of gas in here. But now it's empty." he proceeded to check the other tanks, "Even the ethanol's gone."

"Vati!"

The two turned as Max came running up, holding a cotton-print magazine.

"The car! What happened to the car?"

"It got nicked during a bombing. Hopefully it won't take long to get it running properly again."

The boy's eyes widened in shock.

"You were in a bombing?!" 

"Your mutti and I are fine, the car took the damage for us."

Max breathed a sigh of relief, as he clutched the magazine to his chest, enough so that Vogel could properly see the cover's text.

"Wait, are those...English magazines?"

Otto, noticing what Max was carrying, realized what the implication would be.

"No, no!" He waved his hands hurriedly, "You've got the wrong idea, look!"

Snatching the magazine from Max, he pointed to the cover, tapping furiously on the publishing year, which read 1925.

"I bought a collection of these years ago, before the war. They were cheap so I just kept them in a box in my workshop. They're just nature magazines about animals. See?"

Flipping open the magazine, he turned the pages, displaying the numerous photographs of various wildlife.

"He just likes looking at the photos. He can't even read the information without my help."

Vogel took hold of the magazine, looking through it carefully. After a moment, seemingly satisfied it wasn't anything nefarious, he closed and handed it back to Max.

"You like learning, Max?"

Max nodded eagerly.

"You must be excited to start school."

There was an air of tension Vogel seemed oblivious to. Max, aware of how anxious his father had turned, but not understanding why, sensed an opportunity and asked slyly.

"Is school a bad place?"

Otto went white as a sheet. In the poor lighting, Vogel luckily couldn't properly see his reaction, but instead frowned sternly at Max.

"Whoever told you that?"

"Oh, no-one." Max dismissed playfully, "Just a funny man. I thought it was a silly thing to say anyway."

"Max," Vogel crouched down to Max's level, glaring intently into his eyes. His tone turned aggressive. "Who told you that?"

Max went quiet. He glanced at his father and saw sheer terror in his eyes. Unsure of how to answer, Max did what any smart child would do, and kept his mouth shut. Vogel, seeing Max clamp up, looked to Otto.

"You should be more careful who your son converses with."

Otto nodded.

"Indeed."

Vogel glanced back to Max, who redirected his gaze to the ground.

"I must be off. I hope your head gets better."

Vogel made his way out the barn and into his car. Otto listened carefully as he heard the vehicle drive off into the distance. When the rumble of the motor had faded, Otto shut the barn door and rushed to Max, falling to his knees and clutching the boy's shoulders.

"Do you want them to take you away, Max?!"

Max blinked, blindsided by the question.

"Take me away?"

"Max, you can't tell people what we tell you! They'll think you shouldn't stay with us!"

"I don't understand."

Otto's hands trembled. He pulled his son in, hugging him tightly, his face riddled with fear.

"Vati, why can't I go to school?"

So many times had Max asked that question, always with a tone of eagerness, frustration, exasperation. But now it was asked with great apprehension, almost a sense of dread. Otto pulled back, looking his son in the eye.

"Max, it's a bad place. They teach you to think bad thoughts, and train you to do bad things. And you won't even realize how bad it is."

"But...everyone says it's good?"

"Everyone's wrong! It's bad! It's bad, bad, BAD!"

Otto hadn't intended to shout, but he felt more and more trapped by something unseen. Max looked over his fathers face, seeing the distress.

"Is it really that bad?"

Otto didn't answer.

How can I possibly explain to you just how bad it is?

"Okay."

Otto blinked, surprised by his son's response.

"I won't ask about it. And I won't talk about it anymore. I'm sorry."

Otto shook his head.

"No. Don't be sorry for anything. It's not your fault."

It's our fault.

It's my fault.

Max's face grew more distressed. Otto, realizing his own expression probably wasn't helping, tried offering a reassuring smile. It felt unnatural; foreign.

"Max..." he began, aiming to divert from the subject, "You know you're not supposed to go into the workshop without my permission."

Max, remembering his original objective, opened the magazine, browsing through the contents.

"I know, but I really wanted to figure out which animal the tracks belonged to."

Otto furrowed his brow.

Tracks?

Max exited via the rear entrance, walking deeper into the woods behind the barn.

"Max, careful!" Otto followed, "I told you not to go too far in there. You could get lost."

But Max halted after walking a few meters and pointed towards a particularly soft patch of earth.

"The only thing close to the right size is an elephant. But I don't think there aren't any elephants in Germany." Max looked to his father, "Are there?" 

Otto stared at the tracks in confusion, shaking his head absentmindedly. The boy cocked his head curiously.

"Do you think maybe it escaped from somewhere? Like the zoo? Or a circus?"

"...Maybe."

Yeah, maybe.

If it had been wearing square shoes.

***

Otto slept for the rest of the evening, right through til' three o'clock the next day. He was usually not a heavy sleeper, but his body must've been more injured and exhausted than he realized. When he finally awoke, he found the house eerily quiet. Alexia and Max were nowhere to be seen. He walked into the kitchen and saw a note.

I took Max fishing by the lake so you could get some rest. 

I prepared a cold sandwich if you get hungry.

It's next to the beers in the ice box.

Otto opened the ice box to see the most beautiful sandwich wrapped in paper, waiting for him. Ravenous, he grabbed it, a bottled beer, and practically inhaled the meal.

His head, though sore, felt much better after having a good, long rest; not to mention he felt more refreshed and alert than he'd felt in weeks. Some nights, the workload had been so bad, he'd have to muddle through with a paltry three hours of sleep. Whenever those days came and went, he was little more than a walking zombie, his brain running on fumes just to keep the most baseline motor functions going.

Looking out the window, he saw his Volkswagen parked comfortably beside the barn. It was probably best he spend his recovery time fixing the damage. Barring work, it would be frustrating having his primary mode of transportation out of commission for too long. Grabbing the basic toolkit he kept within the house for easy access, along with a second bottle of beer, he trudged. It was a soothing day, an increasing rarity as this wretched war dragged on. 

Squeezing the clamp meant to open the engine compartment of his car, Otto found the hood stubbornly refusing to budge. After struggling with it a while, he saw that the metal had been damaged in a way that kept the hood from opening easily. He'd have to grab a crowbar from the shed. 

Grabbing the beer and wrestling with the top, he walked over to the barn entrance and slid the door back. He looked up and froze.

The bottle slipped from his limpened fingers, shattering on the ground.

***

Max proudly strut into the kitchen, hauling in the five trout he'd managed to snag at the lake. Alexia smiled as she took them and placed them on a newspaper by a cutting board.

"I'll get these cleaned up. Go put your fishing gear away, alright?"

"Ja, mutti."

Max dashed off as Alexia began scaling the first fish. However, she'd hardly flaked off a strip when Otto bolted in, skidding to a halt. Without even giving her a chance to set the knife down, he grabbed her wrist and dragged her outside.

"Wha-! Otto?!"

"It's real! It was real!" He kept pulling her frantically towards the barn, "I put chains through the wheels so they can't move it! I don't know how they keep getting it in!"

"Chain-wheel-? What are you-!?

"The other night! It wasn't a dream!"

Making it to the barn, Otto swung open the door. 

Nothing.

The floor was completely empty.

Empty, except for a chain lying on the ground, draped as if it'd been placed there intentionally.

Otto staggered inside, his enthusiasm and excitement dashed in a nanosecond. He fell to his knees, grabbing the chain and staring at it, as if it could tell what'd happened to the supposed captive.

"But I...I saw..."

Otto scoured the barn, his words growing more broken.

"I couldn't...it wasn't..."

"Liebes?"

Turning, he saw how concerned Alexia's face had grown, unsettled by seeing him act in so frantic a manner. Otto looked back down at the chain in his hands.

Am I losing it??

"I thought..." he hesitated, "I caught...the creature that snuck in last night."

"Oh?" Alexia forced a pleasant tone, "What was it?"

Otto bit his lip.

"I don't know."

An uncomfortable silence passed. Alexia looked to the fish knife still clutched in her hand.

"I'm...fixing fish for dinner."

An obvious statement.

"I'm working on the car."

The conversation ended.

Alexia wearily headed back to the house as Otto, with soul-sucked morosity, retrieved the crowbar.

***

Drowning himself in repairs, Otto hammered the incident out of mind. It was merely his tiredness, his lack of sleep. He dared not entertain the frighting notion he was losing his grip. He'd seen many a man go screwy in the head. People who encountered things, or endured experiences too much to process, were liable to have nervous breakdowns. It was not uncommon for those surrounded by weapons and carnage. It was a fate that'd befallen many in the first war.

Otto shook his head.

He had a few days of rest and reprieve to enjoy. He was going to fix the car, spend time with his wife and son, refresh himself and be perfectly fine.

Everything would be fine.

Just fine.

Like how it was "fine" back then?

Sweat beaded on his forehead from the effort of working around the engine. He could probably fix the car if he was diligent about it, but it would surely take a few days, given there was no unseen internal damage. Throwing the wrench back in the toolbox from the house, he grabbed the crowbar, intent on returning it to its appropriate spot in the barn. Otto was a stickler for keeping things in place, a mechanic who had to juggle a million different tool sizes needed to ensure he could find the correct tools when needed.

He swung the barn open, gazing out at the beautiful sunset. He admired the tangerine and satin pink clouds for a moment before stepping inside.

A shriek of terror jumped from his mouth. He turned, clamping his eyes shut.

"It isn't there!"

He clawed the sides of his head.

"It isn't there!"

It was just a dream!

With great hesitation, he looked back. 

There it was.

The Messerschmitt.

Rushing it, Otto slammed his hands against the frame, running his fingers along the groves. He winced and pulled back, looking at an injured finger to see the skin sliced, cut by the sharp edge of a metal sheet no doubt. Blood trickled down his palm.

Dreams don't draw blood.

"ALEXIA!"

He bolted towards the exit.

"Alexi-!"

A thought froze him in his tracks. 

The plane had managed to disappear twice already. What would prevent it from vanishing a third time? What then?

He stepped back inside, closed the door, and bolted it. Going over to his collection of tools, he grabbed an electric screwdriver. Plugging in the wire, he revved up the machine and walked to the craft.

He'd take it apart. Piece by piece if he had to.

The screwdriver abruptly shut off. He punched the power switch a few times, but the drill refused to muster even a whine. The light overhead still burned, so it couldn't have been a power outage. Tracing the cord back to the outlet, he discovered the wire had been sliced clean through, as if slashed by a knife.

Tossing the ruined tool aside, Otto grabbed a hand wrench from the wall to do it manually. He got to work loosening one of the bolts. Once undone, he moved to the next, then the next. But when he tried to wriggle the plate free, not only did he find it hadn't loosened at all, but all the bolts he'd undone seemed to have screwed themselves back into place.

Frustrated, he tried a different section of the plane only to fail in a similar fashion. He went to another, the same result. He went around the plane, trying and failing to remove even one metal sheet, but it was as if the plane simply refused to be taken apart.

At wits end, Otto tossed the wrench aside and snatched the crowbar. He prepared to slam the hooked end into the edge of a panel, with any luck prying it open. He swung his arms back when a thin jet of oil shot out, squirting him square in the face. He stumbled back, dropping the crowbar and wiping his eyes, sputtering and blinking.

A realization fell upon him. He straightened slowly. His voice calm, but on edge.

"You can come out now."

Somehow, someway, someone was actively manipulating this aircraft, screwing with him, preventing him from taking it apart. Someone smart. Someone close. 

"I'm not your enemy. I just want to talk."

A thick silence hovered in the air.

"Is there something you want? I might be able to help."

The dead air persisted.

Otto strode to a corner of the barn where a water hose lay, coiled like an anorexic python. Turning on the water, Otto thoroughly doused the walls, doors, every inch of the barn until it was soaked, save for the area around the plane. Soaking himself from head to toe, he shut off the water and grabbed a long rubber tube, the empty gasoline container, and headed outside to his car. Sucking on one end of the hose, he inserted the other end into the Volkswagen's fuel tank. When he felt his mouth flood with the rancid taste of gas, he shoved a thumb over the tube opening, spat the contents into the container, and stuck the end of the tube into the opening, the fuel siphoning out of the car. Once full, he yanked the hose from the tank and marched back in. The plane hadn't budged, for once.

"I shan't continue falling prey to your mind games. Come out."

He awaited a reply. 

"Show yourself!"

Not even the sound of breathing came.

Getting a good grip around the gasoline tank, Otto splashed the plane with the fuel. He had a fire extinguisher and the water hose nearby, but he knew the barn might very well go up in flames regardless, especially from a gas fire. The barn wasn't essential and it was far enough from his house that there wasn't any danger of the fire spreading. Hell, having any aircraft hidden in his barn was dangerous enough, what was a little arson compared to what would happen to him were he caught hiding a jet?

Pouring a trail leading away from the doused plane, he tossed the empty container aside. He pulled his trench lighter from his pocket and stood to the side, out of the jet guns' line of fire, just in case.

"Last chance!"

No response.

Fine.

He flicked a flame to life, shakily holding the lighter over the trail of gasoline.

"I'll do it!"

Not a stir came.

"I swear I'll do it!"

Nothing.

Otto hesitated.

Then dropped the match.

Instantly, the nearest podded turbine dislodged itself from the wing, violently swung inward, and expelled a violent burst of air. The gust was so intense, it managed to send the lighter, along with Otto, careening into the barn wall. Otto crumpled to the ground, his head spinning. Dazed and confused beyond measure, he watched as the engine, still rotated inwards, swung from horizontal to vertical as the intake end slammed against the ground.

Except it wasn't directly touching the ground, it was being supported.

By a giant metal hand.

Otto heard four mechanical strains of gears shift as he saw the whole plane shudder. Metal plates unknit themselves, gliding over and under, between and around one another with the fluidity of water cascading over a rocky riverbed. The other turbine engine underwent the same transformation, a second hand emerging from the intake and stabilizing itself against the brick floor. 

The wings, pivoting at the base, folded in so that the strange symbol now displayed on the underside. The white belly of the fuselage split, the two halves bending lengthwise as the white metal panels shifted apart to expose massive hinge-like structures, on which the two splits rotated before bending along the massive metallic joint. The sky-blue horizontal stabilizers of the tail slid onto the splits which became akin to two rectangular pillars lying on their sides. They rotated inward as the former horizontal stabilizers hit the floor, in a manner which Otto could only liken to the movement of legs and feet.

The red vertical stabilizer of the tail split and shifted upwards, fragmenting into what came to resemble hip joints. The nose cone, all the way up to the forward tip of the cockpit, divided and opened, flattening like the bottom of a budding red tulip. The orange cockpit, along with the upper half of the fuselage, slid forward, tilting downward until it was pointed at the floor. The upper fuselage behind the cockpit split off, while the red upper-half slid upwards towards the orange glass, only to clamp onto the underside of the now turned-down cockpit, becoming shoulder plates beneath the massive white wings.

The craft shifted from horizontal to vertical, aerodynamic to humanoid, until finally, a great mechanical head emerged, locking itself into place between two tall, thin intake outlets, which sat upon great, geometric shoulders.

And all this happened, in sync, in conjunction, in a matter of seconds.

Otto stared up in slack-jawed bewitchment.

The Messerschmitt jet was gone.

Time stood still.

Otto stared aghast at the towering figure before him. 

The light positioned behind the massive form left its frontside draped in heavy shadow, particularly the face, from which shone two blood-red eyes.

Eyes staring directly at him.

The mechanical titan reached for him.

Survival instincts jolted Otto's body into action. Scrambling, he slipped past the work tables and jumped over the empty stalls in a mad dash for the front exit. A giant metal hand crashed in front of him like a wall. He skidded to a stop, and with an instant 180, bolted for the back door. The other hand slammed down before him, blocking the back exit. The two hands started moving together, closing in on him. 

Lacking options, Otto leapt onto the fingertips, scrambling up and over as they tried to close around his leg. He yelped as he felt them tighten around his foot just as he managed to slip out of his shoe. He fell hard onto the ground and scrambled away on all fours as he sensed the hand once more moving towards him. In desperation, he tried to crawl though a massive, crumpled tarp used for covering machinery, if only to confuse the creature. He felt the hand fall on top of him, dragging the tarp out, and him with it. His body, slick with sweat and water, managed to wriggle free of the tarp, evading one hand, only to get caught by the other.

As he felt the immobilizing pressure bear down on him, the massive digits closing around his torso, he was suddenly struck with the memory of being a boy, catching frogs for fun in a similar fashion. He wondered if this must've been the same terror they'd felt. With terrified whimpers, he felt himself hoisted into the air, yelping as he struggled in vain to free himself. The hand rotated, forcing him to come face to face with the two burning eyes staring back at him. For the first time, he got a good look at the creature's face.

The sides of the head seemed to bear strange, vent-like structures, framing a dome whose shape Otto could only liken to a Soviet tanker helmet. The face, made of such smooth and silken satin-finished metal, was the most intricate and masterful structure Otto had ever seen in his life. It was not evident at first glance, the faceplate initially seeming to be a singular sheet of metal, but up close he could see it was actually composed of various smaller components, the majority concentrated around the mouth and eyes. All so immaculately pieced together, moving so subtly and seamlessly as if it were a single structure, that the only thing Otto could think to compare it to was a clockwork silver swan automaton he'd once seen on display before the war. Even that stunning piece of engineering seemed like a jittery, mishmash windup toy compare to the face before him.

And the eyes...

Despite their mechanical nature, it wasn't like looking into a red lightbulb or any manmade light source. It was more like the bioluminescence produced by fireflies, or fungi, or certain deep sea life. The light itself was gentle, easy to look at, he didn't even feel the need to wince. He might've considered them pretty were they not so clearly burning with malice. Had the creature wanted to kill him, it would've already done so. No, it wanted to catch him, and that somehow seemed so much worse.

The hand around his body felt warm, alive.

He shrieked, he wailed, he knew this creature could distort him with one squeeze of its hand. He felt his life flash before his eyes as he cried out for help he knew would never come.

"Shut up."

Otto was struck to silence.

It spoke.

Gott in Himmel, it spoke.

Otto's mind reeled, bombarded by the impossibility of his predicament. A plane that moved on its own, a plane that turned into a man-like machine, a machine that spoke, machine that looked at him with languid interest. 

Was someone inside? Controlling it? No, that was impossible. If they were in the cockpit, maybe, but with the way everything shifted when it transformed, he couldn't imagine a human not being sliced to ribbons whilst hiding within the machinations of this mechanical being.

But if someone wasn't controlling it, speaking through it, then...?

Otto squeaked as he felt himself turn upside down. Reflexively, he clutched the metallic fingers clasped around his body as the creature tilted its hand, looking over him as if he were a bug under a magnifying glass. Blood rushed to his head as, in terror, he felt his foot being gripped between two giant fingers as the creature forced him to bend a leg, fortunately, in the correct direction. 

It was playing with him, examining him, like one might do after catching an exotic insect. Otto's fear-stricken brain became flooded with thoughts of how young children would often pull the legs off of a spider for fun, blissfully ignorant of the suffering they caused. 

"Please..." Otto whimpered, his words emerging in a panicked ramble, "Please don't, please don't hurt me. I'm sorry, I was scared an I...oh, God. Please, I'm begging-!"

He was swung upright so fast it nearly gave him whiplash.

"I said," the metallic voice hissed, "Shut. UP."

A knock came from the front entrance. Both heads whipped round at the noise.

"Otto?" Alexia's muffed voice called, "Is everything alright?"

Otto and the metallic being looked back to each other. 

It was already dark outside as Alexia knocked on the door again. She jostled the door trying to get it open, surprised to find it bolted.

"Otto are you there? I thought I heard yelling."

"No, I-um..." Otto's shaken voice answered, "just...all is well, dear."

Alexia frowned.

"Why do I smell gasoline?"

Her question was only met with silence.

"Otto, open this door right now."

"I...can't" Otto answered weakly.

"Open this door or I'll find a way to break it open!"

"Don't! I-!"

Otto's voice cut off abruptly as Alexia thought she heard a strange whispering coming from inside. After a moment, Otto lifted the latch and slipped out of the barn door, opening it as little as possible and shutting it behind him.

"Otto you're soaked!" 

"I just...spilled some gasoline and have been trying to wash it out. I got wet from the hose, it's just water."

Alexia took a whiff and was relieved to find it had no odor.

"Why didn't you open the door?"

"I...it's dangerous with all the spilt gas. I didn't want you in there."

"Well here," Alexia offered, "I'll help clean it up."

"NO!" Otto grabbed her in a panic. "I mean-It's just...there's a live wire and...I don't want you in there in case something combusts. I know how best to wash it out so I'll take care of it. It needs to be rinsed thoroughly."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Yes, it's all fine. I have it under control, but I can't leave it sitting like that."

Alexia examined his expression worriedly.

"Alright, but you really need to be more careful. Things can go wrong so easily."

"I know." Otto released his hold, "believe me I know."

Straightening herself, Alexia let out a sigh.

"Well, dinner will be ready in half an hour. Don't stay out too long."

She turned and headed back towards the house. Otto gave a forced smile and watched as Alexia walked out of earshot. He dared not move from his position. 

"Back inside." A voice hissed, "Slowly."

Otto slowly stepped back, opening the door and re-entering the barn.

"Bolt it."

Otto did as he was told.

"Turn around."

He did so, coming face to face with the wrong end of the creature's shoulder-mounted gun, which had been pointed at Otto the whole conversation. The creature inched the weapon's nozzle closer, pressing it into Otto's chest. 

"Now. What shall I do with you, fleshling?"

Otto shuddered at the term, the sticky-wet clothes clinging to his skin felt like a constrictor tightening around his chest.

"As things stand, you're more trouble than you're worth. A loose-lipped organic is just a liability...alive."

He knew there was no way to outrun this creature. Even if he could, what if his family saw it? What then?

His heart nearly leapt into his throat when the fuel tanks were suddenly thrown in front of him, clattering on the brick.

"More."

Otto stared at the canisters, confused.

"Are your audials malfunctioning?!" thundered the titan, "Bring me more fuel!"

To Otto's horror, his mouth began to move, words coming out independent of his terrified will.

"I don't have more."

"Then go get it!"

"I...can't." 

Otto's mind screamed at his own insolence, pleading with himself to shut up, but his mouth refused to comply.

"There's no place to get gasoline at this time of night. There's not much left in the car, and I need that to-"

"Not that slag you were throwing on me earlier! the other fuel!"

Otto's jaw began to hurt, the muscles had tightened so much from clenching his teeth. Yet it continued to form words.

"The ethanol?"

"Now!"

"I don't have a way to carry it back. I haven't fixed the engine."

The metallic lips pulled back in a sneer.

"Your...vehicle," the word crawled from the metal mouth with venom, "will be operational by morning. In the meantime, get me more."

"Even if I could, if I don't go back inside, my wife will come looking for me, find you, and then it'll only cause more problems."

The creature was going to kill him. He would die here all because he was stupid enough to backtalk a giant monster.

For a long while the creature didn't speak. It considered Otto's rebuff. 

"Go refuel or recharge for the night if you must," it growled, "but by sunrise, you'd better be out stockpiling as much of this 'ethanol' as you can lay your filthy organic servos on. Understand?"

Otto gave a slow nod. He turned and unbolted the door.

"One more thing, fleshling."

Otto went still, he could see the spill of red light increase against the door. He dared not turn around.

"If you start getting any clever ideas, just remember, I can flatten that home of yours in under a klick, along with anything or anyone who happens to be inside."

Otto shivered at the thought. He didn't wait for the creatures approval. He exited the barn and walked stiffly towards the house. Halfway there, he suddenly remembered he hadn't switched the light off and reflexively turned.

The door was open, but only darkness came from within.

And from it, the red glow of the creature's eyes, staring at him.

All at once the full madness of the situation crashed upon him. His legs went wobbly. He fell to his hands and knees as he began hyperventilating. His whole body shook so hard he couldn't see straight. Dry heaving as hot tears beaded in his eyes, his mind throbbed as though someone was trying to crush his brain. 

It took ten minutes before he was able to get back on his feet and walk into the house. With shaky hands, he grabbed his cigarette case and lit one, hoping the nicotine would relax him.

He looked out the window, dreading those red eyes would still be looking back at him.

He didn't see the red eyes.

He saw his Volkswagen missing.

He smoked half the pack before the end of the night.

***

Chapter Text

CYBERTRON

{Near the end of the First Golden Age}

The Academy of Science and Technology was the pride of Iacon. A massive structure of interlinking, glittering spires, shimmering domes, and state-of-the-art facilities, it was the crowned jewel of higher education. Physics, mathematics, biology, geology, cosmology, chemistry, medicine, engineering, coding, even logic and the social sciences were offered amongst the academy's extensive curriculums. It was no secret only the finest of minds, or the deepest of influence, could walk those prestigious halls. It was everything one could expect and more.

"Next!"

A line of bots worked their way towards an information booth, whether to place orders for necessary texts, register for courses, or other such administrative needs. The bots, all vibrantly varied in design and color, were each notable in their own right. Yet one mech, a massive white cargo-frame, accented with blue and red, towered high over all others, eliciting raised brows from many as he waited.

"Next!"

Skyfire hated being the center of attention, but it was near impossible not to be noticed when most other mechs stood half his size, sometimes smaller. He gave an apologetic smile to the bot behind him, a femme irritated beyond measure. Being a colonial-moon bumpkin, the bustling city-state capital overwhelmed him. Most transformers, especially the shuttles, kept to themselves back home on Caminus, not that there were many of them to begin with.

"Next!"

He was the first Camien, not to mention the first shuttle, to ever get into a prestigious science academy like the one nestled in Iacon. He'd have to adjust quickly if he was going to-

"Move it, denthead!"

Flinching, Skyfire pulled free of his thoughts to see he was up next. Hurrying over to the counter, he had to bend down to look the attendant in the optic.

"Hello. Um, I have a question."

The attendant glared back, clearly fed up from having to endure tedious Q&A for cycles on end.

"So I...I'm new here, see, and I'm a little confused because this place is so big, and...Oh, maybe I should-? My name is Skyfire, I should be registered, perhaps you could look up my data, but I-"

"Get to the point."

Skyfire winced guiltily. 

"Could you tell me where room QR7-1 is?"

"In the graphite building. Next!"

"H-hold on, where's the graphite building?"

"Down the hall from the amphitheater. Ne-!"

"Where's the amphitheater?"

A clock inside the desk beeped and the attendant bot reached over and clicked on a digital sign that read "Out to Fuel". 

"It's south from the dormitory." came the dismissively irritated answer as the attendant grabbed the overhead shudders and yanked them down.

"Wait! How do I get to the-!"

The shudder closed with a rattle. Skyfire bowed his head in defeat.

"...dormitory."

He heard a chorus of groans emanate from behind him, the lined-up bots blatantly irritated at having to wait even longer to take care of their respective businesses. An irritation that was quickly displaced onto the shuttle before them.

"Thanks a lot, lugnut." the femme behind him muttered.

His wings drooping, Skyfire figured it would be best to find the graphite building on his own. As he wandered helplessly through vast halls, grand stretches of corridors, and wandered aimlessly up and down floors, his audials continually picked up the gossip that followed, no matter where he went.

"I can't believe they're letting a shuttle in."

"It's all part of that new appeasement program they've got in play; Senator Shockwave's been pushing it for vorns. The only reason the Senate approved was to show off how the higher-academia system's "not exclusive"."

"Isn't that the point?"

"Not with a mech like Megatron riling lower-caste bots against them."

"Ugh, first the seeker and now a slagging shuttle. This place really has gone to the pit."

Maintaining an indifferent expression, Skyfire walked further on. The academy was clearly not designed for mechs his size. Most of the ceilings were high enough, if just barely, but the doorways and arches demanded him to crouch and duck. Some were so small, he'd dreaded the possibility of becoming stuck should he try to squeeze through. After searching, and reluctantly asking a bot or two for directions, he managed to locate the graphite building and the classrooms within it.

"Okay," he sighed in relief, squeezing his frame through a doorway, "That takes care of my lecture classrooms, now if I can just figure out where the amphitheater-"

Realizing his frame wouldn't go any further through the door, Skyfire tried to back up. However his wings, already through the threshold, had caught on the doorframe, preventing him from backing out.

He was stuck.

Panicked, Skyfire hitched and wriggled his frame, terrified of the inconvenience his entrapment would bring to those bots needing to pass through the path he blocked. Worse still, the area he was in was a heavily trafficked part of the school, and many were already casting perplexed glances in his direction. Jerking violently, Skyfire inched his frame through the door until at last, he burst free and stumbled forward, inadvertently shoving a passing mech, before falling flat on his face. His humiliation was only seconded by his immediate concern for the passerby he'd collided into. 

"I'm so sorry!" he scrambled to his pedes, "I-Are you alri-?"

"This was a brand new finish!"

Skyfire went quiet as he saw the mech, a high-caste green grounder who clearly valued his appearance, storm towards him, pointing a digit at the small scratch that scuffed his forearm.

"I-I'm sorry," Skyfire quibbled, "It was an accident, I swear-"

"Sorry isn't getting me a new polish, scraphead!" 

The grounder's companion, an orange flier, came up to join in the heckling of the shuttle, jamming a finger into his abdomen.

"Don't you cause enough problems lumbering around the halls? Blocking everyone's path with that bloated cargo-build of yours!?"

 Skyfire looked down meekly, fiddling his servos.

"I-I'll try to stay out of the way from now-"

"The only way someone like you could stay out of the way is by hitchhiking your way back home to whatever greaseball asteroid you rode in on!"

"And here I thought this was supposed to be a school for the gifted." 

Skyfire looked up to see a bot half his size push past the two high-caste mechs, red optics glued to the data pad in his servos. With a vibrant red torso, blue forearms, and off-white wings streaked with crimson, the bot, evidently a flier, strut past the three with a distinct swagger that oozed confidence. He came to a halt and tilted his helm back, languidly glancing at the green grounder.

"Why would a shuttle need to hitchhike across space, bit-brain? But then I guess it's presumptuous to expect intelligent analysis from the circuitry-challenged."

The orange flier and Skyfire's optics simultaneously widened. The grounder's jaw dropped in disbelief, clearly never having anyone treat him with such disrespect. 

"Who knows?" he continued, "If your processors weren't so microscopic, you might've had trouble getting through the door yourselves."

Skyfire clenched his denta apprehensively. He'd heard plenty of talk about the mech across campus, but this was his first time seeing the infamous seeker in person. From what he could gather from local gossip, seekers predominately occupied Vos, a city-state seated next to Iacon, and were extremely aggressive in nature. They habitually sought out fights, finding ways of increasing their destructive capabilities, and engaged in brutish and unproductive pastimes. Skyfire shuddered at the thought of how the other students lumped their distain of him together with such a violent flier, as if the two were anything alike.

The grounder's faceplate twisted in anger as he stepped forward.

"Wanna' run that by me again, seeker?"

"Oh, sorry. I forgot who I was speaking to." the seeker cleared his vocal component and started talking slowly, as if addressing a newly emerged sparkling, "Dooor....toooo biiig...for itty, bitty...nano...processoooor."

"You little-!" snarled the grounder, "You want a piece of me?!"

"Not really," the seeker shrugged, "I mean, there's nothing all that valuable on display."

Enraged, the grounder charged, swinging his fist. The seeker merely jumped, kicked his thrusters into gear, and front-flipped his way behind the grounder before flicking him tauntingly on the back of the helm. The grounder stumbled forward, completely caught off guard by the artful dodge. However the orange flier, seizing the opportunity, sprung forward and grabbed the seeker from behind, pinning his arms down.

"Give him the works!"

The green grounder, familiar with the routine, recovered and backflipped into his alt-mode: a sleek emerald motorcycle. Revving his engine, he screeched towards the captive seeker, intending to ram him at full speed.

Skyfire nearly covered his eyes at the scene, when the seeker flicked his wings up, smacking the orange flier on both sides of the helm. As the flier reflexively let go, shaking his helm in bewilderment, the seeker collapsed into his tetrajet alt-mode. Unable to react in time, the grounder found himself barreling up the seeker's sloped fuselage, effectively serving as a ramp, which sent him helplessly careening over the helms of several bots, but not before leaving painful tread marks across his flier friend's faceplate.

Skyfire winced at the sound of the crash from down the hall. He walked over to see the busted form of the grounder, still in alt-mode, groaning atop a kind of portable storage trolly containing a wide array of medical supplies that now lay scattered across the floor. An older med-bot stared down at the wreckage, servos dramatically outstretched in bewilderment, as he stared with the most exasperated expression Skyfire had ever seen.

"What-!? Why-?! Gnh-! Gah-! I NEEDED THAT!"

"Stand aside! Move out of the way!"

The crowd of onlookers parted as a larger bot, his face composed of a visor and mouthguard, stepped in. Skyfire immediately recognized him as one of the academy enforcers, present merely to ensure school rules were obeyed, and to punish bots when they weren't. The enforcer halted as soon as he saw the grounder, who hurriedly reverted back to root-mode, looking up with a guilt-ridden grin. His orange flier friend pushed his way to the front of the crowd before catching a glimpse of the enforcer.

"You two again!? For the love of-!" the enforcer trudged forward, grabbing the grounder and flier by their necks, "This time, by Primus, I'm not gonna let anyone get you two off the hook!"

"It wasn't us!" the flier whimpered, "The seeker! It was the seeker who attacked us! He was looking for a fight!"

"Oh?" scoffed the enforcer, "Then where is he?"

The grounder and flier looked around desperately, but even Skyfire with his high vantage point, saw no sign of of the seeker. He'd managed to completely slip away from the scene without notice.

"But-! It was-! He's the one who-!" the grounder suddenly took notice of Skyfire, "You! Shuttle!" 

Skyfire flinched, startled at being called out.

"Tell him! That slagging seeker came after us and we had to fight back! They're stupid, violent mechs! They always stir up trouble wherever they go!"

The enforcer looked to Skyfire.

"Is that true?"

For a klick, Skyfire considered.

The seeker had verbally provoked them, antagonized them with jabs at their intelligence. That alone, in a certain light, could arguably be seen as provoking a fight. Even still, what good could come from having such a bot within the academy? Wouldn't it be preferable for such a dangerous mech to be kept far away? Not in danger of causing trouble for anyone else? And perhaps, if he sided with the two mechs, they might appreciate the gesture and leave him be. Logically, there was no benefit in siding with the seeker.

But in his spark, Skyfire knew better; and his conscience wouldn't allow him to pretend otherwise.

"No. They attacked him first. The seeker didn't even fight back, he just dodged their blows. They even tried trapping him so he could be rammed by their alt-mode." he pointed to the grounder, "He crashed due to his own recklessness."

The two bots gritted their denta, glaring daggers at the shuttle with such intense loathing and malice, it almost made Skyfire pull back.

"Thought as much." grumbled the enforcer, looking down at his captives, "Alright, move it! Time for a little visit to the disciplinary office, and believe me, I'll personally make sure you both actually get punished this time."

Once the enforcer and the two bots departed, the crowd of onlookers gradually dissipated, the bots all heading off to attend to their own businesses; all except the med-bot. Crouching on his servos and knee joints, the old mech collected the scattered materials, returning them to the busted cart as he grumbled and muttered under his breath.

Skyfire watched. He looked around, wondering if anyone was going to step in and help, but no one did. Cautiously, he bent down and began retrieving the scattered equipment.

"Careful!" The med-bot exclaimed, "That's delicate equipment!"

But Skyfire had practiced enough scientific research in his spare time to develop a very precise understanding on how to handle even the most brittle of objects. Even with his massive servos, he was able to seize a glass beaker without leaving so much as a chip. Carefully, he returned the items to the storage container. 

"I'm terribly sorry. About your cart."

"Sorry for what?" grumbled the med-bot, "You weren't the one pulling stunts in a highly trafficked, non-alt-mode zone."

Skyfire gave an appreciative smile and continued gathering the supplies. 

"Um...If you don't mind," he hesitated, "Could you give me directions to the amphitheater?"

The med-bot looked up, irritated.

"Do I look like a navigation frame to you?"

Skyfire slumped, his wings drooping as he continued collecting the remaining supplies with a notably decreased vigor. The med-bot, seeing his reaction, gave an exasperated sigh and raised a pointed digit.

"Down the corridor, all the way to the end. Take the last right and go straight. You can't miss it."

His helm and wings perking up, Skyfire smiled gratefully as he rose to his pedes.

"Thank you! Thank you very much!"

As Skyfire walked off, the med-bot gave a quick scan of the floor before carefully pushing the banged up cart to its original destination. 

"Bots these days, I swear." He shook his helm, "They get more and more helpless every vorn."

Skyfire easily found the amphitheater, and from there, the dormitory. As he walked down the dorm halls, checking the room numbers carefully, drawing ever closer to his assigned quarters, he reflected on what an exhausting orbital cycle it had been.

A part of him hoped he'd been assigned a private room, due to his size and the likelihood that no high-caste mech would be caught offline boarding with a shuttle. But if they had assigned him with someone, perhaps he'd be lucky enough to get a roommate who was amicable. He would certainly try to stay out of their way and be as accommodating as possible. The last thing he wanted was more conflict.

Finally coming upon his assigned room, he punched in his ID code, unlocking the door, and crouched to enter. As he did, he saw the pedes of a bot sitting at a nearby desk. 

Disappointed, but not disheartened, he put on his best smile.

"Excuse me, I've been assigned to this room. I'm sure it's a surprise having a shuttle for a roommate, but I'll try to be-"

The bot turned, giving him a sass-filled, scrutinizing glare.

Skyfire froze. His wings tucked low in dread.

He'd been assigned to the same room as the seeker.

***

Otto wasn’t even sure if he’d gotten any real sleep by the time he woke up. Gently dismounting the bed so as not to wake Alexia, he peeked out of the window, half expecting to glimpse the creature in the barn. His stomach went cold when he instead saw his Volkswagen sitting right outside his front door, perfectly mended.

Dressing quickly and quietly, he scribbled down a note explaining the need to replace the empty fuel tanks. It was the truth at least, if only partially.

It was only after exiting the front door when he noticed the large piece of canvas draped across the windshield of his car. Pulling it off, he noticed something had been painted on the cloth. Turning the canvas around, he held up the corners and draped it over the car hood to get a good look.

In large, sloppy red letters, it read:

LOOSE LIPS

( ✖╭╮✖ )

Otto quickly balled up the tarp, threw it in the backseat, and sped off down the road.

***

Upon his return, Otto figured it would be best to enter the barn via the rear doors. It was too risky should the front door be opened too wide and expose what lurked inside. Piling up the Wehrmacht-Einheitskanisters (or Jerrycans as the Americans called them) outside the door and opening it, he wondered whether the mechanical being had reverted back into its Messerschmitt appearance.

It had not. It sat, legs splayed out, back against the wall, with wings slightly drooped, not low, but relaxed. Its eyes were covered by what looked to be a set of metallic lids, the head tilted and leaned to the side, mouth hanging slightly ajar as the creature's vents blew softly at regular intervals; a cycle eerily reminiscent of breathing. Everything about the thing's mannerisms was indicative of a person who'd fallen asleep.

But machines didn’t sleep.

Right?

Otto quietly brought the fuel canisters inside, waiting for the creature to jolt awake.

It stayed still.

“Hello?” Otto asked, barely above a whisper.

Not a stir.

Otto became aware of how the lights weren't lit, despite the power switch being on. Following the wire with the eye, the ones he’d found cut the night prior and had reattached, he realized they'd once again been disconnected. The copper end was instead attached to an opened section of the creature's massive arm as a trickle charge, like a kind of makeshift, electric IV drip.

Otto remembered something said the night prior.

Go refuel or recharge for the night.

Against his better judgement, he cautiously crept closer to the exposed section of the arm and peered within.

He'd pondered much about how the inner workings functioned, but in all his days, he couldn't have dreamed up the intricate tapestry of machinery before him. Illuminated fuel lines flowing with lavender fluids coiled around hydraulic pullies that moved across a slickly-oiled meshwork of gears, balances, locks and electrical connections. And this was only a tiny portion of the whole being.

It was beautiful.

“Having fun?”

Otto jolted back, his head whipping up to see the mechanical being staring back with those bioluminescent eyes. Anxiety smothered wonder as he backed away from the arm, the crimson eyes following his every move. It reached out and, for a terrifying moment, it seemed to Otto it was reaching for him.

Otto cowered, only for the hand to reach past him, picking up one of the fuel canisters. With the edge of its thumb, the creature flipped open the cap and, to Otto’s shock, raised the canister to its mouth and began chugging the fuel with the same enthusiasm as downing a beer.

A part of Otto felt he shouldn’t have been so surprised seeing a machine consume fuel, but its human-like structure didn't make it any less bizarre a sight. One by one, the fuel tanks were drained into the mech's mouth until it had consumed all 100 liters of ethanol. It threw the last empty canister down and made a noise equivalent to a gasp.

“More.”

More?!

“I...didn’t think you’d need more.”

“Ugh…” the creature grimaced, “Then go get more.”

Otto bit his lip worriedly.

“If I get more fuel now, it'll arouse suspicion. It was already a lot of fuel for one person to purchase.”

The metallic mouth curved into a frown. For a moment, it seemed ready to erupt into a torrent of reprimands. But the fuel had satiated the mechanical being enough and it was still in want of rest. It wearily leaned back, still exhausted, and closed its eyes.

For a long while Otto stared, watching every twitch of the face, every shift of the eyelids, as he stood rooted in awestruck wonder.

The creature flung its eyes open and turned to him, aggravated.

“What?” 

Otto didn't respond right away.

“...What...are you?”

The being gave a scoff.

“I could ask you the same thing, fleshling.” 

“Me?" Otto balked, gesturing to himself, "But…I’m a man, a human.”

The creature stared at him with languid irritation. 

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“Well…yes?” Otto answered rather stupidly.

The being rolled its eyes, turning its head away. Otto reconsidered his approach, hoping not to offend the creature further.

“My name's Otto.”

The creature snapped its head back to face him.

"Excuse me?"

"My name. It's Otto. What's your-?"

"Is that supposed to be some kind of a joke?"

The sudden viciousness in the creature's shrill voice gave Otto pause. The mechanical being eyed him in disgust, bringing its face closer.

“Or are you trying to mock me, Auto?!”

“I don’t know what to tell you!" Otto responded defensively, daunted by the giant looming head, "That’s just my name! Otto! O-T-T-O! Otto von Schmidt!”

Seeing that the supposed insult had been a mere misunderstanding, the creature recoiled. Rubbing its head with a hand, it considered its surroundings, before looking back to Otto.

"Listen up, fleshling, I need to examine one of the higher-end communication devices you utilize on this world. How fast can you bring one here?"

This world?

"Who are you trying to contact?"

The creature bared its metallic teeth.

"None of your business."

"If it's your engineers, I might recognize their names if you tell me."

The creature stopped, staring at Otto with a baffled look.

"My what?"

“Your...engineers? The humans who built you?”

The bioluminescent eyes widened.

“The humans who-?!”

The being sat, dumbstruck, before throwing its head back and howling with tinny laughter.

“You creatures!? With such primitive means? Build me? ME?! As if I were a mere automaton?! That's cute!”

“But that other form you took-?”

“Don’t think for a klick," the creature hissed, "That your engineers could craft such a skilled and handsome bot like me, as if they were Primus himself! That other form is a mere shape I adopted to disguise my true identity, to move freely about without suspicion.”

Otto's expression collapsed into a skeptical squint.

"You didn’t want to draw attention yet you chose a jet plane?"

The creature gritted its teeth, almost upset at his error being called out.

"How was I supposed to know they were a rarity on this planet?!" 

"Then why not a prop plane? They're far more common; too much so."

"Even if I was willing to degrade myself with a propeller-based alt-mode, I can’t just transform into any old shape unless it's compatible with my size and function. I can't alter my mass, I can't change my means of propulsion, I chose this aircraft because it was the only viable option I had!"

“But, if that's the case, if you're just taking on the appearance of one of our aircrafts, whose side are you on?”

“Side? I'm on nobody's side here. I couldn't give a flying flange why you organics are fighting. It’s not my problem. Your side had jets, is currently winning, holds primary authority over this particular region of land mass, so I took their marks for a more convincing disguise. Nothing more.”

"But if you weren't built by our engineers..." asked Otto trepidly, "I-I mean, the way you talk, 'this world', 'this planet', it-it's like you're implying you're...like you're from...outer space."

"No, stupid." The creature scowled, "I'm not from outer space. Nobody's from outer space."

Otto gave a nervous chuckle.

"Right, of course. I don't know what I was thinking, it's such a ludicrous-"

"I'm from the planet Cybertron."

Otto was dumbfounded.

"That's...in outer space."

"So is Earth." came the snide reply.

"So, wait, you...! You really..? Otto gripped his head, "You mean to tell me you're...you're a-what-some kind of...extraterrestrial, alien robot?!"

Jamming a giant index digit into his chest and knocking the wind out of him, the creature loomed over Otto with a snarl.

"Autonomous robotic lifeform, thank you very much! Don't lump me in with those tinker-toys you fiddle with. I posses thoughts. Feelings. A mind of my own! A spark that makes me myself! I. LIVE."

Not two days ago, the idea of a living machine would've been ridiculous to Otto. But even before exposing its true form, he'd been able to sense life within the aircraft's structure; denial had prevented him from even considering the possibility at the time. Its metallic shape housed a living essence, the thing it seemed to refer to as a spark, just as his own flesh merely housed his true essence, a soul. The warmth of its surface, the inexplicable energy emanating from its components, even while in jet form, he had no doubt that this creature, though composed of gears and metal, was in fact, very much alive. 

"Why are you here?"

"Our-" the creature abruptly paused, "My ship was severely damaged and crashed. I tried to evacuate, fly to safety, but the space wreckage slammed into me and I plummeted, far from the ship's crash site; wherever the pit that is. I slipped into emergency stasis, Primus knows for how long, until my systems got flooded with fuel, enough to jolt me back online. When I finally awoke, I found myself underwater."

"Underwater?" 

Wait, can...does this thing breathe?

"There was some kind of native, aquatic lifeform before me. A huge creature. Bigger than me."

A whale. Thought Otto.

"It was leaking fuel. I could tell from its calls it was still functional, but I was just so fragging hungry, I tore it open and sucked out all the fuel it had."

"You did what?!"

"Probably did it a favor, putting it out of its misery. Given how mangled its primitive camshaft was, it was already on its last league. It barely had any fuel left."

Camshaft?

"Thank Primus that warship on the surface had enough-"

"Wait, wait, wait-" Otto waved his hands fervently, "What did this 'aquatic creature' look like?"

The mechanical being shrugged.

"Big, gray, metal, two propellers in the back, a cylindrical extremity that jutted up from the middle of its topside. Kept making this annoying 'ping' noise."

Otto's face contorted in thought, before falling in realization.

"A U-boat." he whispered, "It must've been hit by depth charges close to where you crashed. The fuel leaked out, flooded your systems. That's how you recovered from your crash from-"

A thought suddenly occurred to him.

"Hold on, if you're from another world, how can you be so fluent in German?"

"I tapped your radio frequencies, hooked into some wired communications. Took longer than expected to compile a decent vocabulary, but I got thrown off by the different languages. I managed to narrow it down to the two most consistently recurring languages broadcasted in the region, German and English."

The creature shifted. 

"But enough chatter. Get me a working communication system. And more fuel while you're at it!"

Otto looked to the creature, his mind coming to terms with this new, impossible reality staring back at him.

He'd always been a cautious man, wary of taking any steps that might lead to some ill-fated outcome. But he was all too aware of the terrible future that awaited should he remain placid. And yet, despite his self-inflicted circumstances, he'd been granted a chance, possibly the last chance he'd ever get, to escape that future.

"What are you waiting for?!" thundered the creature, "Go!"

An idea came to him, one he would've never acted upon in the early years of the war.

A crazy, stupid, near suicidal idea. 

He mustered up a defiant glare.

"Why should I?"

The red eyes widened, then narrowed. Otto forced the words from his throat.

"I already paid a hefty price getting you all that pure ethanol. What will I get for my trouble?"

"I'll spare your life. That's what you'll get."

"...Not good enough."

Bemused, the edges of the creature's mouth slid upwards into a mocking smile. 

"You’re in no position to be making demands, squishy.”

“No?" Otto hissed through clenched teeth, "I have a place you can hide. Access to better fuel. I'm a mechanic who can aid with repairs. You’ll be hard pressed to find someone that useful anywhere else willing to help you. You have limited options. You need me."

A tinny cackle burst forth in response.

“You think I need the help of a puny, feeble organic?”

"Then why not just barge into the nearest fuel station and take what you need? It's only twenty miles away. Why this game of hide and seek?"

The creature went quiet, its smile fading fast. 

“Because your size and strength doesn't make you immune to artillery, does it?"

The creature began to shake, visibly angry, but remained silent.

"The greatest advantage you hold is the world's belief that your existence is nothing more than a mere myth. But if any of the bigwigs find out about you, from either side, they'll do anything, sacrifice anyone, to get their hands on a weapon like you. You’ll be running from everyone, because everyone everywhere will want a literal piece of you."

The being grit its teeth in rage, but couldn't reply.

"Perhaps we are puny, perhaps we are feebler, but we sure as hell outnumber you. A billion to one."

“You miserable little-!”

“Like I said," Otto continued, "I’m not your enemy. Besides, think about it, what guarantee do you have of my compliance if you're the only one with something to gain? If our relationship is mutually beneficial, isn't that more reliable?"

The creature pulled back, still upset, but its face bore a mark of intrigue. 

"I’ll keep you hidden, get you fuel, find the materials you need. Hell, I’ll even tag along as your personal first-aid kit. But I expect favors for favors."

"And what favor would you have of me?"

Otto took a steadying breath. His brow furrowed with hardened resolution.

"I want you to help me and my family escape to Switzerland."

The creature gave a quizzical raise of its brow.

"It's a neutral country to the south, surrounded by high mountains, heavily fortified against invasion. It would be impossible for us to get in without help. But with your ability, we could sneak in, undetected and untouched. That's all I ask. It ought to be a trifle for a being like yourself."

"How do I know you wont report me once your family escapes?"

"How do I know you wont fly off before keeping your end of the bargain?"

The creature scowled. The mounted gun emerged from its arm and was directed at Otto, pressing against the bottom of his chin.

"I could just make it real simple, and kill you right now."

Otto felt his knees wobble, but he knew he couldn't afford to buckle. Not now, not when he was this close.

"You could," he managed to answer steadily, "And you'd waste an invaluable asset. Kill me and you'd lose more. If we stay, we’re as good as dead anyway."

Otto examined the mechanical being's face. It was riddled with contempt, but he could tell it saw the reasoning behind the argument.

He forced a cocky grin.

"I guess we’ll just have to trust each other. Won't we, Messerschmidt?"

For a time, the creature didn't answer.

Finally, retracting its shoulder-mounted gun, it opened its mouth.

"...Starscream."

Otto blinked.

"My designation," the creature glowered, "Is Starscream."

***

Chapter Text

Skyfire flinched as he heard a familiar set of pedes enter the room. His whole frame would always tense up whenever he sensed the seeker around. Between still having not learned his name, too apprehensive to ask directly, and the thick, oppressive silence that always persisted between them whenever they were alone, it just made their shared boarding situation all the more uncomfortable. 

Whenever it got this way, Skyfire always felt the best course of action was to quietly pack up whatever materials he was using and move locations, essentially surrendering the area to the seeker. But he was in the middle of complicated repairs on a specialized bio-containment unit at the moment, and really couldn't just up and leave without ruining the effective layout he'd prepared.

He could feel crimson optics glaring at him as the seeker gave a condescending snort before sitting down at his own work station. Trying to continue his work, Skyfire suddenly realized he was missing a specialized tool and began looking about desperately for it. Remembering he'd left it by the cleaning station, having used it to repair a leak, he rose and went to the other side of the room as quietly as he could to retrieve it. Walking as quietly as he could manage, he passed behind the seeker, who was busy reading through some digital message that Skyfire couldn't help but turn an optic toward. He grabbed the tool and snuck back, but seeing a section of the file gave him pause.

From a quick scan of the letter, Skyfire could tell it was a farewell note, informing the seeker of the sender's intent to go immersant. On the bottom was the name of the one who'd sent the message, and at the top, it was addressed to the seeker; except the seeker's digit happened to be draped across the beginning of the name. Skyfire was able to see the letters T, A, and R, preceded by a character he couldn't quite discern, but the top half of which looked as if it spelled...

"...Star."

Too late did a servo slam over his mouth when Skyfire realized he'd muttered his discovery aloud. The seeker whirled around and, realizing what Skyfire was looking at, yanked the optical data storage cartridge from its port, immediately shutting down the message screen. Skyfire pulled back, wings tucking low.

"..I...um..."

The words clogging his vocal processor, Skyfire went over to his desk and began collecting his supplies in a nearby container. It might be a hassle to move all his equipment, but there was no way he would be able to work in the same room now. But before he could finish packing, a blue servo slammed down on his work table, eliciting a jolt from Skyfire. His wings flicked in startled response as he turned to see the seeker looming over him, glaring at him with fury in his optics.

"You got a problem, pal?"

"Huh?"

"Cuz' I'm getting real sick and tired of this attitude of yours!"

Skyfire blinked, bewildered by the accusation.

"At-Attitude? What did I ever do to you?"

"Oh, blow it out your tailpipe!" snarled the seeker, "You think I don't notice you slinking away constantly? Bolting as soon as I enter a room? Skirting around me so hard you leave scrape marks on the walls?! If you've got a problem, then say it to my faceplate!"

"That's not...I-"

"What?!" the seeker shrieked, "Tell me! I'm dying to know the reason this time! Primus knows I've heard them all!"

Skyfire felt his anxiety rise as the seeker's verbal heckling intensified.

"I'm...I just-"

"Just what? The shared air too impure? Worried close proximity might lower your IQ? Afraid I might spontaneously combust?"

"What? Why would-?"

"Speak up! I can't hear your fantastic line of reasoning through that muffler-mouth of yours!"

"I...I-"

"What?! What do you have to say for yourself?!"

"I DON'T KNOW WHY YOU RESENT ME SO MUCH!"

The seeker pulled back, stunned. Skyfire bowed his head, wings tucking low, regretful at having blown up.

"I know you hate me, but I don't know what you want me to do about it. I try to not cause you problems, try to stay out of your way. I just want to study, I want to be able to do what I want to do, for once in my life. So please," He looked pleadingly at the seeker, "Just...tell me what I can do to get you to stop hating me."

The seeker stared blankly at the shuttle, before his face-plate scrunched in disgust.

"The frag are you talking about? I don't hate you."

Skyfire looked up, optics wide with surprise.

"You...don't?"

"I barely know you!"

Skyfire's processor reeled, he ran over a dozen scenarios from his memory banks.

"But," stammered the shuttle, "But then why'd you always give me those vicious looks...?"

The seeker gave a cock of the helm and raised a brow-ridge. Skyfire felt a certain desperation arise in his chassis as the idea he'd been mistaken began to take hold.

"...Whenever I'd try to get out of your way or give you space, you'd always glare at me, like you had some grudge or wanted to strike me!"

The seeker stared back in stupefaction, totally lost. It was only after thinking very long and very hard that his face-place scrunched in disbelief.

"You mean the looks of confusion I gave whenever I was wondering what I'd done to deserve being avoided like the cosmic rust? Those looks?"

Skyfire went silent, completely mortified. 

He'd struggled so hard, worked himself to the wire in the hopes of earning the near impossible chance of going to the academy. Despite so many bots flinging insults, whether to his face-plate or behind his back, telling him he didn't belong there, that he had no business attending any such academy, he persevered, weathering the hail of scoffers in the hopes that someone, anyone, might see past his frame; realize he was more than meets the eye.

And yet, in spite of all this, when he'd encountered the only other mech who could really, truly understand his situation, someone who'd, no doubt, endured the same struggle, the same heckling, the same prejudices, his first instinct was to believe gossip, based on nothing more than the seeker's frame, and shun him.

He had never before felt so ashamed.

"I'm sorry," he voiced softly, "To assume things about you, based on nothing but petty rumors. You didn't deserve that..."

Skyfire lowered his optics to the floor.

"...More than any other mech here, I should've known better."

The seeker was taken aback, discomfort etched on his faceplate, as if receiving such an apology was an abnormality. He awkwardly raised a servo to the back of his helm, rubbing his neck joints stiffly, as his gaze turned away.

"I guess," he answered stiffly, not used to giving apologies either, "I haven't exactly been the most amicable of roommates either."

Skyfire slowly rose from his seat.

"If it's not too late, I'd really like to start over." he offered an open servo, "I'm Skyfire."

The seeker hesitated, warily eyeing the massive metallic hand. At last, he grabbed hold and shook it. 

"Good to meet you, Skyfire. Here's to not hating each other."

Skyfire had hoped the seeker would offer up his own name. 

"I certainly hope we can be friends, Star..."

It was clear from the seeker's reaction that the name used was either incomplete or incorrect. 

"...That is your name, isn't it?"

Skyfire hoped presenting the error as an innocent presumption would entice the seeker to promptly confirm or correct the mistake. But instead, the seeker merely gave a bemused smirk, optics glinting with impish amusement.

"Yeah, sure. Let's go with that."

***

Otto felt the sweat bead down his jawline. His bangs had already begun sticking together in bundles of sweat-soaked curls. He could feel himself beginning to stink. 

Slowly, like a surgeon removing a tumor, he extracted the FuG-16 radio from the aircraft. Never had he felt such gratitude for the superiority of German engineering, as the radio, constructed to be removed and replaced with the greatest of speed and efficiency, slid from its holding port like butter off a hot knife. Otto pulled it out meticulously, making sure to not make so much as a tap against the metal.

Removing it wasn't the problem. Sneaking it out was.

He clutched the heavy box to his chest, looking over at the other two radios in the sack next to him, tightly wrapped up and padded in cloth. Taking the leftover fabric, he began wrapping the third box in the same protective manner. Each radio weighed roughly 10 kilos, which meant taking any more than three would risk compromising a speedy exit.

He'd worked at the hangar long enough to know the rounds the guards would take and the spots they tended to overlook. He'd snuck in from the high-grass fields at the far end of the property and worked his way to the hanger by way of a drainage ditch. The early morning air was thick with fog, something he'd been waiting for, as it was the only atmosphere he felt gave enough cover to conduct such a risky move. In a few hours, twilight would roll in, and drastically minimize his chance for escape.

Honestly, the worst thing that could happen was an air raid, not because of the risk of being bombed, but because everyone would be scrambling to get into their planes and inevitably discover him. And considering the relentlessness with which the Allied forces bombed their cities, day and night, he was more or less gambling with bad cards. Even though he was a registered mechanic who worked at the airfield, he was supposed to be at home on rest leave. He'd considered coming by casually, with some excuse that he needed to pick up something lost, but even if he gave a convincing reason, it wouldn't be hard to link his visit with the missing radios. It was best if everyone assumed he'd never set foot near the hangar.

Right now it was early, men were tired and trying to enjoy the calm, knowing full well it wouldn't last forever. Many times, if there'd been no raids during the night, the mornings would offer this near otherworldly sense of tranquility, especially whenever it was just beginning to get light.

Dawn wasn't that far off and Otto knew he needed to leave, fast.

Securing the stolen cargo tightly within the bag, he cautiously peeked his head from behind the pilot seat of the Heinkel He 111 he currently hid inside. The glass cockpit made it easy to scan for passerby's and gave him some natural, diffused light so he wasn't working in complete darkness. So long as he stayed behind the cockpit on the left side, and ducked whenever he saw anyone coming, it was quite easy to avoid being spotted. Though there were other, more enclosed planes with good radios, the older Heinkel's received less attention compared to the latest Junker's and Focke-Wulf's that were simply faster and more powerful. As such, they were the least likely of the lineup for him to get caught in. That being said, it didn't lower the possibility by that much.

Otto held his breath as he waited patiently for the guard to make his rounds. It took only a few minutes, but the pressure of the situation was suffocating. He held, waiting until the guard and his dog made their way past him and disappeared into the twilight mist. Giving one last scan to see if the coast was clear, he cautiously shifted himself and the bag towards the open underbelly door. He checked the side windows twice for any sign of the watchguard. No one was in sight.

Lowering the bag first, he felt sweat drip from his chin as he heard the near inaudible thud against the concrete. Lowering himself through, he gently set his socked feet against the ground, having taken off his shoes at the ditch to minimize the sound of his movements. He crouched, eyes wide as an owls, as he scanned for anyone nearby, ears as open as they could be. No one.

Reaching up, he grabbed the handle of the underbelly door and slowly, ever so slowly, lowered it closed.

Of his carefully considered plan, there'd been one fatal error:

He didn't bring any oil.

The closing hinge groaned.

Not loud, but audible.

A vicious barking came from the distance.

Otto's brain went into overdrive as his body went full into panic. He grabbed the bag and made a mad dash for the ditch, crawling through the grass and lowering himself into the water while trying to hide the bag on the shallow bank. He dared not move any further.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! I should've let it be! It's not like people haven't left it open before!

He heard the dog run closer, having been released from its leash to chase the noise. Its barking calmed as it began sniffing inside the hangar. Otto heard the running of boots as a couple of guards arrived.

He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe, there was no way that dog couldn't smell his scent. He was caught. They'd catch him and kill him and do God-knows-what to Alexia and Max. 

But after a while, he heard the muffled talk of the soldiers, indistinguishable, almost annoyed. The dog seemed to have lost all excitement and the guards, walking with the same calmness as before, returned to their rounds as if nothing had happened.

Otto at first was confused, wondering if this was some sort of trick. And then it occurred to him:

He was a mechanic at this hangar. He'd met the dog. The dog knew him.

He gave a sigh of relief. Of course the dog wouldn't think anything of his scent. He worked there. His scent belonged there. What did a dog know of rest leave?

Carefully making his way down the drainage ditch, he carefully snuck through the field of long grass until reaching the patch of woods that marked the edge of the field. Through it he ran as fast as he could to the Volkswagen which had been carefully hidden off the old dirt road. 

***

“Is it coming along?”

Otto entered the barn, dropping the weighty bag to the floor. Starscream crouched over, working with a fine, smelting tool.

“Between these impossibly miniature tools, your primitive, scrap-pile communicator systems, not to mention having to be confined to this tiny space, what the pit do you think?!”

Otto frowned, but managed to keep his irritation in check.

“A simple 'no' would’ve sufficed.”

Unpacking the three radios and setting them on a nearby table, he looked to Starscream.

"Make good use of these, because that's all you're getting. I'm not risking a third trip."

"Fine," Starscream grumbled, "It's a matter of refinement at this point."

Starscream set the newly reconstructed equipment down, clearing the space around him of any tools.

"Climb in and plug it into my navigation panel. My radar is far more precise in alt-mode."

Alt-mode?

But before Otto could voice any inquiry, he watched as Starscream, positioning his body as if preparing to do a plank, simultaneously shifted his form, parts moving in and out, until, with the most fluid of interconnected motion, he'd collapsed into the shape of the Messerschmitt jet once more.

The first time he'd witnessed Starscream's transformation, Otto had been overwhelmed by shock and terror. But now, without that sense of looming danger, he realized just what a marvelous thing it was to witness. Eyes lighting up in wonder, like a child peering through the glass window of a toy store at Christmas, he absentmindedly reached an awestruck hand towards the nose of the plane.

“Sometime this quartex!”

Otto recoiled, surprised by the sudden shrill voice that burst from the craft before him. Amazed, he tilted his neck forward, interest peaking.

“You can talk like this?!”

"Can I talk like this?" Starscream mockingly imitated, "Can I talk like thi-Give me one good reason why I wouldn't be able to talk like this!"

Otto surveyed the nose real quick, searching for any sign of an external audial opening. Finding none, he gave a shrug, giving a broad gesture towards the aircraft.

"Well, you are...a plane."

Starscream went quiet.

The silence was only broken by the sudden sound of the cockpit swinging open.

"Just hook in the stupid com-unit."

Otto walked over to the newly recrafted radio and gripped it firmly. Lifting it, he was stunned to find it significantly heavier than the FuG's used to build it. He heaved the device onto Starscream's wing, forced to give a swing of the arms to lift it so high.

“Watch it, fool! It took me three solar cycles to get that functioning!”

“Sorry," Otto grunted as he hoisted himself onto the wing, "I wasn't expecting it to be so heavy.”

Climbing into the cockpit, he eased the box into his lap and searched the panel for an opening. 

“So...where do I-?”

Otto jumped as the panel before him split open, creating a perfect box-shaped space, behind which was exposed an intricate network of machinery, wires, and neon bio-lights gently pulsating from blue to pink to tangerine hues. Though intrigued at the sight, Otto had no wish to press Starscream's patience further, and gently slid the com-unit into the opening. He heard a satisfying click and saw the dials of the device begin to wiggle as a crackle came from its audio output.

The device settled on a signal, clearly picking up some kind of entertainment broadcast.

"Kschsk!--♫Ooooh, Waken! 

Erwachen aus einem goldenen Schlaf,
Ein geheimnisvoller Geist in allen Herzen,
Und doch nur eine Farbe des Lebens.

Zerfall! Zerfall-!" ♫

The dial whirled once more, cutting off the music.

"- And what perhaps is even more striking, though the disk contains no energy within itself, given a certain apparatus, it can be made to produce a sufficient volume of-."

Again the dials spun in a mad search.

"-Танки замечены на расстоянии 30 метров! Выпустить собак-бомбардировщиков! Повторяю, выпустите собак-бомбардировщиков-!"

The dials spun again for a long while.

"--cream of wheat is always a good idea, and while it's cooking, let's find out what today's story is. How 'bout it Sybil?"

"A story that comes from China, Uncle Bill. It's called the Chinese Nightingale-!"

"Slag." sighed Starscream, "Guess it was a lot to hope for."

Otto tried to ignore the droning chatter of the radio; along with the immediate question of how a machine could sigh at all.

"What exactly are you trying to do?"

"There's no way to make an effective scanner from these-what'd you call 'em-"Funkgeräts"? So instead, I'm using them to convert my seeker sense into a long-range DF homing transmitter. With any luck I'll be able to pick up Teletran-1's distress beacon."

"Seeker sense?"

Starscream gave an even longer, more exasperated sigh.

"I'm designed with a highly-sensitive radar to detect sources of energy. It's how I knew which planes carried the most fuel."

"Oh!" Otto snapped his fingers, "Like a pigeon's homing sense."

"Why do I feel deeply insulted by that comparison?" grumbled the jet, "Anyway, my range is limited. At best, this com-unit can increase the distance, but not the breadth of my scan. So unless I can narrow down the possible location of my ship's crash-site, I may as well be looking for a needle-point screw in a scrapheap. Perhaps if I'd been equipped to handle a mass search of earth's bandwidths it might be a different story, but I'm no Soundwave."

"Soundwave?" Otto cocked his head, "As in the audio wavelengths?"

Starscream went dead silent; to the point where Otto wondered whether he'd inadvertently asked something offensive.

"Why are you just sitting around on your aft?!" the mech barked, "Remove the unit and get out of my cockpit already! Now! MOVE!"

"Alright, geez! I'm going, I'm going!"

Otto struggled to get out of the cockpit with the heavy box. Sliding down off the podded turbine, he set the unit down and turned just in time to see Starscream shift back into his humanoid form. He stretched, his wings fluttering slightly as if to wriggle out any residual stiffness.

"Does it hurt when you do that?"

Starscream looked down at Otto.

"Do what?"

"You know, that. Transforming."

"What? No! Why would it hurt? It's what I'm supposed to do."

"Still. It's got to feel strange, right? Having your body take on such a drastically different shape like that?"

"Not really," shrugged the mech, "But, when you've done it as many vorns as I have, it's second nature. You don't even think about it."

"Vorns?"

"Vorn. Eighty-three kilocycles."

Otto stared back stupidly.

"You know, stellar cycles?"

Otto pursed his lips.

"I've been meaning to say this, but you throw around a lot of terms I'm not sure I understand, so...maybe we should go over them? Just so we know what the hell either of us are talking about?"

Starscream tilted his head back and gave a low groan.

***

"Vati's been in the workshop a long time."

Max stood on one of the dining table chairs as he stared out the window.

"Oh, you know how he gets, Max," dismissed Alexia, preparing a dish, "Working on the car and all."

"But the car's outside."

Alexia placed a piping hot plate of sausage and sliced potatoes on the table.

"Well then, he's probably working on something else. Now sit down and eat your lunch."

***

Otto reviewed the last batch of notes written down on a little pad he'd pulled out from his workstation.

"So a nano-klick roughly translates to a second, a klick a minute, a joor an hour, solar-cycle a day, orbital-cycle a month, stellar-cycle a year-"

"YES! For the love of Allspark, can we PLEASE move on?! I feel like I'm back in primary programming!"

Otto tucked the notebook into his pocket, shooting a pronounced frown at the mech.

"Well teaching basic grammar wasn't exactly on my list of priorities either, but here we are."

"Priorities? Like what?" Starscream thrust a thumb at himself, "I'm doing all the work here."

Otto grieved not being the same size as his fellow plotter. He would've smacked the living spark out of him.

"I've got something for you. Something you should consider before you go stroking that bloated ego of yours."

Otto exited the barn and walked over to the Volkswagen parked nearby, completely distracted by his own fuming irritation. He muttered to himself as he opened the backdoor and pulled out a big paper bag with glass bottles inside.

""Who're you talking to?"

He whirled around to see Max staring up at him, holding a bundle tied up in a cloth. His mouth dropped as his anger dissipated instantly.

"I was...just," Otto hesitated, "Talking to myself."

"I mean in the barn. I heard someone else in there..."

Otto went pale.

"...Who was it?"

"That's just, ah...just..."

Otto flipped through numerous excuses, numerous answers that probably would be convincing enough. There was a million cover stories available that would easily satisfy the boy.

He relaxed.  

"...that's just Starscream."

"Starscream?"

Crouching, Otto beckoned with a finger. Max drew close.

"You remember that troll you saw the other night? Well, it wasn't a troll. It was a giant, mechanical titan. A living machine, that can think and feel."

Max's eyes widened.

"Really?!"

"Really."

Max turned and dashed towards the barn door.

"Whoah, woah!" Otto grabbed him below the arms, hoisting him back, "Hold your horses there, Max."

"But I wanna see him!"

"You will. But not yet."

"Why not?" 

"Well for one, he's got a bad temper so I don't think he'll appreciate you barging in on him without an invite." he leaned in, cupping a hand at the side of his mouth, "Trust me, he whines a lot. And has the worst attitude. A real pain in the butt..."

Max giggled.

"...He probably won't let you see his true form if he's not ready. He's able to change his shape and disguise himself as an aircraft. That's why I didn't know what he really was at first."

Max's eyes grew even wider.

"He can turn into a plane?!"

Otto nodded.

"And he's gonna help us fly out of Berlin."

"We're gonna' fly?!"

"Yes. Far, far away, to a place where we'll be safe from the bombs, safe from the war. Where you can go to school, make good friends, learn good things, and no one will ever take you away from us..."

Otto watched as Max quivered with excitement, threatening to make the boy combust with sheer elation.

"...But you can't tell anyone. Not even your mother. Not yet. See, Starscream is in danger too. That's why I'm helping him. No one can know he's here or that we're planning to fly away. So you've got to pretend like you don't know anything, for all our sakes. Do you understand?"

Max nodded fervently.

"You promise not to tell?"

"I promise! Not a word!"

Otto ruffled his son's hair.

"Good lad."

"But when will I get to see him?"

"Soon. Real soon. I swear. Now go back inside. You can plan out what to pack for the trip."

Satisfied, Max ran back to the house. Otto prepared to open the barn door before seeing Max suddenly turn and run back, holding up the bundle.

"Mutti made lunch. Said I should bring it to you."

Otto grinned and took the bundle. Max headed back towards the house. Otto watched him with a satisfied smile.

He inadvertently dropped his holdings as he was suddenly yanked backwards. The door shut closed, latched firmly as Starscream, clearly fuming, dangled Otto by the back of his shirt before his face. Otto felt his heart thump into overdrive as he couldn't help but notice just how high off the ground he was suspended.

"You are aware," hissed the mech to the qualmy human, "that hiding means NOT broadcasting my presence to OTHERS?!"

"I know my son. If he promises to keep a secret, he'll keep that secret."

"From my experience, there's a million and one ways to make even the toughest nut fracture."

"Even if he does tell, whose gonna believe such a story from a kid his age?!"

Starscream scowled.

"Is that another word for idiot?"

Otto, remembering the vocabulary list still in his pocket, pulled it out and flipped through the terminology, quickly finding what he was looking for.

"Sparkling."

Starscream's faced leveled, understanding Otto's reasoning a bit better, though not entirely approving.

"He would've had to find out about you eventually, especially since you'll be transporting him." Otto's voice cracked slightly as he eyed the floor, "Now, could you please put me down? Slowly? It's very disconcerting dangling from this height."

Starscream gently lowered the man to the floor. Once Otto felt the solid ground meet his feet, he blew out a breath of relief.

"You said you had something for me." 

Remembering the bottles, Otto went back outside to retrieve them, relieved none of them broke when he dropped them, thanks to Starscream's sudden grab. Bringing them and his lunch bundle inside, he closed the door. Opening the bottles up, he poured the contents into a nearby bucket and offered it up, the strong aroma of vodka wafting in the air.

"Here, try this. It's not as potent, but there's ethanol in it."

Dubiously, Starscream held the bucket between a thumb and index digit. Raising it to his mouth, he tossed the liquid in and swilled it around a bit before swallowing. He took a moment to consider.

"It's no energon." he griped, "But it'll suffice."

"Good. Because I can get plenty of that a lot easier than fuel."

"Then why didn't you?"

"Because I wasn't going to spend a lot of money on something you might've not even used!"

Starscream frowned deeply.

"Well, now you know. So go. Get. MORE."

"Oh, is that all you want, princess?" asked Otto in irate condescension, "You sure you don't need a few bells and whistles while I'm out?"

Starscream gritted his denta, giving a threatening growl. But the stress from that morning had fried Otto's nerves beyond the capacity to feel fear from what was, essentially, a giant whining gremlin.

"Listen." Otto began, rubbing his tired eyes, "I'm gonna' get you more, but keep in mind, someone might come checking in on the barn, so try to keep an ear--excuse me, audial, out..."

He pointed to the back of the workshop.

"...I'm going to secure the front door so no one can barge in by accident. The backdoor will stay open and unlocked for you to get out if you need to escape. If at any point you hear me at the front entrance, especially with someone else, and I say anything along the lines of "I must've left my keys inside the house", get out and hide yourself in the woods, as soon as I draw that person away from the barn. Don't even transform, just get out. Your plane form will draw just as much attention."

"And my root-mode won't?"

"I'm serious. If they find you in my barn, in either form, it's gutt nacht for me. Both of us, worst case scenario."

"Fine, whatever." Starscream huffed, "It must be bad if you'd go so far as to try and burn me down."

"Hiding a jet like you is practically begging for the death penalty." Otto exited and closed the front door behind him, "What's a little arson compared to that?"

Left alone, Starscream examined the three new radios Otto had brought back. His hunger, however, left him in no mood to work any further on the com-unit. He was quite drained, mentally and physically.

He looked around, annoyed at the tiny space he was confined to. His optic caught sight of a box filled with, what he understood to be, earth books. Taking one out carefully, he delicately turned the page and, after adjusting his vision, began reading the tiny text.

***

Chapter Text

"Gah!"

Skyfire recoiled, pulling his servo back and nursing it as the glow dissipated from the recently fired barrel of Star's arm-gun, the soft, golden light of Iacon filtering through the window behind him.

"Oh, don't be such a protoform. It didn't even scuff your paint."

"You're supposed to only use those for combat." Skyfire protested, hiding his servo below the elongated study table he sat at.

"Please," chided Star, "On the lowest setting, it's little more than a static discharge." 

"That doesn't mean it hurts any less."

"It's negative association, like touching a stove. You always remember when you were wrong."

"Can't we simply...not use it?"

"Not if you want those smug-afts to recognize your brilliance. They're not gonna give that grant to just anybot, least of all a mediocre shuttle. Now quit pretending like you don't know and give the correct answer."

"But this supposed "paradox" is absurd! It's not unsolvable, the answer's so obvious!"

"That's not what's gonna' fly on the exam, so give the answer they want from us."

"But think about it! If an object is truly immovable, then it has to have absolutely no motion, right down to the sub-atomic level. Any truly unstoppable force colliding with it would be vibrating so much it would just phase right through!"

"Why go to the sub-atomic level?" Star snorted, "The object is unstoppable, not undeflectable. Colliding with a truly immovable object would merely redirect the unstoppable movement of the-"

"How is that any different from the conservation of momentum?" Skyfire jumped up, waving his servos wildly, "You might as well say that when the two meet, the unstoppable force becomes the immovable object and the immovable object becomes the unstoppable force!"

"Don't get huffy with me just because someone else's paradox was ill-thought out!" Star hissed irritably.

"Then why are we wasting time studying a flawed argument?!" Skyfire began pacing the study room, cramped as it was for him, getting more and more agitated with every passing nano-klik, "Any proper scientist should be compiling a sound rebuttal, not memorizing faulty data!"

"We don't get to rebuttal, Sky. Nobody gets to rebuttal here."

Skyfire slapped his servos on the sides of the table, gripping the edges.

"What good does it do anyone to blindly memorize something so blatantly incorrect!?" 

"Because it's what they want! It's what they want us to do! We shut up, we playback what they want to hear, and we play along like the good little bots they want us to be!"

"That is such a betrayal of what academics should be!" 

Skyfire headed for the exit of the study-room, but realizing the table made it hard for him to leave, started to move it. However, as he did so, Star shoved the table back towards him, blocking the exit. 

"Well, tough! 'Cuz that's just the way things are!"

Skyfire shoved the table aside, trying to get out, only to be denied again by Star who pushed back. The two engaged in a ridiculous struggle, shoving the table back and forth all around the room.

"And you're completely fine with that?!" Skyfire thundered incredulously.

"Who said anything about being fine with it? I just have enough common sense to know when to play along with idiots!"

"So I'm an idiot now?!"

"That's not what I said!"

"Then what does it make me when I don't play along?!"

"Too darn proud and too darn big, that's what!"

"And yet somehow still smaller than your ego!"

The two bots let out grunts of frustration as they struggled over control of the table. Skyfire, being so much bigger and stronger, managed to shove the table and Star towards the window of the study room. Star, losing his footing, fell to the floor where the legs of the table caught on his frame, causing Skyfire to inadvertently flip it up with such force and speed that it crashed through the window and hurtled down into the abyss that loomed below Iacon.

Skyfire, stunned, poked his head out of the window. Star joined him, both staring in stupefaction as they watched the table flip helplessly into the chasm below. They looked to each other, wide-eyed and speechless.

A series of chortles and snorts struggled to be contained before the two burst into peals of laughter, slumping to the floor under the broken window. 

"I think," Skyfire gasped through the tears beading in his optics, "We've been cooped up a little too long."

"No kidding." 

The two stayed until the residual laughs, at last, worked their way out. 

"Come on, let's get out of here." Star smacked Skyfire's shoulder, "I know this great smeltery nearby. My treat."

***

Pulling a hot cast from the furnace, the smeltery proprietor looked over the piping hot oil cake, before setting it aside to cool. Diverting his attention to the fresh batch of wheel-nuts, he took out a shaving tool and a stick of raw iron, and carefully covered the cuisine in a hearty helping of metal swarfs. His assistant was busy carefully preparing an order of rust-sticks as Star and Skyfire watched with great interest.

A holo-display blared near the sitting area for the patron's convenience. Within the pixilated projection, a blue and gold mech, head of Iacon's public relations, spoke to an awaiting crowd of bots.

"...We simply cannot guarantee an authorized party without the confirmed spark signatures of at least 10,000 members. They refuse to co-operate and go through the channels offered to them. How then can we be expected to treat their accusations of bias with any seriousness, when they respond to all amicable invites in such a manner?"

"Do you find any of the Decepticon's grievances to be well-founded?" asked one femme from the crowd.

"From their repeated unwillingness to cooperate, it's become clear to me," continued the PR bot, "That they simply have a distain for the efficient functionalism that runs this planet. They're extremists parading as martyrs, only interested in turning the status quo on its helm without considering the long-term ramifications such an upheaval would have."

"Sir!" another mech from the crowd called, "Sir, what do you have to say in response to the allegations of the Decepticon Registration Act being a coverup for shadow-play?"

"That is a gross piece of misinformation that should be disregarded at every turn! These terrorists have no interest in holding any legitimate debate and spread their influence via paranoia and distrust-!"

The voice of the speaker bot dissipated as an unseen newscaster's voice superseded the audio.

"Despite positive reception from the general public, Sentinel's reassurance was not enough to evoke confidence from members of the Decepticon movement; the Act still sorely lacks the signatures needed to officiate a legitimate political party. Though efforts continue to be made to encourage registration, the elusive group seem determined to run their questionable operations from the shadows of anonymity."

The holo-display jolted from the visage of Sentinel to the bust shot of a robust, dignified mech with light blue, off-white, and dull-red coloration. His faceplate, though brimming with ambition, held a distinct air of empathetic wisdom and maturity.

"In other news, Senator Shockwave has come under scrutiny after allegations of harboring outliers at the Jihaxian Academy in Iacon were brought to light. Shockwave, long-time critic of the Senate's measures to perform empurata on such individuals, has openly expressed his desire to revoke such a practice*kshk!*-tice-tice-tice-tice-tice-"

A mug, half-filled with energon, had flown through the air at the holo-display, slamming into the projector and causing the audio to glitch and repeat the last-half of the final word over and over.

"Slagging 'Con sympathizer!" the assailant growled.

"The pit's wrong with you!?" shouted the proprietor, "This isn't a bar, wingnut!"

"Oh, did that upset you?" the assailant sneered, "Did I rattle yet another sympathizer?"

"My sympathies lie with my broken holo-display! The one you're gonna be paying for!"

"Do us all a favor and clamp it, aft-helm," a third mech shouted, "Nobody wants to deal with your slag here."

"Frag you!"

The assistant, uncomfortable, but trying to continue doing her job, handed the container of rust-sticks to Star, who quickly took it and dragged Skyfire towards the exit.

Star continued pulling him along even as they made it outside. Suddenly however, he changed his trajectory, towing him towards two bots, one a law-enforcement frame, the other, a red firefighting frame with large white extensions protruding from his helm. 

"...for cryin' out loud, Inferno," The officer gave an exasperated sigh. "This is Red Alert talking here."

"I know, Prowl, but..." the other mech shook his head, his accent more rough and hic-sounding, "I can't put my digit on it, but ever since that session at the clinic, something's been mighty off about-"

Distracted by the conversation, Skyfire didn't pay attention as Starscream tripped and nudged him slightly, just enough for Skyfire to stumble into the officer, much to the later's consternation.

"Hey, watch it!" he barked.

Skyfire jumped back, "S-sorry."

The officer growled irritably, forcing himself to remain calm and professional.

"Just be more careful, alright? Being in root-mode doesn't mean you stop paying attention to your surroundings." 

"The fault was mine officer, I accidentally pushed him into you," Star meekly stepped forth to profess, feigning great distress, "I guess we're still a bit shook up by that awful brawl."

"Brawl?" The officer's door-wings raised perked up in alert, "What brawl?"

Starscream pointed towards the smeltery.

"Some mech started threatening the other patrons over the recent news. Things looked ready to turn ugly, so we thought it best to leave."

 Prowl's wings shuddered in irritation as he grumbled under his breath.

"This again?"

He dashed towards the smeltery, leaving his friends awkwardly standing behind, looking a bit lost over what to do. With a tug of the arm, Skyfire felt himself once more dragged away. As Star did so however, Skyfire couldn't help but notice the devious grin on his faceplate, accompanied by a quiet yet mischievous giggle he hid behind a balled up servo.

It occurred to Skyfire that the run-in didn't seem all that accidental in retrospect.

***

Incredible! We never had anything this delicious back on Caminus." 

"Pfft, these are nothing." scoffed Star, "Now the ones they make in Vos, those are to offline for." Star sucked the ruddy flakes from his digits, "Get 'em right out of the Rust Sea, you can't get much better than that."

"The Rust Sea? That awful place?"

"You've been there?"

"The Hydrax Plateau is smack-dab in the middle of it. All off-world visitors have to check in there first."

Star nodded in remembrance.

"Right, right. Then I'm sure you know of the rust worms."

"I was warned they'd devour anything that falls in, dead or alive." Skyfire shuddered, "Frightening creatures. What an awful way to go."

"Perhaps, but they're an important part of the planet's cyber-system. They grind down old, decaying structures, allowing the rust to be separated from other metals, which get broken down into fine powder. The heat at the bottom causes the oxygen to separate from the iron oxide, returning the metal to its purest form, while the oxygen rises to the surface, mixing into the atmosphere..."

Star pulled out another rust-stick from the container, waving it at Skyfire.

"...That's why there's so many combustible gas pockets over the Rust Sea; only seekers can navigate the safe routes. It's how we're able to fine the best ingredients..."

He stuck the rust-stick into his mouth, clutching it between his denta as he spoke.

"...A ton of iron oxide washes up on the shores of the basin, which creates this nutrient-rich silt. It's actually one of the few places you'll find an abundance of organic plant life on Cybertron."

"Really?" Skyfire's interest piqued, "If I'd known, I would've been a bit bolder and explored."

"Sparks alive, you really do have an organic fetish, don't you?"

"I do not! I just think it's interesting is all. Organic life is so different from us. It's always so small and soft and fragile, but it's got this, I don't know, tenderness to it."

"Tenderness, huh?" Star smirked, "No wonder you relate to it so much."

Skyfire shook his head dismissively, the two quietly nibbling away at their respective rust-sticks. After thoughtfully finishing his, Skyfire glanced back to the seeker.

"Hey, Star. What's an outlier?"

Star looked to Skyfire, raising a brow-ridge.

"It seems like they're not very well-liked. Are they some sort of criminal group?"

"That would only make too much sense." Star scowled, "Outliers are merely bots who possess "irregular" abilities." 

"Irregular?"

"Forcefields, magnetism, enhanced speed, that sort of thing."

Skyfire stared back, dumbfounded. 

"Since when were those considered irregular? Mechs have had those kind of skills since time immemorial. I've run across several bots with those abilities since arriving on Cybertron, and nobody batted an optic."

"Because those bots had abilities which corresponded to their frame. Nobody would think anything of a communication-frame being capable of sonic booms, but if a seeker had that ability, well..."

Hearing this, a nervous suspicion rose within Skyfire.

"Are you, by any chance," he asked cautiously, "An outlier?"

Star spat out his half-chewed rust-stick, choking with laughter.

"Primus, I wish! Do you have any idea how convenient some of those abilities would be?"

He smirked, cupping his chin with a thumb and index digit.

"No, the only unnatural ability I possess is being able to pair such a high-powered processor with this ludicrously good-looking frame."

Skyfire rolled his optics.

"Really though, why does it matter which frame type has a given ability?"

"Good question," Star glowered, "When they come up with a half-decent answer, I'll be sure to let you know."

Skyfire stared at the ground, faceplate scrunched in distress.

"It's such backwards reasoning," he muttered softly, "How does that make any sense?"

"It doesn't." replied the seeker curtly, "But it doesn't matter what you think; or any of us for that matter. Anything contrary to the functionalist order is vice; so sayeth the Senate."

Skyfire recalled the countless cynics who dismissed him for his frame, telling him to be satisfied with his function.

"But unfortunately, Sky, you and I possess an ability that frightens them far more than any outlier could."

Star shot back a devious grin.

"We can think for ourselves."

***

Otto checked his rearview mirror to see the cargo of alcohol kegs he'd purchased from a town over safely stacked in the back seat. He'd made a longer journey in order to purchase from a seller he had less contact with. He suspected he'd be needing to make more such purchases and didn't want to go to the same seller too many times, especially when buying such a suspiciously large quantity of booze.

He desperately wanted to make his escape from Berlin sooner rather than later, but in that decision, Starscream held all the cards. He contemplated what he could say to convince the mech to leave.

"We're not safe here." he spoke aloud, enacting out a potential conversation, "It's only going to get riskier using this location, especially when people begin to question my irregular activity as of late."

"Then what would you have us do?"

Otto mockingly imitated Starscream's voice, making it as shrill and annoying as he could muster.

Answering himself, he reverted to his normal voice.

"Fly away from here, obviously."

"You just want to get your deal out of this before having to help me." He imitated again.

"Doesn't make what I say any less valid."

"It'd be stupid to leave without having a clear base of operations to fall back on."

"We'd be stupider to keep lingering in the middle of this..."

Driving up the rural road towards his cottage, he caught sight of the vehicle parked outside of his home. Two men, clad in pristine, immaculate outfits, stood beside a sleek, black Mercedes-Benz.

An SS car.

"...shit."

He couldn't turn the Volkswagen around now, it would be too obvious. He spent the few precious moments before arrival contemplating, where he could've messed up, what he had done that would've incited a visit from the worst possible guest. He'd had enough foresight to wrap the kegs with tarp to make them as inconspicuous as possible, and prepared a half-decent excuse to fall back on should anyone question the purchase.

Somehow, it didn't reassure him.

Mentally preparing himself as he drove up. He parked his car by the barn, like he always did, before exiting to see an SS officer approach, his two lower-ranking companions remaining by the car.

"It's been a while," the officer called, "Hasn't it, Herr Schmidt?"

The familiarity with which the question was asked gave Otto pause. He watched as the man drew nearer, and upon surveying the groomed platinum-blonde hair tucked neatly beneath his cap, the piercing ice-blue irises, and the handsome youth of his face, Otto all at once realized who this man was.

"You look well, Dieter."

Dieter smiled. A perfect, gorgeous, hollow smile.

"You look like death."

Otto forced the corners of his mouth into an obliging grin.

"Can't believe they're still calling you Rattenfalle around the hangar." 

Otto grimaced at being reminded of the unpleasant name he'd been saddled with.

"Your brother always did have a way with making nicknames stick." 

He glanced at the two men, still situated by the car parked beside the house.

"Is he in town too? It's been a long time since I've seen you both."

"Wilhelm's dead."

The matter-of-fact-ness with which Dieter answered gave Otto pause.

"Oh." he replied solemnly, "I'm...sorry to hear that."

"Knowing him, he was probably the one who managed to fire off the torpedo that sank the Yeager."

"...Oh."

It was an "oh" that betrayed realization. Dieter gave a side-eyed glance at the utterance, but brought no attention to it.

"So," Otto cleared his throat, "What can I do for you?"

"I'm here on behalf of the investigation."

Otto's gut twisted.

"Investigation?"

"We found several planes at the airfield missing radios. Simply vanished. Dogs weren't able to pick up anything unusual. We're compiling statements from everyone working at the airfield, routine procedure and all."

"I suppose that makes sense, though I'm not sure what help I can be. I've been on rest leave due to a concussion." Otto quickly gestured towards his cottage, "I have my doctor's written diagnosis if you need it."

"No need. I already confirmed with him in person."

Otto ached for a smoke.

"But on the way, a little bird told me you saw someone go into your barn a few nights ago?"

Damn you, Vogel.

"My son thought he saw a creature go inside. Said it had glowing red eyes, so I presumed it to be some kind of animal. Probably a bear, or the like."

"How curious." mused Dieter, "Bears were hunted out of Germany nearly a century ago, though I suppose they do wander in from Austria from time to time."

Otto didn't answer. It was a tactic he'd watched others fall prey to, intentionally presenting an idea, usually as an easy out, and seeing how a person reacted. If the person was too eager to jump on an explanation that diverted suspicion away from them, it was an indicator they had something to hide. He'd already messed up even suggesting the idea of a bear. He wasn't going to take the bait. 

"Truthfully, I haven't a clue. I didn't actually see it myself."

"But it went into your barn?"

Otto hesitated.

"It's possible."

Dieter gestured to the front door of the barn.

"If you don't mind."

Otto walked up and made a motion to open the door, intentionally yanking it so a loud clank indicated that it was securely locked. Otto fumbled in this pockets, he felt the fingertips of his left hand brush against key at the very bottom, but withdrew empty hands and huffed loudly. 

"Drat. Must've left the keys in the house."

He turned, heading towards the cottage

"If you'll follow me. I think it's in the-"

Realizing Dieter's footsteps were moving away from him, he turned and, to his horror, saw him casually strolling to the back of the barn.

"W-What are you doing?" Otto called, jogging after him, "The keys are in the house."

"Your barn has a rear entrance, doesn't it?"

The blood drained from Otto's face.

"I...hardly ever use it, there's no point in unlocking it. It's not an issue, the key is in the house. It won't take a minute."

Dieter wasn't listening. Otto's heart raced. Starscream didn't have nearly enough time to escape the back.

"If you like, I can have Alexia fix us some-"

"It's unlocked."

"Huh?"

"The backdoor," Dieter pressed, "It's unlocked."

Otto, pretending ignorance as best he could, went up and "examined" the back door. 

"What?" he feigned surprise, "When did I leave it unlocked?"

"Perhaps you didn't. Perhaps someone broke in."

"Nonsense." Otto dismissed, his heart pounding like crazy, "There's no sign of any damage on the door lock, I must've forgotten."

Otto felt his head spin, he didn't know what to do. The world seemed to slow down around him, all he could think to do was feign surprise at whatever form awaited them inside. It was the only way he could salvage this situation.

The door opened.

Dieter entered.

"It's good to see you still keep things tidy."

Otto didn't register the response for a moment. It was too calm, to relaxed. Lightheaded, Otto wobbled inside, looked around for any damage, but the workshop was the same as always.

And empty.

There was no sign of Starscream anywhere. He had no idea where he flew off to, but he was glad the mech wasn't here.

Dieter gave a scoff.

"Can't believe you still keep this old thing."

Otto watched quietly as Dieter plucked his cigarette case from the workable and plucked a cigarette from it. He looked to Otto.

"Got a light?"

Otto searched himself for the trench lighter, but he was genuinely surprised to find it missing.

"I swear," he grumbled aloud, "Everything falls out of these damn pockets. Must've lost it when I was working on the radi-"

Otto bit his tongue.

The radios!

"Th-the radiator. In my Volkswagen. I'd been doing some repairs lately."

Dieter pulled his own lighter out and lit the cigarette.

If he finds the radios, I'm dead!

With Dieter's back towards him, Otto frantically looked around for the remnants of the FuG-16s', but as fortune would have it, they were nowhere to be found. Not even little pieces were left behind on the worktable.

Did Starscream take them?

He hoped so, but wasn't going to bank on it. At every chance, while Dieter carefully looked over the materials in the workshop, Otto fervently scanned for any sign of the damming evidence. If it was going to be anywhere, it would be around the workbench. But all he saw out of place was the stray cat, having snuck in as always.

"I always admire civilians who strive to live a rich and full life. Reading, pursuing their hobbies, enjoying the world as it's meant to be."

Dieter spoke absentmindedly as he looked about the paraphernalia. Otto's attention remained on the cat perched upon his workstation.

It stared straight up.

"It takes such great resolve," Dieter continued, "to pursue one's joys..."

Otto, slowly turning his head, craned his eyes towards the direction the cat stared.

"...under the shadow of war, especially considering..."

His eyes went wide as saucers.

"...how death always looms over us."

Gripping the side rafters, wings tucked as far as they could go, Starscream pressed his massive frame against the shadowy darkness of the barn ceiling.

Otto's heart went into overdrive. He swung his head back down just before Dieter turned and had a chance to notice.

"Wouldn't you agree?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes. Absolutely."

Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!

Otto had no loft in the barn; Dieter knew this. It was the only reason he hadn't glanced up. And the fact he hadn't taken off his officer's cap meant his visor helped keep his eyes from drifting towards the ceiling. The barn was well-built and able to support the mech's weight, but Otto knew lingering would only make it a matter of time before Starscream was noticed.

Realizing the cat was still staring upwards, he charged at it, clapping his hands at the feline.

"Scram! Get out of here, fleabag! Out! Out!"

The cat dashed away from Otto, slipping out of a thin gap in one of the boards near the floor.

"Damn cat." Otto laughed nervously, "Can't even take care of the pests. They're always chewing holes in the bottom of the doors."

Dieter reflexively looked down to see what Otto was talking about. Otto's eye drifted upwards.

"There doesn't seem to be much damage." Dieter noted.

Starscream, ever so carefully, stabilized himself so that he was able to freely move one of his arms. To Otto's horror, he saw the gun slowly emerge from his shoulder and aim at the oblivious Dieter, who continued examining around the door.

"Are there any holes big enough for a person to crawl through?"

Otto feverishly shook his head at Starscream making desperate, cross-gestures of the arm, communicating emphatically not to fire. 

"Well?"

Otto quickly walked up beside Dieter and crouched so he wouldn't be prompted to look up at him.

"I don't think so. The cat can slip through pretty small spaces. I try to plug up what I find early on, you never want to let this sort of thing go unfixed for too long. It'll only come back to bite you."

Otto rambled, perhaps a bit too much, but his mind was in overdrive, trying to think of a way to get Dieter outside. Suddenly it occurred to him.

"But there was something strange I found in some nearby brush the other day. I thought it was some trash some kids left behind, playing their war games, but it might be of interest to you. I have it in my car, if you please."

Intrigued, Dieter headed towards the back door. Otto followed close behind, sneaking a glance upwards to see, with great relief, Starscream retract his gun and resume the stabilizing position from before.

As the two approached the car, Otto realized that he might've made a mistake drawing attention to his vehicle, but he couldn't think of anything else at the time. Opening the backseat door, he grabbed the tarp covering the kegs of alcohol and handed it over to Dieter, taking care to show off the "loose lips" message.

"I always use tarps for my projects so it seemed a shame to waste, but it had this crude drawing scrawled on it." 

Dieter examined the drawing carefully for a moment, casting a suspicious eye at Otto.

"You sure Max didn't make this?"

"Absolutely not. Max would never take my tarp."

"This is your tarp?"

"Yes. Ah, no!-I mean...he'd need to get the tarp from me and he always asks first. There's no reason for him to hide it like this."

Dieter tilted his head, noticing the cargo in the backseat.

"That's a lot of kegs you've got there."

Otto swallowed. He'd anticipated as much.

"Just purchased them today."

"A bit excessive, don't you think?"

Otto hesitated only a moment.

"What, did we pass prohibition when I wasn't looking? Can a man not buy alcohol for himself?"

"Certainly. But when he hoards alcohol-"

Otto cut him off assertively, or rather, the best he could fake it.

"Alexia and I were caught in a bombing a few days ago and it was only by the grace of God we weren't flattened, but most of her favorite shopping spots were. You'll forgive me if I don't have much confidence my preferred brewery will still be standing the next time I see it. And when I come home, dead tired, after working 'til four in the morning, I don't see how I'm being unreasonable for guaranteeing a few creature comforts await me, especially something as simple as a good smoke and a glass of Jägermeister."

Dieter stared back, a bit taken aback by the abrasive rant.

Shit. Otto fretted silently, Was that too aggressive?

But Dieter merely pursed his lips, gave a nod of satisfaction, and began neatly folding the tarp. Once finished, he tucked the cloth under his arm and began walking towards the cottage. Otto followed, hoping to politely escort him off the property.

"I suggest going through your son's selection before he leaves. It'll be harder for him if he forgets anything important."

Otto blinked.

"Huh?"

"Max will be starting school this year, Ja? That's why he has his things all packed in his room?"

Otto's blood ran cold. It hadn't occurred to him that Dieter had already gone inside the house.

"Yes, well, we...it's a big step for him."

"Nervous?" smiled Dieter, "Don't worry. You'd be surprised how fast they adjust. Why, I can remember the time we got acclimated to real targets."

Dieter's eyes curled up in delight, as if recollecting a sunny memory.

"The first time always shakes you up. The second time, you shrug it off."

He arrived at the car, opening the door and placing the folded tarp inside.

"By the third time, he'll start to enjoy himself."

Dieter climbed into the car along with his two companions, the vehicle driving off into the distance.

Alexia stood in the doorway, chewing a thumb anxiously. Otto walked over to her.

"Where's Max?"

"What's going on?"

"Where's Max?" Otto pressed fearfully.

"He's in his room. I told him not to come out until they left. Why were they here?"

"It's fine. It's got nothing to do with us."

"Otto, why were they here?!"

"Alexia," he urged, grabbing her shoulders, "It's alright. They're just investigating a mishap at the hangar, checking all regular workers, routine protocol. It's nothing for us to fret about."

His wife calmed, the answer allaying her initial dread.

"Are you sure?"

Plastering the warmest of smiles on his face, Otto brushed a palm against his wife's cheek.

"I'm sure."

Alexia eased, taking comfort in his reassurance, but Otto could tell the doubt refused to leave her entirely.

He felt sick inside.

***

Bolting inside the barn, Otto pulled out a cigarette and a lighter. Clutching the cigarette between his teeth, he madly flicked the lighter with shaky fingers, ignoring the heavy sound of metallic feet hitting the ground behind him as Starscream gently lowered himself from the rafters.

"Fleshling."

Otto flicked the lighter over and over, trying to get a steady flame.

"Fleshling!"

His shaking hands kept slipping.

"I'm talking to-!"

"Shhh!" Otto hissed, "Shut up-shut up-shut up! Just wait one damn minute-klik-please! For the love of Gott!"

Finally striking a steady flame, he lit the cigarette and took a long drag, holding the smoke inside him. His eyes rolled back into his head as he felt the nicotine course its way into his blood, like a shot of relaxant. He exhaled slowly, and turned to Starscream, giving a permissive gesture of the hand.

"Go ahead."

Otto jolted as Starscream dropped a box full of books in front of his feet. He growled, nerves already frayed.

"What is this?"

Otto could tell by the way Starscream spoke that he already knew the answer, he just wanted verbal confirmation from him.

"A box?" Otto retorted flatly.

"What are these texts, fleshling?"

"Science fiction novels I bought years ago, before the war. Why? Were you reading them?"

"Only when I needed to decompress from trying to get this impossibly rudimentary com-unit to work."

Otto's eyes widened, suddenly reminded. 

"The radios! Where are they?"

"In my chassis," Starscream pointed to the cockpit on his chest, "You think I'd be stupid enough to leave them lying around when that other organic was looking for them?" Starscream's eyes narrowed, "Speaking of, who was he?"

Otto exhaled a long stream of smoke. He turned, ripping out a blank sheet from a notepad and, scrawling the Schutzstaffel symbol on it, held it up towards the mech.

"You see this symbol? It's the mark of the military-police in this country. If anyone has this symbol, whether on their clothes, car, a banner, doesn't matter what, you run. Don't wait for a signal from me, you just get away as fast as you can without being seen. They are absolutely the last people who can find out about you. If you'd shot him, it would've only drawn more attention and more men."

Starscream considered Otto's answer, his face contorting into a scowl.

"You knew him by designation." he retorted accusingly, " Who was he?"

As a memory resurfaced from the recesses of his mind, a wave of guilt washed over Otto. He sucked in more smoke.

"He's..." his eyes lowered, "the son of an old friend of mine.

"Friend?" Starscream snorted, "Do I have to worry about this friend too?"

Otto cast back a broken glance.

"He was executed some time ago."

Otto took another long drag, he rubbed his forehead trying to self-soothe.

"Him and this other friend of mine had joined the Schwarze Kapelle, an underground resistance movement. They were trying to pull off something called, I don't know, "Operation Spark", I think? The two of them were caught in a shoot out. My other friend was killed. Dieter's father was brought in alive, but...they couldn't get any names out of him."

Starscream narrowed his eyes, a nagging suspicion wriggled through his processor.

Before he could say anything, Otto redirected the conversation.

"What'd you think?"

"Think of what?"

"The books. What'd you think of the books?"

Remembering his original inquiry, Starscream looked down disdainfully at the box.

"Remarkably stupid, most of them. Though I'll admit, the one where the Martian organics suddenly drop dead from disease at the end did get a laugh out of me."

Otto shot a disgusted look at the mech.

"Glad you enjoyed it?"

"Which brings me back to my primary point: where did you get these?"

Otto shrugged.

"All over the place."

"Where!? Where did you find them?"

"Book stores, cafe's, I don't know! I just picked 'em up where I found them! I can't remember, it was a long time ago!"

"So you have no idea where this came from?"

Laid out in the palm of his massive hand, Starscream held out one particular book. Otto's eyes widened as he tried to snatch it back.

"Careful! That edition's got a preface and custom illustrations from the author! You have any idea how rare that is?"

Starscream recoiled his servo before Otto could grab the book.

"The author drew the pictures in this book?

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

"Are you dead sure?"

"That's what it says, right on the page!"

"So he drew this?"

With surprising delicacy, Starscream flipped open the book to a full-page illustration. Inked in black and white, the drawings weren't shaded and almost looked like a high-schooler had done them. There was a clear lack of artistic prowess from the author's hand, and yet there was a great effort to be incredibly detailed and precise. Otto, looking over the illustration, merely gave another shrug.

"Yes! What's your point?"

"The point, you little ignoramus, is that these illustrations are detailed sketches of Teletraan-1. Of the Ark. My ship!"

Otto's eyes widened. He grabbed the book from Starscream's fingers and looked over the illustrations.

"Are-are you sure?"

"Dead sure."

"But...that's ridiculous, this book was written over forty years ago! The textual descriptions would've been outdated within a decade of its original publication! There's no way the explanations match with the technology you have!"

"His inability to comprehend how Cybertronian ships function doesn't change the fact that those sketches are of the Ark, down to even the smallest detail. Which means..."

Starscream leaned in, his snarling faceplate close to Otto.

"...He knows where my ship crashed."

"Ooor," proposed Otto, "He happened to come up with a design that happens to look a bit similar to your ship."

The murderous expression on the giant face before him gave Otto pause.

"Even if that's not the case, you won't be able to get any answers out of him either way."

"Oh? What makes you so sure?"

Otto took a long drag of his cigarette.

"Well for one, he's suffering from a long-term, incurable condition commonly known as: being deceased."

Starscream's expression dropped.

"Are you sure?

"Dead sure."

An air of unease pervaded the room. It was only broken when Otto sucked the last of the cigarette into his lungs and stamped out the butt under his foot. He scratched a thumb against his forehead.

"Look. I've got fuel in the car and I haven't eaten since this morning. Let's just...forget everything for an hour or so and have a nice supper. Alright?"

Starscream made no move to protest. Otto silently rolled in the kegs, of which Starscream immediately began chugging.

He sat down and opened the little bundle Max had left him earlier. His eyes lit up in comfort when he saw that Alexia had slipped in a tin of Scho-ka-kola chocolate. He popped one of the triangular pieces into his mouth, letting the savory-sweet, yet slightly bitter, flavor melt on his tongue.

"It's too bad you can't enjoy things like this. I can't imagine what it'd be like not to taste things."

Starrscream stared back.

"What are you on about? I can taste just fine."

Otto glanced up, surprised.

"Really? But, how?"

"How do you taste?"

Otto's face dropped, casting a disturbed glare.

"Rephrase the question."

Starscream rolled his optics.

"How are you able to taste?"

"My tongue is covered in taste buds that detect different flavors."

"Well, same here. My glossa is covered in microscopic sensors that tell me the composition of the fuel I consume."

"i see. So, it's just a matter of checking fuel quality. You don't have treats, meals, that sort of thing."

"Of course we do! We have dishes that beats anything you and your kind could ever whip up on this dirt-ball!"

A look of intense gravity crept across Otto's face.

"What do you mean "we"?"

Starscream froze. He stared back with a guilty expression. Starscream's expression relaxed, forgoing any further attempt to hide his species' existence. 

"Cybertron." recollected Otto, "There's others like you there?"

Starscream's expression darkened. He raised a keg to his mouth.

"Barely."

The gloom in Starscream's voice was the tone of someone who had lost a great deal. Otto's curiosity was piqued, but he knew better than to press on a subject that seemed extremely sensitive to the mech. 

"What foods do you have?"

Starscream took a minute to think, eager to forget.

"Well, there was wheel-nuts, chrome-alloy tarts, oil cake, grated-gear salver, lead sulfite crystals with mercury sauce..."

Starscream's eyes suddenly turned dreamy.

"...Rust-sticks."

Otto raised a brow incredulously.

"Rust-sticks?"

"Sweet and simple rust-sticks."

"Just to be clear," clarified Otto, "We are talking rust, as in, what iron corrodes into?" 

Starscream glowered at Otto.

"Is there another type of rust on your planet?" 

With no satisfactory answer, Otto turned away, shrugging off the bizarreness of the idea.

"One man's meat is another man's poison, I guess." he muttered to himself.

"It doesn't really matter anyway. It's all gone now." Starscream raised the keg to his intake, his expression darkening once more. "All gone."

Otto raised a brow, thinking to himself. He picked up the book Starscream had pointed out, flipping through the pages to the illustrations.

"I'll read over it tonight. If these are accurate sketches, there's a chance I might be able to glean something useful from the text."

"It's a shame you can't utilize your relationship with that officer to our advantage." Starscream grumbled, "But then again, I'd imagine he must be awfully bitter you didn't save his guardian, considering you were such close friends."

Otto bowed his head, eyes darkening.

"Not really."

Starscream looked to Otto.

Otto didn't look back.

"Dieter's the one who shot him."

***

Dieter and his three companions sat within a bar, enjoying a fine glass of bourbon, as one of his fellows looked over the painted message on the tarp.

“We could’ve done a search in the woods while we were there.”

“That would’ve been quite pointless,” Dieter took a puff of his cigarette. “Seeing as he never found it in the woods to begin with.”

His companions looked up in surprise. Dieter pointed at the material.

“It hasn’t been washed, the paint is evidence of that. Yet no dirt, no stains. It doesn’t even smell like it’s been outside.”

“Then why-?”

“It’s hardly satisfactory either way. All we have is a piece of tarp and a man caught in a white lie. If I’m to stretch our resources any thinner, it won’t be on such an insubstantial basis. Besides, I can’t imagine Otto being capable of pulling that kind of stunt.”

“Yes, but, how can you be certain?”

He sipped his bourbon.

“I can barely trust in anything anymore, that circle shrinks day by day. Yet Otto has always managed to remain within that receding sphere.”

“You trust him that much?”

Dieter blew out his smoke slowly.

“I trust his cowardice.”

***

Unable to sleep, Otto flipped through the book Starscream had been so adamant about, reading and re-reading the lines by the feeble lamplight in the living room.

He rubbed his eyes, not finding anything of substance within the story. He tended to skip over prefaces, but he found himself eventually reading through that as well.

As he scanned the text, a name stared up from the page. The one clue that might give them some, any answer of the legitimacy of Starscream’s theory.

He jumped from his chair.

***

Yet another SS officer entered the bar, weaving his way through the crowd and leaning over the table where Dieter and his companions sat.

“There’s been a disturbance. We’ve been ordered to investigate.”

“Why?” asked Dieter, “What happened?”

“A civilian called in, said he heard a loud noise. He found the local call box completely vanished.”

“Vanished? You sure it wasn’t just bombed?”

“That’s just it. There’s no indication of an impact, no remnants of the box. It was as if the entire booth and all the wires connected to it were just ripped straight out of the ground.”

***

Chapter Text

Skyfire shifted uncomfortably as he and Star waited quietly for the Academy head-bot before them to cease whatever seemed to take more precedent over the two mechs before him, which at the moment seemed to be arranging the materials on his desk.

One didn't need to scan Star's electrical impulses to tell he was growing madder by the klik. Skyfire, becoming more and more uncomfortable by the moment, tried to distract himself as his optics wandered about the room, eventually landing on a recent news article on the desk which read:

"FIRE REDUCES JIHAXIAN ACADEMY TO CLINKER WASTE!

Faulty propex-conduit identified as cause of devastation,

Senator Shockwave struggles to safely relocate J.A.A.T. students."

At long last, the head-bot looked up sternly at the shuttle and seeker before him. He frowned, as if disgruntled by their presence.

"I'm sure you both know why I called you here."

Skyfire cleared his intake.

"Yes, si-"

"No."

Skyfire glanced over to Star, who glared back at the head-bot defiantly.

"I really don't know why either of us are here."

The head-bot scowled, inhaling deeply. Skyfire could tell it was taking a great deal of effort for him to maintain his calm, authoritative demeanor.

"Given your records, we found it necessary to arrange special observation procedures in the upcoming exams."

"Is there a problem with said records?"

Skyfire felt his tank tighten as he heard the aggression in Star's tone rise. The head-bot's digits clacked against the surface of the desk.

"You two have been prone to receiving accusations of misdemeanors-"

"Of which, a single one has yet to be verified." growled the seeker.

"Innocent misunderstandings, to be sure." Skyfire waved his servo quickly, trying to maintain the peace, "Mistakes happen to the best of us."

"Indeed." scowled the head-bot, clasping his servos together, "Which is why we're taking measures to ensure there will be no mistakes in calculating your credits."

Skyfire's faceplate dropped.

"Has there been some compromise in the system?" he asked in genuine concern.

"No," The head-bot shook his helm, "Nothing we can confirm anyway."

"Have our marks been unsatisfactory?" pressed Star.

"Your marks have both been quite exemplary."

"Then what exactly-?"

"Too exemplary."

Skyfire and Star balked at the thinly veiled accusation.

"Any school worth its sulfur can pride itself on maintaining the highest standards, only if it can enforce academic integrity with equal measure. Since you two managed to produce some of the highest marks in this academy's history, and given your...backgrounds, it's only prudent the board follows through, ensuring they accurately reflect your scholarly capacity."

"We're observed every test-!"

The head-bot cut Star off.

"Therefore, you two will be monitored very, VERY closely in the upcoming exams. We've given you the courtesy of advance notice only to affirm your assurance that neither of you will disturb or disrupt our regular attendees with any ill-thought-out displays of impudence. You both should carefully consider how your conduct reflects on this school. Is that clear?"

Skyfire's spark flickered apprehensively as he heard the seeker's wings click in anger. If they stayed much longer, he knew Star was going to burst.

"Yes, sir." Skyfire answered quickly, "Your concern is perfectly understandable. We appreciate you being forthcoming with us. If that's everything, I think it's best we get back to our studies."

Star, seeing the pleading look in Skyfire's optics, stiffly followed as the two headed for the door. Skyfire took a moment to examine the exit and calculate how he was going to leave, given his size. 

"One more thing, shuttle..."

The two looked back to the head-bot.

"I've already told you several times to be more mindful of your bulk when blocking doorways and passages."

Skyfire hesitated, carefully formulating a response.

"I've...I've been careful not to-"

"I don't care how careful you think you're being, you need to make more of an effort in considering the convenience of others. I realize it's difficult for a cargo-frame to consider such things, but you need to think before you act. You're not the only bot walking through these halls. Understand?"

Skyfire's wings drooped slightly, embarrassed, humiliated about his size. He was about to concede when-

"Well maybe you should be making your doors bigger. Ever thought about that?"

Skyfire's fuel-lines turned cold upon hearing the snide comeback snap from Star. He noted how the head-bot's digits clenched tighter around each other.

"Your companion came here in the full knowledge this academy's facilities weren't designed with his type in mind. Any inconvenience caused by his presence is a consequence of his own choices."

"Oh, is that so?" Star replied in mock-cheer, "So if a Prime rolled in hoping to get a degree in up-uranium, you'd be sure to give 'em scrap for being unable to mass-shift?" 

"Star!" Skyfire hissed under his breath.

"As if a shuttle is any comparison to a Prime."

"True, very true." Star sneered at the head-bot's answer, "One actually gets something worthwhile accomplished."

Skyfire's optics went as wide as record disks. The head-bot narrowed his optics.

"You're walking on thin ice, seeker."

"That makes two of-"

Skyfire grabbed Star, clamping a servo over his mouth and hoisting him up by the torso. Star flailed helplessly under the power of his massive companion.

"Thank you, sir!" Skyfire said quickly, "You're help is always appreciated and we'll be sure to keep everything you've said in mind! We really must be heading out now, we've a lot to study up on! See you at the exams!"

Starscream's muffled screeching and flapping about wasn't enough to free him as Skyfire carried him away. He left with such speed, somehow managing to squeeze himself through while maintaining a firm grip on the seeker, that the head-bot could've sworn they practically phased through the door.

***

Star strut his way down the hall, wings clicking like crazy, as Skyfire followed with ease behind, his stride worth two of Star's.

"If I embarrassed you, I'm sorry! It wasn't my intention, I just didn't want the situation to escalate any further!"

"Spewing all that slag about monitoring exams and our marks being too high," Star hissed, "Then he has the manifolds to give you scrap about your size! And you just sit there and take it!"

"So what if he did? It's not like it-"

"So what?! So what?!" Star whirled around, almost causing Skyfire to trip over him. "Who waits for every other mech before going through any door!? Who spends joors studying himself into stasis in order to understand even the most inconsequential data for tests!? Who works his afterburners off, fine-tuning every piece of equipment he can scrape together, just so that slagger can have the audacity to question why the mech, who works harder than anyone else, ends up with the best marks! It's enough to make my coolant boil! I would've scrapped the living spark out of him if you hadn't dragged me off!"

Skyfire's faceplate turned serious.

"And what do you think would've happened?"

"Unfettered bliss."

"You would've been confined, expelled, and sent back to resume your military function. Isn't that what you were trying to get away from by coming here?"

"At least there, I don't have to kowtow to mechs getting high-grade off their own exhaust 'cuz their helms are shoved so far up their own afts."

"But is that what you want? What you really want?"

"What I want is for you to get a little angry once in a while!"

"Me? Why?"

"Because I have to watch bots, who could only dream of having half your intellect, talk as if my partner were the one who has no place in this Academy! Not because he doesn't study, not because he's confrontational, but because his spark was crammed into a pre-determined frame someone else decided for him! Forcing him into a function he had no choice over! Never asked for! And still to this day, can do nothing about!"

Star panted, shaking with rage. Skyfire stared, surprised by his outburst, before furrowing his brow-ridge in confusion.

"What are you talking about? Our frames are influenced by our sparks..."

Star bit his lip, realizing what he just said. 

"...In a sense, this is the frame I chose for myself. No one else decided that for me." Skyfire placed a servo over his spark-chamber, "Obviously I don't remember, but it was my new-spark didn't consider the necessity of having a more practical size at the time."

"Oh, for crying out-!"

Star grabbed the chest plating near Skyfire's chin and dragged him down so the two were eye level, glaring daggers at him.

"Even I could only travel so far through space without reserve fuel, but you...You're huge, Sky. HUGE. You've got auxiliary tanks that could fuel a fleet. You could go anywhere, anywhere in this vast universe, the farthest stretches of the stars are at your digitips! With a frame like yours you could drift aimlessly for vorns without a care. I almost envy that about you."

Skyfire blinked, opening his mouth, before Star held up the index digit of his free servo.

"Almost. I pity how you can't enjoy my superior speed and agility."

Skyfire huffed, rolling his optics. 

"But it doesn't change the fact you have a massive frame that can take you anywhere." 

The seeker shoved him back, forcing him upright once more.

"Your size gives you freedom." Star muttered, walking away, "Stop being ashamed of your freedom."

Skyfire watched in surprise as Star went on his way. Giving a small smile, he was about to follow when he realized,

"Ah, forgot my scroll."

Turning back, he made his way towards the head-bot's office. Star watched as Skyfire was stopped when a couple of femmes proceeded to lecture him about something or other. Skyfire merely answering with a gentle smile and a nod.

Star scowled. He slunk out of sight, ensuring no bots were around, before opening his com-link.

"Hey." he muttered, "You two barium-heads still in Iacon?"

***

Even in the darkness before twilight, the operator girls of London were hard at work ensuring any late night calls managed to make it through. Like the dainty legs of an arachnid, tirelessly weaving an interconnected web, they plugged and unplugged connection cables all across the telephone switchboard, maintaining a professional and cordial tone with whomever happened to be calling in the wee hours of the morning. 

One operator girl, a blonde with perfectly arranged hair, pristinely applied makeup, and an immaculately pressed uniform, opened a call line that had been on hold for some time.

"Hullo, sir? Are you still there?"

"Yesssss." uttered the strained, murderously frustrated hiss from the other end.

"Directory came back and managed to locate a second subscriber registered with that name. We can put you through if you wish. Will you accept the charg-?"

"Yes, yes, I'll accept the slagging charges! Just hurry it up!"

"One moment, please."

Ignoring the strange language of the caller, the blonde operator muted the line as she plugged a connection wire into the necessary slot.

"He sounds furious." her friend, a brunette girl sitting next to her, commented.

"I shouldn't wonder." the blonde smirked, "He's been trying to reach his party for five hours. Went through three countries to connect, including Switzerland."

The brunette's eyes widened.

"How'd he ever manage to get priority access to make a call like that?"

The blonde shrugged as the line continued to ring.

"Must be important. It'll certainly cost him and arm and a leg."

The brunette was about to speak again when the blonde held up a finger, cutting her off as the ringing was answered at the other end by a sleepy voice.

"Mmph...hullo?"

"Mr Alan Arnold Griffith, please. Long distance calling."

"Long distance?" he groaned tiredly, "From whom?"

"Mr Alan Arnold Griffith, please." persisted the blonde.

"I'm Alan Arnold Griffith."

The blonde disconnected her own voice from Mr. Griffith's line and returned to the caller, hooking his cable to Griffith's line.

"Alright, sir. Go ahead."

***

Alan Arnold Griffith waited in his pajamas and night-robe as he rubbed his head. It was four in the morning and he wondered who the hell would be calling him so early. He was tired, yawning as tried to wake himself up for the call.

"Hello?" came a shrill voice from the other end.

"Hullo." Griffith replied, giving a yawn.

"I'm trying to reach Alan Arnold Griffith."

"Speaking."

"Just to confirm, you're the son-thing of George Griffith? Author of "Angel of the Revolution: A Tale of Coming Terror"?"

This question jolted Griffith awake; he was shocked. He gave a curt laugh.

"Aha...ha. Well, I...gosh, it's been a while since I heard that title."

"Are you or are you not?"

"Ah, yes. But if you're trying to reach him, I'm sorry to tell you, my father has-"

"I'm aware he's no longer alive, it's you I want to speak with. There's some contents in your father's novel that are of great interest to me. I was hoping you could elaborate further."

Griffith blinked confusedly.

"I...I'm sorry, who exactly am I speaking with?"

"Bird. Mr Bird. I'm calling from..."

***

Deep in the German forests, well out of sight, heavy, communication lines hung suspended from great wooden poles. Below one pole, a torn-apart phone booth had been peeled open in such a way so that the wires and call system could be extracted from the casing. These wires, through some makeshift handiwork, had been connected to the telephone cables in such a way, that a call could be made directly from the location the giant mechanical titan sat.

With the tiny phone carefully clasped between his thumb and index digit, Starscream placed his other servo over it. He looked down at the open cockpit of his chassis.

"What was it again?" he whispered.

Otto, who sat awkwardly at the bottom of the open cockpit, did his best to keep his position near the com-unit in Starscream's chest. He looked up at the massive face, annoyed.

"Washington!" he mouthed with a whisper.

Starscream pulled his servo away, holding the tiny phone close to his head.

"I'm calling from Washen-tron."

Otto slapped a hand over his face. 

"...You mean Washington? Washington D.C.?"

"Yeah, sure. Whatever lubes your lifter."

There was an awkward silence over the receiver.

"That's...quite a long call to make over a book."

"I'm a big fan." answered Starscream flatly, "So much so that I have reason to believe the novel contains factual information. Your father did a great deal of travelling some time ago, correct?"

"Um, yes. All over the world in fact."

"Did he ever come across any such structure like the ones mentioned in the text? 

There was a moment of hesitation on the line.

"I don't...this isn't really...I wouldn't know anything about that."

Starscream's face turned serious, the hesitation all the confirmation he needed.

"Perhaps he made mention of some crashed craft that inspired the ones illustrated in the book? "

A long silence pervaded on the line, before finally:

"Mr Bird, it IS a work of fiction."

"But surely I'm not the only one who's brought it up." Starscream faux mused, laying out the tarp they'd brought along, an open can of red paint with the mop nearby, "After all, that radio program constantly references your father's findings. I'm surprised they haven't made an effort to host you on the show, you'd have the most to say on the matter."

"Program? What program?"

"What? You don't know?"

Starscream silently signaled to Otto, who was holding the dials of the com-unit. Recognizing the signal, Otto quickly set the dials of the com-unit to 150.4.

"They're always airing during the early morning hours." Starscream answered, "In fact, they're on right now. If you hurry you might be able to catch the broadcast on 150.4."

Starscream heard the phone set down as Griffith went to turn on his radio, worried at what the broadcast was saying about his father. But when he turned it on, all that came throgh was a series of clicks, perfectly clear with no static. He returned to the phone.

"Mr. Bird, are you still there?"

"Did you turn the radio on?" asked Starscream.

"Yes, but there's nothing being broadcasted. It's just a series of clicks."

"They do that whenever there's a break. Just wait a few minutes, they'll start again. Don't turn it off, you might miss it."

But as Starscream said this, he listened very carefully to the clicks coming from the com-unit, clicks that reminded Otto of the sound of morse code. Sure enough, Starscream took the mop sitting in the red paint can, and began to rapidly paint down several characters of unknown origin to Otto, as if he were merely transcribing information coming through the radio. After a few moments, a voice came back through the speaker.

"Mr. Bird? How long does this usually take? The clicking is still going."

Starscream, setting the mop aside, satisfied, returned to the phone call.

"Ah, it must've ended. That's too bad, you just missed it."

Starscream took a minute to review the notes painted down on the tarp.

"Tell you what, I have a friend stationed there. If he's free, perhaps you'd be willing to meet with him?"

"I don't know if I can, I'm headed to Manchester in about two weeks and I'm very-."

"What?" Starscream faked, "Wha...I can't he-....you're br...king up!"

"Mr Bird? Mr Bird, Hullo?" 

"Hello? He-lo? I ha-...o! I can't-!"

Starscream cut the call off. He lifted up the tarp, reviewing the strange symbols.

"He knows something."

"Are you sure?" Otto asked.

"No, but I know the sound of a liar. When it came to the book, his hesitation was quite telling."

"That's...a bit flimsy."

Starscream scowled.

"What else do we have to go on?"

Otto silently conceded. Starscream reviewed the symbols on the sheet

"The distance from here to the location of the radio he used is exactly 921.349 hics. The distance from here to your residence is 7.403 hics. With accurate maps, I'll be able to pinpoint our little friend's precise location. I'd use the com-link to find him, but I have my doubts he'd leave his radio on long enough to pinpoint."

Otto pulled out his little journal of Cybertronian terminology and went through to the word "hic". He slid his finger over to see it say: "1 hic = 1 kilometer."

"Now," Starscream grinned deviously, "We prepare to give Mr. Griffith a little visit."

Otto's head shot upwards in shock, paling at the suggestion.

"What, you...you're just going to waltz up to his house and ask him where your ship is?"

"No." Starscream smiled, "You are."

Otto paled, pointing to himself. "Me? In the heart of enemy territory?! That's suicide!"

"Oh, don't blow a gasket, it's not like you'll be going in alone."

"And how on earth do you think you're getting in?! There's no woods to hide in, you'll be in the middle of a major metropolis!"

"I've observed your Earth air-raids long enough to know your ground procedures during such an attack. And certain weather patterns will make it optimal for us to slip in an out with minimal detection. That being said, we don't have a lot of time to work with, so you're going to have to get me a detailed map to do my calculations so we can get in and out as quickly as possible."

Otto swallowed, grimacing at the sinking feeling of what Starscream was going to ask of him.

"How detailed?"

***

Chapter Text

Skyfire and Star sat at their respective stations at the very front of the testing area. There was a multitude of bots behind them, but the test proctors, notably more numerous, head-bot among them, continuously hovered over the two in particular as they worked.

Skyfire kept his focus locked onto the testing screen, only shifting his gaze on occasion to check Star's situation, fearing the wordless provocation of the proctors' looming presence would provoke him to anger. But Star remained surprisingly amicable throughout the day. He took every sneer with a nod, every veiled insult with a smile. It was like watching precipitation roll off a water-craft's back. 

One of the proctors, seeing the speed with which Star was completing the test, stood over him and held out an open servo.

"Give me your etch."

Star looked up, seemingly unsurprised at the request. With only a moment of hesitation, he handed the writing tool over to the proctor. The bot examined the tool carefully, tapping it on a portion of the testing screen to see if it reacted in any unusual way. Yet despite finding nothing wrong with the etch, it was confiscated, the proctor giving Star a fresh one to use instead. Skyfire feared Star would take offense to this, but once again, the seeker merely plucked the new etch from the proctor's servo and promptly returned to the test as though nothing had happened.

Time ticked forward. Skyfire breezed through the exam with the greatest of ease, the agonizing study sessions paying off in full. If he were to guess, Star was acing it as well. Let the testers loom, swap out their tools, give all the dirty looks they could muster. They'd ace the test, fair and square, no matter what was thrown their way.

Finally, with the last section completed, Skyfire took the extra time to review before hitting the submit button. He set his etch down and sat up, servos planted on the side of the testing screen as was expected for those who completed the exam early. Within a few kliks, Star did the same.

The timer beeped softly and all of the testing screens automatically froze, displaying an "end of exam" notification. Skyfire noted a few subdued mutterings of distress coming from the students behind him.

"Remain seated as your results finish processing." the head-bot announced, "Your spark signatures will be matched to ensure the exam answers received at your respective testing stations are indeed your own. Once the screen displays the "Approved" notification, you may-"

BOOM!v-op!BOOM!v-op!BOOM!v-op!BOOM!v-op!BOOM!v-op!BOOM!v-op!BOOM!v-op!BOOM!

The string of explosions rattled the classroom, sending bots sprawling and grabbing their desks. As soon as the event was calmed, several bots rushed to the doors.

"Stay at your seats!" a proctor shouted.

But it was already too late as they scrambled into the hallway to see what the commotion was.

Skyfire almost followed, but a trill caught his attention. He looked to Star, still at his testing desk, as he was looking behind at the crowd. Despite the startled expression on his faceplate, Star's servo made a subtle gesture, as if pushing down; almost as if he was telling Skyfire to stay seated.

After several bots realized what had happened, the head-bot, who'd been among the first to rush out, went back inside, searching until he located Star. He stormed over to him furiously.

"You!" he snarled, "You had something to do with this, didn't you?"

Star blinked, gesturing to himself innocently.

"Me?"

"Don't play dumb! You're responsible for this! Admit it!"

"I don't know what I'm even being accused of." Star replied calmly.

"You set up those explosions in the hallway! You destroyed sections of school property!"

Skyfire's jaw dropped, he looked to Star, who bore an expression of stunned confusion.

"How could you even think to say that? You and the other proctor bots have been observing me this entire exam. I couldn't vent without someone looming over me, and you're saying I somehow slipped off in the middle of a highly-monitored test with all those optics on me?"

"You used some remote control signal to make it go off!"

"You can't truly believe that. Aside from being frisked three times over before entering, this room has been sealed to prevent any and all signals from getting in. Isn't that why the exams are held in here to begin with? To prevent cheating?"

"You planted explosives in advance! You must've! You planted them!"

"But the school's security system only allows explosive materials to be transferred through designated sectors. There's scanners and alarms set up to prevent that. Nobody can bypass them."

"Then...!" he fumbled, "Then you manufactured them on campus!" 

"How could I? The academy's inventory log and usage records are one of the strictest in all of Iacon. And such materials are only permitted to be used with the right authorization, within designated sectors, that permit use of volatile materials."

"It was you! I know it was you!" fumed the head-bot, "You can't play innocent with me! I'll have you expelled!"

"Sir, please!" pleaded Star, "There's a great many students nearby. What if they get the wrong impression?"

"Let them hear! Let everyone know what a problematic mech you seekers-!"

"But sir," Star calmly urged, "Think of how irrevocably your reputation might be damaged if they misunderstood."

The head-bot pulled back, shocked.

"W-What?"

"I realize you're only angry, rightfully so, but rumors can be so vicious in an academic environment. First they say things like "you lost your composure under pressure", then it's "you panicked because someone outsmarted the security system you were in charge of", which couldn't be possible..."

The head-bot's expression grew more and more panicked the further Star went on.

"...Then they'll begin spreading the idea that the security is so rudimentary and ill-managed, that a stupid, brawn-headed, misplaced seeker was able to bypass the most advanced academic system, along with all the elite-class board members in charge of it. It's not true, you know that, and I know that, but can you imagine how devastating such a rumor could be? The idea that all of you could be outsmarted by such an inferior frame-type? Why, if the spiral started, you could lose your position, even your credentials worst case scenario. I beg you, sir, don't damage your reputation in such a way."

The head-bot took a step back, but Star grabbed his arm, clutching it tightly as he whispered.

"After all, it doesn't matter how careful you think you're being, we all need to make an effort when considering the perception of others. You should consider carefully how your conduct reflects on this school."

The head-bot's jaw dropped, he stared, stunned to helpless silence. Star's desk turned green, indicating his scores had successfully been verified and transferred for processing. Releasing the head-bot, he rose from his seat and walked past Skyfire.

"Don't get cocky." Star grinned, "I might beat you this time."

As Star left, Skyfire's desk promptly received the same verification. He got up and tried to pursue the seeker, but the thick crowd and narrow exit slowed him enough for Star to disappear from sight.

Once in the hallway, Skyfire realized what had happened.

Whatever the explosions were, they had completely torn through very specific sections of the school with such precision, the spots almost seemed to have been drilled out on purpose. And given the numerous spots it'd been done to, it was a feat that would've required immense planning and mech-power to achieve. Yet here, it'd been accomplished in under a klik.

Observing the wreckage, a terrible realization rose within Skyfire.

The only thing blown wide open had been the doors and narrow entrances.

***

Dieter stared through the woods at the road that sat at the far end of the airfield. A companion officer watched as he examined the tire tracks found at the edge of the road, but the tread marks made it clear the car had used a very generic brand of tires. The evidence was about as helpful as knowing the driver used a Volkswagen, something almost everybody had in Berlin.

"Let it go, Dieter. You can't catch every rat in the sewer."

Dieter gave one last scan of the road before standing straight. He frowned, deep in thought.

"The dog knew." he muttered aloud, "It knew the culprit. The scent so familiar, so regular within the hanger, the dog didn't even consider it worth tracking."

"But everyone's got an alibi." reminded his companion, "We've checked. Twice."

Dieter turned, making his way back through the woods; his companion following. As he walked along the drainage ditch, Dieter carefully looked through the tall grass at the water, which had evaporated some since the last time he'd checked. Finally coming across the shallow bank near the hangar, he stopped, something catching his eye.

His companion cocked his head curiously.

"What is it?"

Something was glinting in the water, something small and metal. Quickly, Dieter removed a glove, rolled up his sleeve and pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket. Plunging his gloved hand into the water, he carefully picked the object up by the ends and lifted it slowly from the water.

Curious, his companion reached out to get a closer look.

"Don't." Dieter said sharply, "You might smudge a fingerprint."

"Fingerprint?" His companion balked slightly, "It's been sitting in the water for days."

"Stagnant, fresh water. Plus, it's metal." Dieter carefully wrapped the evidence within the dry, clean handkerchief. "Slim as it may be, there's a chance."

"Ah! There you are, sir!

The two looked up to see a Luftwaffe pilot jog up to them.

"Herr Kommandant called a few minutes ago." he puffed, "Something about a breach in communications. They want your assistance."

Dieter frowned and handed the carefully wrapped lighter to his companion.

"You know what to do."

"Also, sir," continued the pilot, "If you don't mind me asking...did either of you take any of the maps from the drafting room? We discovered three missing an hour ago. Nobody seems to know where they went."

Dieter gave a strained sigh through his teeth, hissing like a kettle.

"You see, Offizier? Let even one rat go, and it'll chew its way into everything."

He drew uncomfortably close to his companion.

"You can't catch every rat?"

He drew even closer.

"Blow up the sewer."

***

An explosion of heat burst from the small, makeshift smelting fire burning behind the cottage. Slowly, Otto, adorned in a thick, protective apron, pulled the large, steel tongs out from the fire. At one end, Otto's hands clasped tightly around the handles, protected with thick, padded, heat-resistant gloves; at the other, the tongs gripped a red, glowing crucible, brimming with white-hot, metallic fluid.

"Vati!"

Otto's shielded face swung round to see Max come around the corner, heading straight towards him.

"Max, stay back!" he barked loudly, "This is dangerously hot! You'll could get badly burned!"

Despite the viciousness of his father's tone, Max understood and obediently stayed back. He watched from a safe distance as his father poured the melted metal over a pressed material, which lay within a prepared casting mold. Once done, Otto slowly submerged the crucible and tongs within a cooling vat of water. The water hissed angrily, bubbling from the heat as Otto set it down. Removing his gloves, he went over and poured sand into the fire to smother the flames. 

"What's that?" Max asked curiously. Otto glanced at the material he'd been casting as he removed his protective mask.

"That," he huffed, wiping sweat from his warm brow, "Is a little something for our friend in the barn there."

Otto glanced longingly at the barn, then to his father.

"Can't I see him, yet?"

"No, but soon. Very soon, hopefully. I've still got to help him with something."

Max frowned, disappointed at the delay. 

"Sorry I shouted at you before." Otto crouched down to his son's level, "Did you want to ask me something?"

"I can't find my plane."

Otto could tell Max was particularly distraught. 

"Where did you last see it?"

"I was playing with it by the barn a day or so ago, but I can't find it anywhere."

Otto hummed in thought.

"Can't be inside the barn, you haven't gone in there." he gave Max a reassuring pat, "I'll keep an eye out for it. It'll turn up, I'm sure."

"Max!" the two looked up to see Alexia approach, "Max, go inside. I don't want you lingering back here while your father's smelting."

"Ja, mutti."

Max promptly ran off to play at the other side of the cottage. 

Alexia walked up to Otto, quickly checking to make sure Max was out of earshot.

"What are we going to do?"

Otto went back to the small furnace, stamping out the remaining flames.

"About what?"

"About Max." answered Alexia sharply.

Otto looked back at his wife.

"What about Max?"

"Don't, Otto, not now. Dieter knows. They'll take hi-"

Otto turned and grabbed Alexia reassuringly.

"They won't. They'll never take him." 

Alexia stared back in surprise. His tone was not like the desperate promises he'd made before, but a knowing answer. As if he knew for a fact it wasn't going to happen.

"Are you going to tell me anything?"

Otto released her, backing off slightly.

"Soon."

"How soon?"

Otto pursed his lips, nodding feebly.

"Soon."

Alexia wasn't satisfied.

""Put the kettle on" soon, or "I'll get to it eventually" soon?"

There was a long silence, before Otto finally answered.

""Be ready for the siren" soon."

***

Otto entered the barn, hauling in the last of his recent purchase of alcohol, and something wrapped up in a sheet. Starscream, instead of working on calculations as Otto had hoped, was instead focusing his attention on the cat, which was curled up on the desk and purring softly.

Otto cleared his throat.

"How's the-?"

"Is this creature techno-organic?"

Otto blinked.

"Excuse me?"

"It certainly looks like a squishy, but I've heard its motor running from time to time; quite efficiently too. It would explain why it's one of the more slightly-less-disgusting organics on this planet."

Otto stared at Starscream irritably.

"Weren't you supposed to be figuring out Griffith's location?!"

"Oh, I figured that out two solar cycles ago." Starscream scoffed, "It's the weather patterns I've been on the lookout for."

"How'd you manage that?"

"Did a few tweaks," Starscream patted the com-unit in his chassis, "And a bit of rudimentary engineering."

Starscream pulled out a small metal plane, one all too familiar to Otto.

"Nothing elaborate, just some basic flight circuits, a short-range homing beacon of the nearest spark signature, a-la myself, and the capacity to capture atmospheric pressure data. Much more efficient than going up there myself."

"Can you kindly ask permission," Otto fumed, "Before taking things for your own use?!"

"What bug crawled up your backup?" Starscream huffed, annoyed, "It's just a cheap model. It couldn't even fly before I got my servos on it."

"For your information, that's Max's plane! I made that for him!"

"Oh, boo-hoo, your little scraplet couldn't have his play-puppet for a few cycles. Cry me a river."

Otto scowled.

"Well if you're quite done, can I have it back, please?"

"If it'll shut you up for a while."

Starscream nonchalantly tossed the plane to Otto, who dashed to catch it before it could hit the brick floor. The mech opened one of the caskets of alcohol, raising it to his intake. 

"Just know that I had to reformat something important of mine as well to get it to work, something way more important than a poorly stitched together plane; So be careful 'til I get it removed, alright?

Otto had to actively fight to keep some choice words from escaping his mouth as Starscream continued.

"Of course, knowing the precise location made scanning easy. Impressive, no?"

"It would've been," Otto answered irately, "If you had told me anything!" 

Starscream rolled his optics. "Because being informed would've made you SUCH a big help."

Otto grumbled, going to pour out a cup of alcohol for himself; machine and man both partaking of the same brew.

"Besides, I wouldn't have had anything useful to tell until I got a solid fix on a departure time for the operation."

Starscream looked over the map on the floor, pointing to their target. 

"But now, we've got a clear forecast of optimal weather conditions. We'll depart tonight."

Otto spat out the alcohol, coughing.

"Tonight?!"

"Tonight." growled Starscream.

Otto took a moment to collect himself, he shrugged helplessly.

"Alright then, tonight..."

Otto pulled over the material he brought in, and took a look at the items covered in cloth. He hesitated a moment before sighing and giving a shrug.

"Guess it's a good thing I finished these."

Otto took off the sheet to expose three oval-shaped balls of red, coated in a shimmering silver metal. Starscream's faceplate scrunched in confusion.

"What," he sneered flatly, "Is this?" 

"Rust-sticks."

Starscream blinked.

"Or...rust-blocks? The shape was hard to get. I smelted some aluminum on to hold it together. Hope that's acceptable."

Starscream stared at the metallic treat in silence, before shooting Otto a suspicious look.

"Why?" he asked with an accusatory tone.

Otto rubbed the back of his neck, looking downward.

"I know our relationship is...tentative at best, we didn't exactly start off on the most altruistic grounds, but..."

He paused a moment, looking for the right words.

"...what you're doing, even just being here, I'm...I'm grateful that you came into my life, accident or not. You've given me hope. Something I haven't had in a long time."

He shrugged sheepishly.

"And, honestly, I wanted to try my hand at it. For my own curiosity."

Starscream went silent a moment. He picked one up, examining it, then popped it in his mouth. Otto heard the crunch of flaky rust, and thought it sounded a bit like sandpaper. Starscream chewed a moment, before shaking his head slowly.

"Wow...I mean...wow. Incredible."

Otto felt his heart bloom at Starscream's response.

"I've tried many different types of rust-sticks from many different places. But this...? This...this is easily..."

Otto leaned forward slightly, unwittingly eager to hear his judgement.

"...the WORST batch I've ever had in my entire life."

Otto's face fell. 

"I mean, Primus, I've had battery acid more appetizing."

Otto gazed off in a different direction, hearing Starscream cough slightly.

I don't know what I was expecting.

Starscream chewed, clearly not particularly delighting in the snack, before washing it down with some more alcohol.

"We'll be leaving at 20:00 hours, Earth time. Have fuel ready when we get back, the good stuff. We'll be needing to move fast once we get the location of my ship."

"Assuming your hunch is correct," Otto chimed in, "And I hope to God it is, after getting the information, what else needs to be done before we can escape? All of us?"

"Nothing. We leave immediately after."

Otto's eyes widened.

"Once I deposit them into your little neutral sector, you and I will depart for my ship."

Otto's surprise turned to confusion.

"You're my med-kit, remember?" snarled the mech, "That was the deal."

Otto lowered his head, processing the information. Realizing what this development meant, he slowly nodded.

"Get my family out that fast and you can drag me to the moon for all I care."

The euphoric hope filling him was almost as effective as being drunk. Otto gave a small laugh, muttering aloud to himself.

"They won't get him. They won't get Max. They'll never get Max."

Overhearing, Starscream eyed Otto curiously.

"Let me ask you something, fleshling."

Otto looked up.

"Why is it so important he gets out? That sparkling of yours?"

Otto's giddy faded. In silence, his gaze faltered. 

"If I don't. They'll take him. They'll..." he lowered his head, "They'll put him in the Hitler Jugen."

"The what?"

Otto's face twisted in agony.

"It's a place they send all German children...sorry, sparklings now. Ideally, they take them when they're Max's age. That's when they're the most pliable, the easiest to forge into perfect soldiers. When they finish, they think and act only in the way the state wants them to. They'll do the most heinous deeds, fight to the bitter death, all for the glory of the Reich. They serve the state and nothing, not friends, not even family gets in the way. They're rebuilt into perfect machines of war."

Starscream listened quietly. In a voice, almost too quiet to hear, he muttered.

"So even organics have cold-constructs."

Otto looked up, confused.

"I'm sorry?"

"Is that what happened between "D-Tor" and that friend of yours?"

"Dieter, h-he..."

Starscream raised a brow. Otto bitterly knew what he was being asked. It took a long while before he spoke up again.

"Renard and Johann...They were my friends. They were...my best friends. Been together since the end of the Great War; we were still so, so young. Back then, we had no bread to eat, no money, no future. It was the same everywhere, everyone lived in squalid despair, scraping by. We all worked and worked and worked, because pausing for even a second would mean wondering "Why? Why? Why do we have to live like this? Weren't you all itching for a war too? Jumped in as soon as you could? You're no better than us, so why are we the only ones getting blamed? Why do we have to pay off everyone else's debts?""

"What was this "Great War" about?"

Otto laughed bitterly, head tilted back, he draped a hand over his eyes.

"That's the worst of it. I don't think anybody really remembers anymore."

A memory flashed across Starscream's optics. Otto continued.

"Years...years we went on, living like that, bearing that frustration quietly. To everyone else we were seen as a disgrace, but...you have to understand...broken and ravaged as it was, it was still Germany. It was home. It would always be home."

Starscream's optics flickered with a familiar sentiment. Otto knew in that instant, Starscream understood. He absolutely understood.

"Then finally, finally things started getting better. A new party had come into power, and they were turning things around at last. Me, Renard, Johann, we all got our own homes, got married; Renard ended up with two boys right away, but he didn't have to fret over how he was going to feed them anymore. It felt like the world was slowly returning to something that made sense. So perhaps you can understand that when Renard was approached by members of that new party, told his boys could go to the new improved school, without cost, be provided with meals, clothes, the finest education, all for the sake of restoring Germany's lost glory, he was so overjoyed he cried. But..."

Otwo hesitated, the memory turning sour.

"...when they came back, they were completely different people. Cold, unfeeling creatures, wearing the skin of his sons. Renard told me all this, but I was so busy preparing for my own child to arrive, I didn't give much thought to what he was saying."

Otto shuddered. 

"I thought-so stupid-I thought he'd simply misunderstood the situation. Everything had finally started to turn for the better. It was such a relief after struggling for so long, I...I had no way of seeing it myself, so I thought Renard was simply over-reacting. I didn't tell him. I thought it was best to let the matter be settled between the two of them."

The words became harder to say, he felt his mouth turn bone dry as the pallor of his face changed.

"But then...they were caught. Johann was killed in the raid, and then Dieter..."

He took a moment to steady himself.

Dieter cocked his Walther P38 pistol, and leveled it at Renard's brow. 

"Not much."

He squeezed the trigger.

Otto quickly pulled himself from the memory.

"Dieter did to his father...what's done to all traitors."

Starscream narrowed his optics, a subtle look of accusation on his faceplate, but said nothing.

"I love Germany. Twisted as it's become, I can't possibly unlove it."

Otto covered his eyes, refusing to let tears fall in front of the mech.

"But...I love Max more."

There was a span of silence that dominated the room.

Just outside the barn, Max, unable to find any crack or hole with which to peer inside, merely stood still and listened. Remaining quiet, he was able to hear the whole conversation fully, his little face growing somber as he managed to hear his father's tale.

To Otto's surprise, Starscream reached for a second rust-stick and ate it, his mouth twisting into another frown.

"These really are the worst I've ever had."

The response, at that moment, felt like a punch to the gut.

"Yet, somehow..."

Starscream hesitated, seeming reluctant to say the words.

"...it's still the taste of home."

It was only several hours later, after Otto had gone inside to eat, when he realized those words were probably the only way Starscream knew how to say "thank you".

***

Chapter Text

With his exam rankings in tow, Skyfire rushed back to the dorms, so excited that he completely abandoned all the plans he had for the day to tell Star the news. He hoped Star would collect his results promptly so they could compare and see where they stood overall. If they both got high enough scores, there was a very good chance they'd obtain the coveted grant for their dream of conducting an off-world, scientific exploration at their own discretion. 

However, as Skyfire approached his dorm room, he heard a mumbling from within. Star was conversing with someone, someone whose voice Skyfire couldn't recognize. Carefully, he cracked the door to the room open, ever so slightly, so he could peek inside without being seen. 

He caught a glimpse of Star standing with two other seekers, one bearing a blue coloration, the other black and violet. The violet one seemed to be extremely animated.

"You promised!"

"A favor to both of you, and I highly doubt TC's gonna-"

"Sorry Screamer, I'm with Warp on this one."

Star turned to the blue seeker, irate and flabbergasted.

"Seriously?!"

"You don't understand, he's been talking this up for cycles. Cycles. And he still won't shut up. Have mercy."

"Hey, come on!" the violet seeker protested, "You both act like I'm trying to talk you into a garbage press! It's a gladiator match! Those are fun!"

"If I wanted to watch a bunch of idiots punch the grease out of each other," Star sneered, "I'd take a stroll down inner city-state. I don't need to fly to Kaon to do it!"

"But it's not just the fight! The mech's a genius! The way he speaks, takes command of the arena, he grips your spark in a matter of-!"

The violet seeker suddenly fell silent, stiffening as his wings locked into, what Skyfire recognized as, an alert position.

Star and the blue seeker took note.

"What's-?"

"Shh!"

Everyone went quiet.

There was a flash of purple light, and the violet seeker vanished with a "V-op!".

Skyfire, shocked by both the seeker's sudden disappearance, couldn't help but notice how eerily familiar the noise that came with the strange purple light was. He peered through the door again, searching, but the violet seeker was nowhere to be seen.

He felt a tickle at the side of his helm.

"Whatch'a lookin' at?"

Startled by the intimately clear voice whispered directly into his audial, Skyfire lurched forward, bursting through the door and landing flat on his faceplate, much to the bewilderment of Star and the blue seeker. Skyfire looked up to see all three staring down at him, the violet one in particular bearing a self-satisfied grin on his faceplate.

"Skyfire?!" Star exclaimed, "I thought you were running errands!"

"The scores released, so I wanted to come back and see if you got into the top percentile." Skyfire got up, looking at the other two seekers. "I didn't know you'd be having visitors."

Star sighed. 

"Guess there's nothing for it." he gestured to the blue and purple seekers, "Sky, this is Thundercracker and Skywarp, my trine-mates from Vos. We studied at the military academy together. You two, this is Skyfire, my science partner."

The violet seeker, the one identified as Skywarp, gave a whistle-like trill.

"Spark me, Screamer! You weren't kiddin' about him being huge!"

Star wacked Skywarp across the helm, eliciting a pained cry of surprise as the purple mech rubbed the struck spot.

"What was that for?!

"Remember that little conversation we had about manners?!"

"Vaguely," came the snide reply, "But then you just went on, and on, and on, and on..."

Star gritted his denta in disgust.

"Why do I even bother?"

"I dunno," Skywarp asked smugly, "Why do you bother?"

Star lunged for Skywarp, but in that instant, the purple mech disappeared with a V-op! and reappeared on the other side of the room.

Skyfire balked at the sight, stepping back quickly.

"He can teleport?"

As he stepped back, Skywarp teleported again to avoid Star's lunge, only to end up behind Skyfire who, backing up with unexpected speed, rear-ended the seeker and fell back, pinning him under his massive frame.

"Short-range teleportation." Star clarified, moving in to help Skyfire up, "Of course it helps when he actually looks where he's going."

"I'll have you know," Skywarp grumbled, wriggling out from beneath the shuttle, "I managed to refine my abilities quite a bit before the Academy burned down."

"Congratulations!" Star beamed sarcastically, "You're still the idiot who warps himself into walls half the time."

"Burned down?" Skyfire queried, before suddenly piecing together the implication, "Wait, so that talk, about outliers at the Jihaxian Academy, was true?"

Star sighed again. 

"Most outliers never learn how to manage their abilities properly and, well, let's just say it causes problems."

"Yeeeeaah," Thundercracker admitted sheepishly, "Before training, I had a tendency to blow up stuff by accident anytime my systems got jolted. No particular thanks to Warp here."

"Ooh! Remember that time the Storms melted a third of the launch pads in Vos?" Skywarp laughed, "And then the blackout?" 

"Primus," Star pinched the bridge of his nose. "Don't even get me started on those three."

"Then, the fire," Skyfire inquired, "Was it an accident caused by someone's ability? Is that why it had to be kept quiet?"

The three fell silent as they shot grave looks at Skyfire.

"It was arson." Thundercracker explained grimly, "They were trying to smoke us out."

Skyfire's optics widened in shock.

"Luckily, Shockwave had suspected as much and had an escape route prepared in advance."

"The Senator knows?"

"Of course! He came up with the program!" Skywarp huffed, "Without his help, we all would've probably undergone Empurata by now."

Skyfire cocked his helm, confused.

"Em...purata?"

The seekers all blinked in surprise. Star scowled.

"Right, they don't do that slag on Caminus." Star took a moment of pause, "Empurata is a punishment...well, I say punishment, but really it's a slow, barbaric process where a mech's frame, particularly the helm and servos, are dismantled, leaving the bot faceless and digit-less. A sort of branding, so everyone knows to shun them."

Skyfire covered his mouth in horror.

"It was supposedly done to "criminals" in the long past, but, somewhere along the line, I guess somebody decided outliers qualified for the treatment as well."

"Yippieee..." Skywarp cheered flatly, twirling his index digit in the air.

Skyfire looked over the two worriedly.

"But then, what will you do? With the Academy gone?"

"A few fliers got injured, but once they're all patched up, we're headed back to Vos. Fortunately, those stupid grounders can't roll in and pull that scrap on our home turf. As for the non-fliers." Skywarp shrugged, "Who can say? Slag-outta-luck, I guess."

"But shouldn't you tell the Senate? Get the authorities to do something!? Dismantling bots, arson, that's...that's a serious offense!"

"Don't you get it, Sky?" Star grumbled, "The authorities are the ones doing this."

Skyfire's faceplate went pale.

"...All we'd be doing is exposing the operation and getting Shockwave in trouble."

Skyfire went quiet. reviewing the answer, when something occurred to him. He turned to Star's trine-mates.

"Were you two the ones responsible for the explosions during the test?"

Skyfire looked to Skywarp.

"Your short-range warp skill..." 

He turned to Thundercracker,

"...And your ability to create explosions. That's how you both could do it in such a short time, wasn't it?"

"Guilty!" Skywarp gleefully admitted.

"Shut up!" Star hissed.

"What?" Skywarp shrugged, "If he figured it out, he figured it out. You seem to think he's trustworthy, and you never trust anyone."

"You risked exposure like that?" Skyfire continued in disbelief, "All for the sake of some prank?"

"Only because Screamer promised us anything we wanted if we managed to pull it off."

Shocked, Skyfire looked to a flustered Star, who was fuming. 

"You-!! You-! Skywarp, you idiot!"

"Hey, we were supposed to stay on the down-low!" Skywarp barked back defensively, "But your aft called us up all, "Please! You have to do this for me! You two are the only ones who can pull it off!"" 

Star jumped at Warp, managing to grab him as the two engaged in an extremely juvenile fight, composed of much shouting from Star, and a great deal of hissing and biting from Skywarp.

Skyfire and Thundercracker stood off to the side, watching the pathetic display. 

"Sooo..." Thundercracker leaned towards the shuttle. "They got you welded with Screamer, huh?"

 Skyfire gave a curious glance at Thundercracker.

"That's rough."

"Screamer? Is that his real name?"

"Nah," Thundercracker shook his helm, "That's just what we call him. Never gave his actual designation." 

"But, if he's in the military, wouldn't they need to know? To give him orders?"

"It's all spark signatures and rank IDs. A bot can go their whole military career never revealing their true name. But I mean, hey, it's the same at the academy too, right?" 

Skyfire considered a moment.

"I suppose so."

He paused, ruminating for a time, before finally speaking up again.

"Then...why "Screamer?""

Thundercracker raised a brow-ridge at the shuttle before the two looked back to watch Star chase Skywarp all around the room, still screeching his head off.

"Ah..." Skyfire muttered, "...Right."

"I'm surprised he's gotten so chummy around you. He really doesn't have any friends; none that I know of at least."

"But, aren't you all friends?"

"We're his trine. It's not the same thing."

"Then...why would you risk exposure? You strike me as more level-helmed than those two."

Thundercracker shrugged again.

"Guess I'm just used to following orders at this point. Wouldn't really know what to do with myself otherwise."

The indifferent answer elicited a twinge of sadness within Skyfire.

"Don't you have any dreams? Ambitions?"

Thundercracker scoffed.

"Cold-constructs aren't exactly built to have dreams. Having an outlier ability to boot just makes it even more of a hassle. In that sense, Screamer's the lucky one. It's a miracle they let a seeker in at all, possessing an outlier ability would've only landed him in a heap of scrap."

"Cold-construct?"

Thundercracker looked over to the shuttle, who stared back perplexed.

"Didn't tell you, huh? Figures." snorted the blue seeker, "Don't take it personally, it's not something bots like us really care to talk abou-"

"No, no. It's just...I don't-" Skyfire hesitated, "What exactly is a cold-construct?"

Thundercracker's optics widened. He stared up at Skyfire.

"Oh. You don't...?"

There was a moment of silence as Thundercracker grimly considered the best way to explain. 

"Don't you find it odd," he began cautiously, "How we seekers all look so alike?"

Star and Skywarp scratched and grabbed and wrestled with each other with wreckless abandon.

"Get over yourself!" hissed Skywarp, "You run your mouth more than every Senator combined!"

Star twisted Skywarp's wing like a pressure point.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow! "That's cheating!"

"You talk about this to anyone, and I'll tear your wings clean off their hinges!"

"Fine, alright! You win!"

Srar released Skywarp, who wiggled his wings experimentally.

"Slag! it's not like I was gonna' talk anyhow!"

Thundercracker stepped forward.

"Alright, shape up you two. Warp, we'd better get going."

"But the deal-!" Skywarp protested.

"We'll work it out later."

Thundercracker dragged Skywarp to the window, opened it, and climbed up onto the sill.

"And Screamer..."

He turned to face Star.

"...It's not gonna kill ya' to go see one fight."

Thundercracker jumped from the window, quickly followed by Skywarp. The two allowed themselves to plummet several feet before quickly shifting into their tetra-jet alt-modes and blasting off into the distance.

"Can't believe he'd risk expulsion over a shuttle." Skywarp scoffed aloud as they flew.

"Well I liked him," Thundercracker muttered, "He was nice."

"TC, you like anyone who's nice."

"What's wrong with that?!"

Star watched his trine-mates disappear into the distance before surveying the room.

"Sorry about that," he sighed, annoyed by the mess that'd been left behind, "They can be quite a hassle."

"Unbelievable..." Skyfire fumed under his breath.

Star looked up, surprised by the sudden intensity of the shuttle's voice.

"....How could you do something that reckless!?"

"Relax," Star threw his servos up, "They came in through the window, nobody would've seen-"

"I'm talking about the explosions, during the exam! Plotting a stunt like that, what were you thinking?! 

"Look, if you're worried about Warp and TC, I planned the whole thing out perfectly. Yeah, Warp might not be the brightest spark in the all, but given clear commands, he can-"

"That's not the point! The fact you did it at all! To think you of all bots would be so-so...so stupid!"

"Why are you getting so dented up about this? Nothing happened!"

"And what if something did, huh?!"

"Give me some credit, Sky. You think I'd let any of you get into trouble that easily?"

"You shouldn't have gone through with the idea in the first place!"

Star's optics burned, he began to look offended.

"You know, you could be a little grateful!"

"Grateful?"

"I did do this for you ya' know!"

"What?!"

"I removed the biggest excuse those bit-brains used to keep giving you scrap, got them to choke down some humility in the process, and you can't even offer so much as a "thank you"!?"

There was a moment before the shock on Skyfire's faceplate gave way to a look as though he'd received the greatest insult of his life.

"How dare you." he growled, "How dare you say that to me! I never asked you to go blowing up the academy!"

"You wouldn't ask for a CO2 canister if you were caught in an incinerator!"

"Oh, so that's how you see me? As someone too ignorant to make decisions about their own life?!"

"Hardly! You're the smartest mech in this city, but sometimes I wonder if you have the manifolds to fight back at all!"

"Or maybe, just maybe," Skyfire retorted, "It's simply not worth my time! Everything I gain, knowledge, experience, the opportunity to better myself at this academy, I've already won! What could they possibly do!? Bully me a little? At the end of the cycle, they can't take my education away! It's mine! Forever! But you really want to throw it all away on a few bots whose faceplates you won't even remember a vorn from now! You'd risk your future-slag!-OUR future, on a dispute that, in the long run, is NEVER going to matter!"

"Is that the excuse you plan on giving your whole life? "It's never going to matter"?! You're just gonna' sit back, taking mockery after mockery?! At what point IS it going to matter, Sky?!"

"Are you actually asking me? Or is that just another projection of your own frustrations of being mocked onto me!?"

Star balked.

"Thundercracker told me everything. You, your trine-mates, your sparks were ripped from their original proto-forms, well before they had a chance to harden into proper frames, and embedded into pre-made bodies. Before you even had the capacity to choose you were made into machines of war. That's where all this "seeker" mistreatment stems from. But somehow you think that gives you the right to use my situation as an excuse to do whatever you please!"

Star's optics darkened. He sneered.

"And does that bother you? Knowing I'm a military tinker-toy?!"

He clutched a servo over his spark-chamber

"After all, were it not for this spark, how am I any different from an automaton?!"

"You think I care!? Without a spark, how are any of us different from an automaton!? What bothers me is how you think you have to take action against every little infraction others make against me!"

"Because perhaps I got just a little sick and tired of watching my friend do nothing to stop it!"

Skyfire frowned, narrowing his optics.

"So you consider me a friend?"

"Yes! Of course I do!"

"You consider me a friend, yet you didn't listen when I asked you to let it go, you went behind my back with this little scheme of yours, you risked getting the both of us in trouble and potentially expelled, all because YOU couldn't stand seeing me treated that way! YOU! You didn't want to deal with it! It was inconvenient for you!"

"Well what do you want me to do?!" Star threw out his servos, "Stand by and watch while my friend gets tormented?!"

"How about you ASK me what I want?!"

"Fine! What do you want?!"

"I want to know your name! Your real name for once!"

Star was shocked to silence, but Skyfire didn't let up.

"You say we're friends, yet you won't even trust me with your name! Every time I think I understand you a bit better, you shut me out, hide things from me, clamp up in ways that make me wonder if I even know you at all! I didn't want to push you, I wanted to respect your privacy, but there comes a point where I just wish you would tell me things! Even little things!" 

Star gritted his denta.

"What's there to tell...?" 

"How would I know!?" Skyfire raged, "You don't tell me anything!"

Star turned without a word. Skyfire continued his onslaught.

"I didn't know you had trine-mates! I didn't know you went to a military academy! I didn't even know you had a nickname!"

Star scratched something down onto a small sheet of scrap note-metal.

I wouldn't have even known what to call you at all if not for that message about your mentor's plans to go immersant, whom you still haven't told me anything abou-!"

Star shoved the note-metal into Skyfire's chassis, scowling angrily.

"There! Happy!?"

Surprised, Skyfire took the note and examined the writing. His expression gradually turning from anger, to confusion, to solemn realization.

"What does it say, Sky!? Hmm!?"

Skyfire looked back up, but didn't answer.

"What does it mean, Sky?!"

No answer came.

"Broken prisoner! That's what my designation means! You wanna' know why?!"

"I-"

"Because that's what it means to be a cold-construct!"

So stunned was Skyfire, he couldn't find the words to answer. Star managed to calm himself slightly, though his rage still boiled beneath his frame.

"My mentor loved Cybertron. No one in this whole, wretched life loved it more than her. She grieved my existence; that any spark of Primus should be defiled in such a way. It was her wish that I never lost sight of the truth. She carved that understanding into my programming, my spark, right into my very designation."

Star glared at Skyfire.

"Do you understand, Sky? My life, my existence, is a tragedy!"

"Star..."

"You want me to tell you things? Tell you what?! That Cryak made me realize just how much of a gear I am in the Senate's system!? How she'd disable my T-cog so I could fully comprehend just how trapped I was? To demonstrate how easily these stupid bots can be manipulated and used?! How, no matter how smart I am, no matter what I do, I'll never be seen as anything more than a mindless conduit of warfare?! I'll always be a slave to the whims of others! To the point where even my real name just becomes a constant reminder that I'm a prisoner! Of the Senate! Of the military! That no one will ever see me for me! Is THAT what you want me to tell you!?"

Star vented heavily, his fans desperately trying to cool the burning hot anger and stress in his processor. For a long while, neither spoke.

"Your original frame...if you could regain it-?"

Star scoffed dismissively.

"If I could swap out a thousand frames, it wouldn't solve anything. My spark signature has been thoroughly registered. No matter what I look like, no matter where I go, even if Primus himself stuffed me back into the frame he originally forged, my spark will always be recognized as that of a cold-construct."

A moment of quiet passed between them.

"But...does any of that really matter?"

Star balked.

"You're here. You're in this Academy, the best of the best. You've proved to yourself you have skill beyond most mechs. And...you have fun, right? You like who you've become? I like what we have, I feel like you like it too. So what does it matter?"

Skyfire lowered his optics.

"And...and if you hate your name so much, why not just give yourself a new one?"

Star glowered.

"Because it wouldn't mean anything. It wouldn't be my name."

Skyfire stared back in blank confusion.

"Even the nicknames my trine mates, you gave me, they were just place-holders, weren't they? Until you could find out my real name. Twisted and screwed up as it was, Cryak knew who I was. She understood me best, understood what I was. That name she gave remains the most profound understanding of what I am. I doubt any other name could do the same."

Skyfire and stood still. In his spark he didn't feel that his grievance had been wrong, but he never desired to cause Star so much distress.

Star headed for the exit.

"Besides, taking any old name for yourself isn't being given a new name. It's just stealing one that doesn't belong to you."

"Wait-where are you going?"

"You wanted my scores, didn't you?" 

Before Skyfire had a chance to reply, Star slammed the door closed behind him.

***

It was an agonizingly long time before Otto felt sure Alexia was fast asleep. Careful as a mouse, he crept from the bed and dressed himself, making sure to dress warmly, as he knew how cold it would be at a high altitude. Once finished, he slipped from the room, and went to check on Max. 

Max was curled up, sound asleep. His little hand clutching the toy plane. Otto grabbed it, intending to give it back to Starscream.

Then it occurred to him.

If this thing Starscream had placed inside Max's plane was so important to him, it might be the best guarantee of their return. 

Releasing the plane, he turned to leave, only for his foot to hit the chair of the nearby desk, eliciting a loud groan of wood scraping across the floor.

"Vati?"

Otto winced, groaning internally.

"Sorry, Max. I didn't mean to wake you."

"Why are you dressed like that?" Max asked, rubbing his eyes.

Otto sighed, kneeling beside the bed. He was glad he'd simply told Max the truth earlier. It'd spared him from having to tell yet another lie about the situation.

"Starscream and I need to take a quick trip to meet someone. Someone we think might be able to give us some important information. If all goes well, we'll get to fly inside Starscream when we return tomorrow."

Max jolted awake fully.

"Really!?"

"Ja," Otto assured gently, pushing Max back into bed, "But you need to get some sleep now so you won't be tired when that happens. And this..."

He patted the toy plane Max still grasped in his hand.

"Keep a hold of this for me, alright? Don't let it go, no matter what. Promise?"

"Promise."

Otto smiled. Tucking the boy back in, he kissed his forehead and departed, quietly closing the door behind him.

"We'll be back soon."

***

Dieter surveyed the mess of the phone booth that sat littered underneath the compromised telephone lines. Fellow SS, Gestapo, and a cleanup crew having arrived sometime later, was doing their best to pickup the pieces. 

The method by which someone had stolen a phone booth, taken it apart, and hooked it into the communication lines was a mystery so baffling, his brain hurt to consider how the hell it was possible, let alone why anyone would hack into the lines in such a bizarre way.

Either way, it was obvious there'd been several people involved. They'd try to examine the pieces for any evidence, but deep down Dieter had a feeling they'd end up just as empty handed as when they showed up. Frustrated, he wandered away from the site, surveying the surrounding area yet again for any overlooked clues. It was late and he was tired, having been up trying to deal with this mess since the report came in.

His foot hit something. He looked down.

Moving his toe to the side, he saw something shiny on the ground.

Bending over to pick it up, he saw it was a cigarette case.

With a map of Germany on the front.

And an inscription on the inside.

***

Otto chased after Starscream, panting like a weathered dog as the mech effortlessly strode through the thick woods.

“Could you slow down?!” Otto huffed, “Your stride is killing me!”

“It’s not my fault you have stubby little flesh legs. It’s not even that far.”

"Somehow,” panted Otto, “I think your perception of "far" differs greatly from mine!”

“Tough." Starscream gave a lax gesture to the surrounding trees, "I can’t transform in tight spaces like this. Besides, we need to go deep enough so no one will hear my engines.”

“Then, could you maybe give me a lift? I’m getting pretty damn winded here.”

“I’ll be giving you a lift from here to our target and back. You can move your own aft to the launch site just fine on your own.”

Otto scowled.

Dick.

A part of him regretted not buying the nasty-tasting gasoline over the pure ethanol earlier.

“Rejoice. We’ve reached it.”

Otto bent over, hands gripping his knees, catching his breath before surveying the launch area. He furrowed a brow.

The alleged “launch pad” was situated on a small drop off of a hill, just high enough to be taller than the trees that grew at the bottom. The stretch of grass leading to the drop off was a mere four, no, three-hundred feet long at best. Not to mention a tight squeeze width-wise.

Otto looked off the ledge worriedly.

"It’s a bit short, don’t you think?”

“It worked well enough for me the last two orbital cycles.”

Though dubious, Otto reasoned that there were several biplanes that had to take off from equally short runways on carriers. A sentient plane would hopefully be a much better flier than a human pilot. Hopefully.

After checking over the area, satisfied, Starscream walked as far back from the ledge as he could. Otto, sensing he was getting ready to transform, headed over.

“Before anything. Starscream sneered, "There’s a couple rules I expect you to follow.”

Otto raised a brow, but listened.

“You will climb into my chassis and immediately place your servos upon your knee joints and keep 'em that way. There will be no touching of my control panel. No touching of my canopy. No shouting or rapid movements during takeoff, or during the flight in general. You will keep your servos away from my control panel, and especially away from my center-stick. Do I make myself clear?"

“You know," Otto noted with dry sarcasm, "I don’t remember you being this finicky back when I detailed you.” 

Starscream hesitated a bizarrely long time.

“W-Why would I have spoken up about it? I was in hiding!”

But the hesitation was Starscream's undoing. Putting the pieces together, Otto realized with a half-eyed, disgusted glare,

“You liked it. Didn’t you?”

Starscream's helm vents kicked in.

"Gugh," shuddered Otto, clutching his arms in revulsion, "It's like finding out I gave an old man a sponge bath."

"Do you have any idea how long it's been since I had a good detailing!?" Starscream screeched in a flustered panic, "I can't even recall the last time I was able to enjoy a good soak in an oil bath!"

“Whatever. Let’s just get on with it.”

With a huff, Starscream repositioned himself and shifted into the form of the Messerschmitt jet. Otto lifted himself onto the wing and, as Starscream requested, lowered himself into the front seat of the cockpit and placed his hands firmly on his knees. His heart jump slightly when the top closed of its own accord. Despite knowing it was sentient, it was still unsettling to see an airplane move all by itself.

There was a moment of stillness.

“Something wrong?”

“Did you drain your slumps?”

“YES." Otto uttered irately, "I did it before we left.”

Starscream gave another pause.

“Do I need to go over the rules again-?”

“Starscream, would you hurry it up already!? It’s not like I haven’t flown in a plane befo-“

Without warning, the craft leapt forward and shot off the ledge, dipping only half a foot before pulling back hard and screaming straight up into the air. The word “before” was quickly mangled into a series of screams, desperate expletives, and cries for help as Otto grabbed hold of anything and everything within the cockpit. His arms splayed out, he mashed the buttons, gripped the seat, clawed at the glass, before finally grabbing onto the center-stick for control. He jolted it, briefly causing the plane to turn in response.

"Let go of me, lugnut!"

The center-stick yanked itself free from Otto's hand and jumped up, smacking him in the jaw. Otto lurched back, recoiling from the pain.

Starscream soon leveled himself out; the roar of the engine muffled greatly by the glass. The initial panic Otto had felt subsided as he noticed the growing distance between them and the ground.

“Unbelievable.” a voice from the speaker muttered, “Not half a klik, and you break every rule.”

Otto steadied his breathing, still coming down from his adrenaline high.

"I didn't expect you'd be able to take off that fast!"

Starscream's movements grew calm and smooth, smoother than any flight Otto had ever known. He turned and his eyes widened with awe.

As luck would have it, the moon was quite bright that night, casting a silvery glow upon all the clouds as Starscream gradually rose through layer after layer. Entranced by the sight, Otto leaned in towards the glass-like surface, drawing closer until his nose pressed against it, his breath leaving condensation behind.

"Get your fleshy faceplate off my canopy!"

"Oh, sorry." Otto recoiled, returning to a proper sitting position, "It's been a while."

He almost had a heart attack when the seatbelts leapt up and fastened themselves around him.

"Just stay put, and don't touch anything."

Otto tugged at the seatbelt straps. 

"You can move these too?"

"Well of course, fool, they are part of my body."

Otto took a moment to examine the seatbelt, curious why a robotic being would have fibrous material within its structure. But looking closely, he realized neither the seats nor the belt-straps were composed of any textile at all, but rather a tiny, intricate meshwork of metallic links, so soft and flexible, that to the ignorant eye, it would've been completely indistinguishable from regular cloth.

He looked over the canopy, wondering what material it was made of. A part of him suspected it wasn't made from ordinary glass.

As Starscream rose further and further past the clouds into the moonlit sky, a thought suddenly occurred to Otto.

“Don’t go too high! The air'll be too thin, I’ll pass out!”

“Relax. I've already pressurized my chassis at ground level atmosphere. You wouldn't have any trouble breathing even if we exited the earth's orbit."

Otto hesitantly relaxed.

"Are....are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure! Back when I was a scientist, whenever I'd carry delicate cargo or organic samples, it was important to prevent them from being compromised during transport. My compartment is air-tight, temperature-regulated, sound-proof, thermal-shock-proof, and radiation-proof. You've got nothing to worry about."

Otto cocked his head.

"Radiation?"

There was a long moment of silence before an exasperated sigh came from the speaker.

"You won't get a sunburn...among other things."

"Oh." Otto replied, still a bit baffled, "That's...good, I suppose?"

"Why is this all news to you?" Starscream huffed, "You said you'd flown before."

"It's just..." Otto admitted sheepishly, "Neither instance was in a jet plane."

"So you've only flown twice?" Starscream scoffed, "Pathetic."

"Well, excuse me for not having wings sprouting out of my back!"

"Must be a sad existence, being stuck on the a ground all the time."

"I'm perfectly satisfied with living my life on the ground, thank you very much."

Otto stared out the cockpit. 

"Though," he began quietly, "It is a remarkable feeling..."

Starscream flew just above the cloud-line, it was like a sea of snow in the moonlight.

"...knowing that I get to see a sight that so many others, before my time, could only ever dream about."

Otto stared out at the magnificent scenery, his mind wandering back to happier days. He chuckled.

"You know, the first time I ever got to fly, I'd purchased a joyride at a carnival, before the war. It was this old dinky, little biplane, but the pilot was very experienced. I probably wouldn't have gotten in at all if he hadn't reassured how safe ride was gonna' be. Anyway, we went up and, I'll never forget, it was the prettiest sight. All the tents looked like toy tops, the people like miniatures in model-village display. We stayed fairly close to the ground too, but I remember soaring over those emerald-green fields, spotted with all those pretty white sheep and cows, the glistening lake where I could see dozens of birds flying far below us. I'm sure it sounds trite to you, but for me, it was...it really was magic."

Otto exhaled, pleasantly lost for a moment in the memory.

"And the second time?"

It was surprising to hear the inquiry. Otto certainly had not expected the snarky jet to take any interest in his ramblings.

"I was cramped in the belly of this cargo plane." He continued, "There were several others being transported with me; we were all crammed together, constantly jostled about by turbulence. Those four propellers kept droning on and on, the frame shuddering and creaking, and the wind howled so loudly, you could barely hear yourself think. It was so cold, I had to ball myself up for warmth, all while the seatbelt kept digging into my waist. It probably didn't help that I needed to piss like a Russian tank driver."

He frowned, the unpleasant recollection growing ever clearer.

"But I think the worst part was that I never, even for one second, felt safe. Knowing some Allied plane might fly in and shoot us down. That if the pilots were shot, I'd be helpless; forced to jump and fall thousands upon thousands of feet, spiraling towards the ground, waiting for the sound of my own crunching body. There's nothing more terrifying than the thought of that."

"...Is that so...?"

Upon hearing the devious tone, Otto realized with horror what he'd just admitted to. He clasped a hand over his mouth.

"...Quite reassuring to know you're most reliable when I've got you in the air."

Otto felt his stomach drop. The pleasantness of the flight had vanished, and he found himself repeating internally that Starscream still needed him and couldn't afford to let anything bad happen o his precious "med-kit".

Yet.

"Settle in. We'll be there in approximately 112 kliks."

***

Chapter Text

Skyfire and Star sat on the peak of a mountain, rising just at the edge of the shifting planes that stretched beyond Iacon's boarders. The metallic terrain rippled, moving in waves in a constant state of transformation. The light of the orange sun glittered off the jagged, metal edges that jutted up, then descended back into the horizon. For a grounder, such terrain could prove quite treacherous, but for fliers, able to perch high above the danger, and take to the air whenever they pleased, there were few other places so soothing and peaceful.

"Should've known." Star muttered dryly, scratching half-sparkedly at the mineral deposits around them, "Fragger."

Skyfire and Star waited in the wings of the hall as the head-bot finished the pre-ceremony rehearsal; going over the routine with the select bots chosen to receive the coveted grant awards. Star, irate, balled his servos.

The head-bot had invited them to the rehearsal, but not for the reasons either of them had hoped.

"Senator Shockwave will be present." the head-bot grumbled to them, "You'll both be granted front row seating at the award ceremony so he can take note of you, but only if you can guarantee appropriate behavior and not cause any embarrassment."

"Sir," Skyfire interrupted, "I realize how hectic things can get with the upcoming event and all, but, a bout our grant approval, we never got any notice. I was hoping we could-"

"You didn't make the cut. Either of you."

Star and Skyfire's expressions went blank with shock.

"But...we had the highest marks-"

"There's a lot more than marks considered when offering grants."

"Like what? " hissed Star.

"Character, for one." the head-bot narrowed his optics, " But more importantly, reliable funding management. A great deal of credits are on the line, we can't afford to give any of it to bots who have no record of dependable financial management, especially when it comes to promoting advancement in the sciences."

Star stood silent, dumbstruck with fury. 

"So, let me..." the seeker shook with rage, "L et me be sure I understand this correctly. In order to receive a scholarship grant, whose only clear stipulation was to have the highest marks, one also requires a previous history of being funded for scientific research, despite this being a grant for students still obtaining professional education in the fields  they'd need to acquire that kind of funding at all; and whose funding, if they did have, would negate even needing to obtain such a grant in the first place? A nd we were supposed to not only know this, but pull it off while still getting top marks?"

His vocal processor was straining to stay calm.

"How. In the Pit. Does that work?"

"Your lack of forethought is no concern of ours." scowled the head-bot, "You should've accounted for such errors in execution. We've already put our reputations on the line by permitting you to come to this ceremony. Don't make us regret it."

The head-bot turned to address the other mechs in the room, greeting them with proud smiles and cordial gestures. The shuttle and seeker watched in silence, devastated.

Skyfire gazed out at the shifting landscape. He glanced side-eyed at Star, who looked more defeated than he'd ever seen him.

"You know," Skyfire perked, "I submitted a proposal with the Department of Scientific Research. If they get it approved we might be able to get the basic equipment we need, even without the grant?"

"Even if they considered proposals without professional letters of recommendation," sneered Star, "You seriously think those dent-heads are gonna' grant a cargo-frame an interview anytime in the near future?"

"Well..." Skyfire cautiously offered, "It just means we can focus on our studies more."

Star didn't answer, but merely draped his servos over his knee-joints, gazing in mulling upset at the burning visage of the sun. 

The two endured the silence for a while. 

"Star," Skyfire paused, "That day I blew up at you, I...I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

Star perked up, surprised.

"I'm sorry I cornered you into sharing something so personal and upsetting. You weren't obligated to tell me something that private. I was wrong to do that to you."

Star gazed down as he tossed a lump of multicolored ore into the chasm below.

"It's fine." he shrugged, "It doesn't matter."

"No." Skyfire refuted firmly, "No, it does matter. I had no right demanding that, especially not after giving you such a hard time about respecting my wishes."

Star looked back up, a twinge of hopefulness in his demeanor.

"Then...you're not upset anymore?"

"I still don't appreciate it.” Skyfire frowned, “And I'm not sorry for getting mad at you."

Star looked away, irritated.

"But, I do understand why you did it, or, at least, the motive behind it. And...it's good, knowing I have someone who wants to look out for me. But I hope you understand why I won't, why I can't, applaud that kind of destructive act, especially when it's done for my sake. So please...don't do that kind of thing again. Not for me. Okay?"

Star hugged his legs, grumbling into them.

"Okay?" pressed Skyfire.

"Fine, whatever." Star relented begrudgingly, "Handle your own problems if you want to so badly."

Skyfire couldn't deny he felt a little hurt by the dismissive response, but forced himself to be satisfied Star took his request seriously. He gave a grateful bob of the helm and looked back at the horizon.

A smile snuck onto his faceplate.

“I must say, I’ll never forget,” he bit back a laugh, “The way those proctors jumped when Thundercracker’s booms went off."

Skyfire knew he shouldn’t laugh, but the sound of Star snickering only amplified the humor of the moment.

“It was like watching a turbo-fox step in a live socket.”

The snickering grew louder.

“And the head-bot," chortled Star, "Did you see his faceplate?”

“For a klick, I thought his processors had stalled!”

The laughter grew louder, tears beading in their optics.

“I don’t know what he was more upset over," cackled Star, "The fact we never cheated, or realizing focusing all those proctors on us literally blew up in his faceplate!”

Skyfire burst with laughter, his laughs convulsing through his entire frame. 

“Here’s the test, sir." Star reenacted, as if handing a physical object over, "Oh by the way, thanks for the rock-solid alibi! Have fun explaining this to the board!”

They both cackled Skyfire covering his optics in jovial giddy. It took a long minute before they finally calmed down.

“Oohh…” Skyfire gasped, “You’re crazy. You know that, right?”

“I believe the word is “clever”.”

“Mmn...” Skyfire smirked in faux thought, “”High-maintenance” fits better.”

"Frag you." Star laughed.

The two returned to staring at the horizon, the mood significantly lightened.

After a while, Star began to shift uncomfortably.

"I'm..."

The word clug to his throat.

"...sorry."

Skyfire stared at Star. He continued to avoid eye contact, his wings twitching in agitation.

"The incident. I wouldn't've bothered if...I'd known how much it would upset you."

A calm passed between them. To Star's surprise, the apology didn't feel as humiliating as he'd thought it would. At least, not when given to Skyfire.

He turned back to Skyfire, only to find him offering up a cheap box made of a thin, soft metal.

"I was going to give it after the ceremony, to celebrate. But, since we'll just be sitting in..." he shrugged, "No point putting it off.”

Star tentatively took the container and opened it. Inside, neatly packed, was a small device, no bigger than a half the size of his digit. Picking it up carefully between his thumb and index, He looked it over.

"It's a visual recorder.” Skyfire explained, “Built it myself. It’s shaped to deflect any wavelength detection. I was going to put in a locator in case you lost it, but it kind of defeated the purpose of making it small enough to escape detection. The circuits are all in place, they just need to be connected, if you wanted that. It’s tough too, should function through extreme conditions. I figured it’d be nice to have for our off-world trip. You can easily smuggle it through any detection or confiscation protocol they might have, if they tried pulling that sort of thing.”

Star gingerly looked over the small device, unsure of how to react, for he'd never received any such well-considered gift in his life. 

He absentmindedly prepared to toss the container away.

“Oh no, not yet.” Skyfire urged, “Your second present’s inside.”

Star looked to Skyfire, then to the open box. At first, he saw nothing, but then realized there was some text roughly scribbled at the bottom. He stared at it a moment, optics narrowing in confusion.

"What's this?"

"...A name."

Star looked to Skyfire, who only smiled back gently.

“Your name. If you’ll have it.”

Neither spoke. Skyfire scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.

"I know what it looks like, but I really gave it a lot of consideration. Went through a ton of others too, sifted through lists and records, but I kept coming back to this one. For you, it seemed to just...click."

Star stared into the box.

"I thought a lot about what you said." Skyfire continued, "About Cyrak. How she knew you. Understood what you were. How the name she gave you was the best understanding of what you are, that no other name could do the same. But...I don't think I can agree with that."

He took a deep breath.

"The mech I spent cycles working with, studying, dreaming with, I wonder if she really knew him at all."

Star listened in silence, usure of how to respond. Skyfire sighed.

"And...and even if you think I'm wrong. Even if you think such a bitter name fit you back then..." Skyfire looked assertively to Star, "Things change. We change. We can't not change. It's how we know we're...alive, you know? So maybe, even if it did hold true back then, maybe, it doesn't, anymore."

The shuttle leaned in, his tone turning slightly playful.

“Plus, if I’m being blunt, that other name really doesn’t suit you. At all."

Star raised a brow-ridge as Skyfire went on.

"Someone whose smarts gets him into the best academy, runs circles around bots hassling a shuttle, who mouths off to his superiors without hesitation, who risks his future by pulling stupid pranks, just to make a point. Are those the actions of some broken prisoner? Because to me, it reflects a mech who won't be ignored, who won't be just another cog in someone else's machine, no matter what he's told. That's the mech I know."

Skyfire smirked.

"A mech who'll scream so loud, even the stars'll have to acknowledge him."

Skyfire's optics drifted down to the cheap box still in Star's servos. He wrung his servos nervously.

"You don't have to take it. It's yours to do with what you will."

Star didn't answer, but merely stared into the box. At last he closed it, set it down gently, then stood.

"We'd better head back. I'm gonna purge if we end up having to suffer through a lecture about being late for that stupid ceremony."

Skyfire watched as Star turned in the direction of Iacon, readying himself to transform. Skyfire glanced at the box, stood, and left it behind. The two took running jumps off the ledge, transforming into their respective alt-modes and rocketing towards the massive city-state.

***

A roar of applause went up as a the last bot was presented with their grant certificate. Skyfire politely clapped along with the others. These bots, he reasoned, must've worked hard for high marks as well, and that was still worth acknowledgement.

Star did not budge; his arms firmly folded the whole time.

Once the recipient had stepped down, the head-bot returned to the podium.

"And finally, before we end our award-ceremony, we have with us today a special visit from a prestigious mech I trust you all know quite well. One who wishes to give you all words of encouragement." the head-bot gestured offstage, "Senator Shockwave, please come up."

There were some murmurs of surprise and immediate applause as the famed politician revealed himself and stepped up to the podium, smiling widely and waving a servo at the crowd.

"Thank you. Thank you very much. It pleases me to see the future of Iacon, of Cybertron, displaying such promise. As a fellow mech blessed with great scientific passions, I cannot conceive of any joy comparable to that which comes from extracting the infinite data hiding all around us. But the mediator between the helm and servo must be the spark, for it is only through compassion and empathy that such passions can be honed towards a prosperous future. Some of you are already aware my own school was destroyed in a terrible accident, and though it is a relief knowing none were harmed, it still grieves my spark to think of that loss. Had such a tragedy not occurred, we'd now be awarding our own grants to the best amongst the Jihaxian students. However, I do not believe the loss of lifeless metal and rock means that such a purposeful gift should be forgone as well, thus it is my wish to now extend that contribution instead to one of you."

The students in the stands looking among each other in eager surprise. The head-bots however, looked completely thrown off-guard.

"Therefore it brings me great pleasure to announce," continued Shockwave, "That the academy has generously granted me the privilege to bestow my own award to the fine bots who have shown such excellence in their field. Bots who exemplify the future we should all strive towards..."

 The boards-bots looked among each other, confused. 

"What's he talking about?" one hissed in a low tone, "Who approved this?"

"I don't know!" another replied, "He never mentioned it to me!"

Shockwave gave a warm, hearty laugh. 

"...Imagine my shock and amazement when I discovered this school's highest marks belonged to none other than a seeker and shuttle! Their genius, in turn, reflecting the brilliant insight this Academy demonstrates towards their student selection, valuing intellect and effort, above inconsequential aspects of rank and frame-type so many lesser institutions obtusely blind themselves with. Is it any wonder then, with such discernment, such impartial examination, and such an unshakable commitment and fulfillment of true academic values, that this school remains the greatest in all of Cybetron? It is deserving of the utmost admiration and should be replicated in all we do moving forward. So first, I wish for all of us to extend our gratitude to the mechs who made this opportunity possible. Members of the board, please rise."

Shockwave gestured to the members sitting near the front, giving a fervent clap, urging them to stand. The rest of the audience clapped as the board bots hesitantly stood, hiding looks of frustration and scowls as they realized they'd effectively been trapped by words of excessive praise and subtle condemnation that should they attempt to back out of the opportunities they'd given to the two secretly unwanted students, it would only serve to reflect badly on both the school, and their own characters. They were stuck supporting a stance none of them believed in, and Shockwave had implemented the tactic so brilliantly, that none of it came off as the threat it actually was, but rather a simple, heartfelt gesture of admiring gratitude.

But the board-bots weren't the only ones displeased. Hidden in the audience were a number of faceless trackers sent to observe Shockwave's movements.

Once the clapping settled, the board bots sat.

"And now, the two mechs who've done such outstanding work, please come forward."

Shockwave gestured to Skyfire and Star, who, baffled by this sudden change in fortune, got up tentatively and headed towards the podium. Shockwave clapped, and the audience clapped as well, but there was a notable reluctance in the applause this time around.

Climbing onto the stage, Shockwave stepped away from the podium and, more importantly, the microphone, to present the two with their grant certificate.

"You-." hissed Star.

"Shh, not so loud." cautioned Shockwave, "This is being broadcasted right now."

"Broadcast?" Skyfire noticed a camera stationed at the middle of the audience.

"Thundercracker and Skywarp are well, I hope?"

"If you're playing some kind of twisted joke-" Star threatened quietly.

"Oh, I am. But not on you two." Shockwave gave an almost indiscernible, side glance at the board members fuming in their seats as he shook Star's servo. "I've already lost an academy, I'll be slagged if I let them sabotage the chance to prove how erroneous their policy is."

"So this was never about offering us a grant?" Skyfire recoiled slightly, "You're only doing this as a means to your own ends?"

"Dear friend," Shockwave smiled, shaking Skyfire's servo, "Why can't it be both?"

The seeker and shuttle blinked, confused. 

"A few cycles ago," Shockwave began, "I spoke with a certain mech, a mech I've come to admire greatly. He spoke much of the Senate's corruption, of the heinous injustices of the caste system; he even revealed to me crimes of such monstrosity I'd never even been made aware of, that it shook my spark to the core. He called functionalism a virus, claimed Cybertron was sick to its core. That the only way it could heal was by carving out the disease completely, purging everything and everyone that only served to prolong that sickness."

Shockwave sighed.

"The system is broken, I cannot deny that; but I don't believe Cybertron is as lost as he claims." he turned to Star, "Just look at Vos. Has it fallen prey to the vices of the caste system? Does it concede to the errors of functionalism?"

Star only gave a cold, yet affirming shake of the helm.

"No indeed. Nor is it the only city-state to do so. Tarn has resisted greatly, along with many others. There is still much good and beauty left, must it too be discarded alongside the bad with such cold abandon?"

Shockwave smiled.

"I will hold hope in my spark, illogical though it may be, and do as I've always done: pave the road towards a more just tomorrow, if only to the best of my ability."

Shockwave presented the certificates. 

"I've included detailed instructions on how to bypass the bureaucratic labyrinth they may concoct to prevent your grant funds from going through. My opponents have eyes all over me lately, I'd rather not get you two involved with me any further. There'll be no restrictions or requirements, you're free to use the funds however you wish. I trust you'll use them wisely."

Shockwave walked to the podium, stopped, then walked back, smiling sheepishly. 

"Forgive me, I almost forgot. They never gave me your proper designations."

Realizing Shockwave was asking for their names, Skyfire looked to Star, unsure what to tell Shockwave. However, Star leaned in and whispered something into Shockwave's audial. Shockwave gave a nod and smile, and stepped back to the podium.

"I present to you the Academy's top students: Skyfire, shuttle of the colony planet Caminus...!"

He gestured to Star.

"...and the Vosian seeker, Starscream!"

The crowd, uncomfortably but obligingly applauded, but it didn't matter to any of the bots at the podium. Skyfire looked with surprise at his friend, moved at his open acceptance of the name he'd been gifted.

Starscream merely smirked back.

Elsewhere, far from the ceremony, or the Academy entire, several elite-mechs watched the broadcast with intense dissatisfaction, their optics focused on the daunting figure of Shockwave.

"He's getting bolder, Sentinel. Too bold."

Arms folded, Sentinel's digits dug into his frame with anger.

"So it would seem."

***

"Wake up."

Otto shifted, having dozed off during the flight.

"Wake up." Starscream screeched.

"Mph-Wha-?

Otto looked out of the cockpit glass, only to realize the two of them were flying over London. The shock jolted him fully awake. They were flying much lower than before, staying just out of sight in the thick fog. Below, he could see the winding Thames river and lights speckled through the darkness.

"How long was I out?"

"'Bout 40 klicks. I saw no reason to wake you, given how much more bearable you were in stasis. I already buzzed the locals several times over."

"Buzzed?"

"Low flies, shake 'em up a bit. Any minute now they should-"

There came the wailing of sirens. Search lights turned on, piercing the fog whilst the city lights were blotted out one by one. 

"Ah, right on schedule." Starscream mused with satisfaction, "We'll wait eight minutes, give 'em a chance to scramble into their little holes."

Below, the British residents, as they'd done so often, reacted promptly to the air raid sirens. Moving with great vigor yet surprising order and level-headedness, they made their way into unused train tunnels, bunkers, or any designated safe spot for bombings. Within five minutes, the majority had already taken refuge, leaving the streets almost dead. ARP wardens scrambled to and fro, sounding the sirens and ensuring the people in public locations were safely guided into shelters, especially given the fog cover. 

Over at the nearest air field, RAF pilots dashed into their Hawker Hurricane fighter planes, ready to combat the unseen threat overhead. It had been a while since the last raid, but their instincts remained razor sharp. They had not so easily forgotten the terror that came with the Blitz.

Once eight minutes had passed, the sentient aircraft cut off his turbine engines and gliding down silently. To Otto’s shock, he saw the rapidly approaching ground, but couldn't perceive any suitable landing area. Bracing himself, he punched back on the seat. Everything about the approach screamed "crash" in Otto’s mind.

“Wait…" he panicked, "Wait-Wait-WAIT-you're going to-!”

But within a few yards of the ground, Starscream’s body seamlessly shifted into his humanoid root-mode, gracefully landing on his feet, albeit with a notable slam that could easily have been mistaken for a bomb impact. 

“Going to what?” Starscream asked cockily.

Otto bit his tongue free of the snarky remark that'd been ready to jump from his mouth. Starscream knelt close to the ground before opening his canopy and releasing the seat belt restraint.

“Get out. We haven’t much time.”

Otto fumbled out of the cockpit, landing hard and crumpling to the ground after the short, but rough drop. He would've asked for help getting down, but knowing Starscream’s nature, he knew it was unlikely the mech would be so courteous. He staggered to his feet and tailed Starscream, who strode cautiously through the shadows of the dark alley they'd landed in. Otto found it remarkable how, despite his massive size and being a creature of living metal, when he wanted, Starscream could be remarkably stealthy.

“For a giant hunk of metal, you move pretty damn quiet when you want to.”

"Feel free to imitate that silence at the earliest possibility." Starscream snidely answered, pressing himself against the brick wall leading out towards an open street. He looked down at Otto and gave a gesture of the head, urging him to check. Otto jogged closer, stopping just at the edge of the road. He peeked his head around the corner, scanning the area. Seeing no-one, he ventured out a bit, talking a better look, before gesturing Starscream forward. The metal titan followed, slinking as much as his massive body would allow, through the fog-smothered residential backways of London, the air raid sirens still wailing overhead, and the streets eerily empty.

Taking the shadowy routes when possible, the two slowly made their way towards the target residence. Otto was grateful the houses stood just tall enough to hide Starscream. Along their path, Otto noted a section of devastated houses, no doubt leveled by German bombers. He paused a moment, taking in the sight. 

Starscream paused, noting Otto's expression.

“You pity them?” he asked coldly.

Otto scowled with bitterness, returning to their route.

"They’re half the reason things got this bad to begin with.”

He noticed Starscream's wings nearly brush up against the thick wires that went into the houses.

"Mind the electrical lines." 

***

High in the sky, fighter pilots scoured the air, baffled by the complete absence of any bombers. Below, at the RAF air control, radio girls listened keenly, waiting on standby to mark the positions of any reported aircrafts on their maps. Women and men alike scurried about, managing the communication lines, updating the map placements, all while the Air Commander was irately grumbling into the radio.

"You mean you can't spot one?"

"Negative." answered the squadron leader, "It's completely quiet."

"We heard the bloody engines, there must be something out there."

"We'll give it another sweep, sir."

"Divvy the lads up at different heights, they could be trying to sneak past us in this weather."

"Rodger that."

The pilot's voice went quiet as the commander lowered the radio mouthpiece, his greying brows furrowing in vexation.

"Something's off about all this."

***

Otto and Starscream came to a stop one block over from the target house. It was larger than the others, clearly belonging to a person of some means. The house even came with a high brick wall, surrounding the spacious garden in the back of the residence.

"That's it then?" Otto questioned, "Are you sure?"

"This is the coordinates the call went to." 

Otto noticed the mailbox and darted up to it.

"Wait!" hissed Starscream quietly, "Little fool!"

Otto ignored him, opening the mailbox and, to his relief, discovering a letter sitting inside. He pulled it out and saw the address of the sender matched that of the residence, the name above reading "Alan A. Griffith".

Barking exploded in the distance.

"OIY!" 

The voice, clearly not belonging to Starscream, caught Otto's attention. A lone ARP warden with a military dog came up to Otto. Otto, immobilized by the surprise, quickly stuck the mail back in the box and tried to stay calm.

"Why aren’t you with the lot in the bunkers?" asked the warden, "Don't you know you could get killed out here?!"

Otto hesitated. 

"I...it’s…”

He could speak English, rather well honestly, but knew his accent would be a dead giveaway. He fretted, wondering how to escape the predicament, then recalled an old radio drama he'd heard once that had featured cowboys and Indians and the voices that had been used. 

"I'm looking for my friend." Otto answered, in the strongest, and possibly worst, western accent he could muster, "I just trying to see if he's safe."

Had Otto been in America, his atrocious impression would've gotten him killed on the spot.

Luckily, the warden had never travelled anywhere west of Glasglow.

"You're an American?"

"That's right." Otto lied, "And I'm not leaving until I find him. My friend."

"I understand your concern, sir, but you must understand how dangerous it is to remain out here. I can search for your friend, though he's probably taken shelter already and you ought to-"

"I ain't leaving 'til I know he's safe. I can take care of myself."

The warden stared at Otto a moment, oblivious of how his dog had begun to smell the air, hair bristling as it noticed something off.

"Very well." he sighed, "If you start hearing shells bursting, take cover immediately. Understand?"

"Will do." 

Otto casually started walking towards the ally where Starscream hid. He heard the warden sneeze, giving a sniffle from the night air.

"Gesundheit."

Otto walked three paces before hearing the warden turn.

"What'd you say?"

Otto looked back, confused, before realizing with horror what he'd just said. The warden, realizing the implication, pulled out a gun.

"Stay where you are!"

Otto shot his hands up the air.

"Don't move, or I'll shoot! Turn around!"

The dog, excited by the commotion, began barking. It noticed something moving towards them. Something big. It began barking more fervently."

"How did you get here!? How many of you are there!?"

There was a terrible smash accompanied by the shrill screech of the dog. The warden turned to see a massive metallic fist slammed onto the ground where the liquidized remains of his dog leaked out from under it. But before the warden even had time to react, Starscream's digit flung out, flicking the man and sending him slamming into the nearby brick wall with incredible force. The warden slumped limply to the ground, his posture sickeningly off. 

Starscream raised his servo, uncurling it as he grimaced at the organic chunks dripping from it. Spotting a nearby tree, he reached for its leaf-filled branches and wiped the blood off as though it were a napkin, draping the leaves in crimson. Otto wandered up the the pathetic form of the man crumpled against the wall.

"I swear," Starscream gagged, "Of all the organics on this mud-ball, these four-legged ones are the worst. They smell bad, they're disgusting, and they just won't shut up."

"You killed him." Otto breathed in terror.

"What?" Starscream turned in surprised. "No I didn't, I just gave him a light tap."

"You slammed him into a brick wall with the force of motorcar! He can't survive something like that!"

Starscream blinked, confused.

"That's enough to kill you?!"

"YES!"

Starsream's expression remained frozen in stunned silence, then slowly dulled.

"Then you really are poorly designed."

Otto looked guiltily at the lifeless body of the warden, then forced himself to follow the mech as he strode towards the target house.

"The second floor light's on. Someone's home alright." Starscream whispered, gesturing to the gate, "Well go on, what're you waiting for?"

"Gate's locked." grumbled Otto.

Without warning, Starscream scooped up Otto before unceremoniously dumping him, close to the ground thankfully, on the other side of the fence. Otto brushed himself off, letting loose a huff of irritation.

"Would it kill you to be a bit more delicate?"

"You're sound pretty functional to me. Now hurry up and find him."

Powerless to argue, Otto crept towards the front of the house.

***

Over by the nearest shelter. The presiding ARP wardens heard the sirens turn off.

"Already?"

"Guess it was a false alarm."

"I don't know...Let's keep everyone inside a while longer, just in case."

The other wardens nodded in silent agreement, but one looked around concerned.

"Where's Carl?"

The other wardens looked around before giving a shrug.

"He should've been back by now."

***

Otto knocked once more then waited, but still there came no answer. Frustrated, and knowing Starscream was probably moreso, he pondered what to do.

"The cellar," he realized, " He's probably in the cellar."

Making his way around the narrow path to the back, he sought for an outside entrance to an underground cellar as he'd seen so often in his own country. He did not find it, but instead found the backdoor unlocked with the light on. Opening it, he peeked inside, finding no one.

"Hello?" he called, secretly hoping for no answer.

He received none.

He stumbled upon a desk, which curiosity would not allow him to pass over. Looking through the papers, he saw several notes, sketches, and blueprints for what seemed to be a turbine engine. 

"jet power, eh?" he muttered to himself, tossing the papers back down, "Guess were were both beat to the punch on that one."

Yet for all the information, there was nothing to be found regarding what he was actually looking for. Venturing further inside, he scoured the rooms, checking the doors to see if one went to the cellar that surely, he reasoned, would be in the house.  Finding nothing, he at last came upon the stairs.

"Hello? Mr. Griffith?"

There still came no reply.

Heading upstairs, quiet as a mouse, he surveyed the rooms until coming upon one with the lamp turned on. There was no one present, however it was clear someone had been sleeping there recently, having jumped out of bed in a hurry as the sheets were in a state of notable disarray. The closet had been raided, a pair of shoes and an overcoat missing if the empty spaces amidst a tidily kept wardrobe were anything to go by.

A faint light passed across the room, catching Otto's attention. He noticed the gentle glow coming from the window, perhaps emanating from some sort of flashlight or vehicle. Thinking it important, he drew close and pulled the gossamer curtains back. 

He almost passed out from shock when he saw Starscream's massive red eyes peering in.

Furious, Otto flipped up the window and stuck his head outside.

"You trying to give me a heart attack?!"

"The Pit's taking you so long?!"

"He's not here."

"What do you mean he's not here?!"

"Just that! He's nowhere to be seen."

"He's got to be in there! if he's not we're in a head of-!"

***

An ARP warden, the one who'd been concerned for his missing friend, wandered through the foggy streets where he knew his friend Carl made his routes during such emergencies. It was eerily quiet now that the sirens had ceased, He might've believed Carl had gotten lost were it not for the thorough exercises they'd done practicing evacuation routes that made getting lost extremely difficult.

As he walked, he noticed a person slumped against a brick wall, from his posture it seemed to be a drunkard. The warden rolled his eyes, giving a long, exacerbated sigh. Some people had no sense of self-preservation.

But as he drew closer, he realized the man was wearing a uniform exactly like his. A horrible realization befell him.

"Carl!" he breathed.

He ran to the body, collapsing next to it. He shook the shoulder, but from the dead eyes flung wide in surprise and the sickening crunch of his neck  dangling forward, it didn't take an expert to realize the man had expired. 

As the warden shifted the body, he heard a small jingle, like keys on a hook. He looked at one of the hands and realized a leash was still wrapped around the wrist. The warden's eyes trailed down to the collar,  sopping with blood. He cautiously followed the string of blood that formed a thin, but visible trail until seeing a large, circular splat, containing the remnants of what was once a dog. A dog he'd known.

He gripped his gun, backing away in heightened alert, listening, when he felt something drip on his shoulder. Touching it, he realized it was a speck of blood, and looked up to see the overhead tree dripping with it.

There was a sound. A strange, soft, sound further down the street. Cocking his rifle, the warden approached slowly, carefully clinging to the shadows to make himself less seen, until he saw a large shape emerge.

It was huge, whatever it was. Huge and strange. He could discern nothing for certain through the thick fog, except the large, wing-like structures jutting out. He listened closely, hearing something that sounded a lot like German arguing, before noticing two different symbols on the wings.

One was a purple angular symbol he'd never seen before nor could recognize. 

But the Balkenkreuz was very familiar. 

He scurried away as fast as he could without notice.

***

"-so find him and get what we need!"

"And tell him what?!" fumed Otto, ""Oh, hello! I'm here on behalf of the man you spoke with over the phone. I hoped you could get some details regarding your father's knowledge of the craft in his book"?"

"You're the smooth talker. You figure it out."

"Lest you forget, this was all your idea!"

Otto slammed the window down and shut the curtains, shaking his head as he trudged downstairs. Upon reaching the ground floor, he looked up...

...and was face to face with a man.

"Who are you?"

Otto wondered where he could've emerged from, not to mention his predicament had become significantly more dire.

"Well come on, then! Who the devil are you?!"

"Oh, hello!" Otto fumbled, faking a terrible western accent once more, "I'm here on behalf of the man you spoke with over the phone. I hoped you could get some details regarding your father's knowledge of the craft in his book?"

The man blinked.

"What?"

"I'm here...on behalf of my friend?"

"How'd you get in?"

"I knocked on the front, but you didn't answer. There was a light on, and I saw it was open in the back...:so I came in." he shrugged sheepishly.

"In the middle of an air raid?"

"I just happened area when the air raid started." Otto assured, " I got worried when I didn't see you evacuate. But I see now you have your own shelter in the back."

"You came all the way from America after that phone call just to ask about a book?"

"Yes-"

Otto managed to bite his tongue, realizing that, if he said yes, it would indicate he'd made a trip from America to London in a short time, during war, which would be impossible.

"-terday I got a long-distance call from my friend asking I speak with you on his behalf. It seemed terribly important to him. I understand you're leaving London soon, so I was hoping we could talk as soon as possible. See, I'm rather pressed for time myself."

Griffith blinked.

"You're telling me this is all over that dusty old novel?"

"Yes." Otto nodded.

"I mean...it's just...have you actually read it yourself?"

"Yes, I quite liked it, even if the technology was a bit outdated. But it was quite predictive, about aerial warfare and all that."

There was a strange look in Griffith's eye. He said nothing for a while, his eyes roving the room absentmindedly before noticing from the corner of his eye that the desk papers had been shifted.

"Did you buy it in Washington?" he asked casually, "It was published widely on the east coast back in the day, though I wonder if it's still as popular as it was back then."

"Oh yes, certainly. I'm not surprised it's garnered so much appreciation back home."

Griffith tapped a finger.

"Really? You don't think it was too political?"

Otto hesitated.

"In what way?" 

"My father's opinions were a little ham-fisted, I just wonder what an American would personally think of it, especially the bit about the Constitution."

Otto considered carefully, he hadn't really paid attention to the politics of the book, those parts he'd only skimmed. But if he admitted that, it might make his efforts seem more suspicious.

"He was entitled to his opinion." Otto answered indifferently, "The technology was what kept me reading."

Griffith nodded thoughtfully.

"I see."

He grabbed a piece of paper.

"Listen, could you prepare a letter for me? This was only meant as a temporary residence 'til I transferred cities. Since it seems we'll be up for a while now, I have a few papers I'd like to prepare for tomorrow. Just write "Sir, I have attached the documents you requested. Payment confirmation expected in two days." I'll be right back, I need to fetch them from upstairs. We'll talk once I get it done. Be sure to head it correctly."

Otto found it an odd request, but nodded obligingly as Griffith made his exit. 

***

At the control base, one of the women administrators knocked on the door to the Commander's office.

"Sir, there's a call for you on line two. Says it's urgent."

Grumbling, still irate the pilots hadn't found anything, the Commander looked to the radio operator still in contact with the pilots.

"Alright, get them down. We've wasted enough time."

He picked up the second phone stationed on his desk phone.

"Hello?"

"Sir, there's Germans here. One of the warden's spotted them"

The Commander's eyes widened.

"What?!"

There was a shuffling over the line as the phone was handed off to the warden.

"There's some big machine they have. I saw the Baulkercross on the wings-"

 The Commander turned to the radio operator.

"Keep them in the air." he ordered, before turning back to the phone as he began dialing on another, "What kind of plane?"

"Couldn't say, sir, it's not like anything I've ever seen before, but it's big and it's powerful enough to turn a man to jelly."

The other line rang. Commander balled his fist.

"How big?"

"Big as a house, sir."

The Commander set the phone aside, switching to the new phone as he heard someone pick up.

"Mobilize our ground units!"

He switched phones.

"Where are they now?!"

***

When Griffith returned, holding a stack of papers in a bizarre manner, Otto handed him the finished letter, written in perfect English.

"So as I discussed with Mr Bird over the phone," Otto began, "He was quite convinced there was real-world basis for some of the ideas in your father's novel. Can you think of any that might come to mind?"

Griffith didn't answer. He stared at the page, intently studying the text.

"I'll confess," Griffith smiled warmly, "You had me fooled in the beginning."

Griffith dropped the stack of papers, behind which, he held out a gun, quickly directing it at Otto's head. Otto flung his hands up.

"I don't know how you got into London, but rest assured, you won't be getting out."

"Th-the hell do you think you're doing?!"

"Drop the act, I know you're not American. Unlike my father, I actually like those people. Makes all the easier to spot a fake one."

"What?!"

"You expect me to believe any American, whatever their stance, would have no strong reaction towards the section of the novel, where the United States is publicly disrespected, and the Constitution ripped up because the characters consider, and I quote, "the Republic to be a colossal fraud"?" Griffith scowled, "Which brings up another point: How'd you manage to purchase a book, so riddled with anti-American sentiment, that US publishers wanted absolutely nothing to do with my father and never printed his work in America?"

Otto's face dropped in realization. Still, he feebly attempted to salvage the rouse.

"A book is book. It's not like it can't travel." He protested weakly.

"True." Griffith answered, lifting up the letter Otto had written out for him, "But last time I checked, Americans don't put the day before the month when dating anything."

Otto went quiet. He slapped himself mentally. He'd heard of that detail from some of the soldiers around the base. How could he have forgotten?

"It's a little disappointing honestly. You Krauts are usually so thorough."

Otto swallowed hard, knowing it was no use pretending.

"So now that we've pulled back the curtain," Griffith glowered, "Why don't you tell me why you're really here."

"I wasn't lying about that." Otto answered, dropping the fake accent, "I need to know if your father actually saw something, something that inspired the illustrations he made."

Griffith hesitated a moment, considering the answer.

"You're here for the blueprints, aren't you?"

"What? No!"

"The calculations on the turbojet engine designs. That's what you're really after!" 

"I couldn't give a damn about those!"

"Don't play dumb! You went through my desk!"

"I just took a look! I was curious, that's all! I swear!"

"You're trying my patience-!"

Suddenly, a thunderous knock on the back door caused both Otto and Griffith to turn their heads.

"The frag's keeping you?! We don't have all night!" 

"Who's that?" Griffith asked stunned.

"An idiot." Otto replied, rubbing his eyes with a hand.

Griffith retrained his gun on Otto.

"Listen up! Whoever's out there, I got your friend at gunpoint and I'm not afraid to pull the trigger! I know why you're here!"

"Alan Arnold Griffith, I presume." came Starscream's sly voice, "Glad to find you were home after all."

"Mr Bird." Griffith sneered, "What a miraculous journey you must've made, travelling all the way here from Washington in such record time. Or was it just a hop over the channel?"

"Just tell us what we want to know and we'll be on our way."

"You won't get anything from me, German scum!"

Starscream laughed.

"Making a looot of assumptions there."

"You have no idea what you're up against."

"Right back at'cha."

"I called the military base! They know you're here! In a few minutes they'll swarm this house and capture everyone! You're trapped!"

Otto looked at Griffith curiously. He wondered, did he have time to make a call? Or was he bluffing?

All was quiet for a moment.

"Well," Starscream muttered, "That changes things."

There was the sound of metal groaning, wood tearing, and at last the snapping of thick wires before the house was doused in black. The lights having gone out in the house, Otto and Griffith looked around in shock.

"Don't move!" Griffith barked, aiming his gun at Otto, "I can still see you!"

Suddenly the back door crashed open as a massive hand shot through and reached for Griffith.

Outside. Starscream grumbled as he crouched on his hands and knees, reaching into the house for Griffith, like a kid with a dollhouse. He winced as he heard shots ring out and felt a stinging in his servos, but it was as inconsequential as a bee sting. Finally, his face lit up as he felt his digits close around a soft, fleshy body.

"Gotcha!"

He pulled out his captive, only to see he'd grabbed Otto.

"Thanks for playing," Otto snidely growled, "But he's headed around the side!”

Starscream immediately diverted his attention to the escapee, dropping Otto, who hit the ground flat on his back, the air knocked right out of him.

“…Don’t mind me” he wheezed painfully.

Griffith ran towards the front gate, but realizing it was locked, knew he couldn't get out that way. He turned as he saw Starscream stepping around the house, heading for him. He chose to dash down the narrow path on the other side, hoping to get to the gate at the back of the garden. However, a series of sparks caused him to jump back as he saw a thick, black wire hanging down with an exposed end from the rubber encasing; the wire having been ripped free from the house and causing the blackout.

Griffith saw the monstrous robot reach down and close its servo around his body. Struggling to free himself, he grabbed the wire in a moment of desperation and, as the being lifted him, jammed the live end deep into an oppening on the creature's chassis.

Starscream shrieked in pain, the electricity sending spasms across his body. There was a small explosion that burst from his side, causing him to reflexively drop Griffith, who landed on the ground motionless. Otto came round just as Starscream clutched his injured side.

"What happened?"

"Stupid fleshy jammed a wire in my side! Now he's not moving."

Panicked, Otto rushed up to the still body. He raised an arm which promptly fell down, completely limp. Otto pulled his nightshirt open and pressed an ear against his chest.

"Aw scrap." Starscream swore, "Is he-?"

"No." Otto breathed. "His heartbeat's regular, and he's still breathing. The shock must've knocked him out. He didn't consider he was shoving a wire into a giant electric conductor."

Satisfied, Starscream plucked the limp body from the ground and opened the cockpit of his chassis.

"What are you doing?"

"We need to get out of here, the local fleshies are gonna come crawling in soon." He strapped Griffith into the rear seat.

"So we're graduating to kidnapping now?!"

"Hey, I'm not the one who-"

The two stopped when they heard the sound of vehicles and machinery drawing near.

"They wasted no time."

Starscream stood, crushed open the gate and quickly walked into a nearby alleyway, Otto following close behind. Once a decent distance, Starscream stood on his tip-toes, pulling himself up just enough to peer over the roof.

Slag!" he swore, "They're everywhere."

Starscream dropped to the ground.

"They've got the roads covered, I don't know how we're gonna get to the launch point unseen."

Otto looked around trying to think, he noticed how all the houses were connected.

"Can you takeoff from the roofs?"

Starscream raised a brow-ridge, then examined the roof.

"I think so." Starscream raised his arm, in a manner similar to when he activated his arm cannon, and held it. "But I think a diversion is in order."

Nothing happened.

Starscream looked confusedly at his arm, then stretched it out again. 

Again, nothing.

"What're you doing?!"

"My cannons, they're not coming out."

Otto turned, hearing the soldiers getting closer.

"We don't have time for this! Hurry up and transform!"

Starscream stepped back and braced himself. There was a shuddering sound, his frame shifted a mere inch, then recoiled. He tried again, the same thing happened. A look of horror crept on his faceplate.

"I...can't."

Otto turned back, confused.

"Can't? Can't? What do you mean can't?"

"I can't transform."

Otto stared a moment.

"What do you mean you can't transform?! You've been transforming since I met you!"

"That electric shock, it must've disrupted my T-cog!"

Otto blinked.

"You're WHAT?!?"

"My T-cog!" Starscream hissed, trying to hide the terror in his voice, "It's the organ that allow me to transform at will!"

Otto stared in dumbfounded blankness for a few second as his brain tried to process the statement. Finally, his threw up his hands in a frenzy.

"YOU'RE A ROBOT!! WHY WOULD YOU HAVE ORGANS?!?"

"Robotic autonomous lifeform!" Starscream snarled, "I told you I'm a living being!"

"I don’t care if you’re the tin man from the land of Oz! You turn your ass into a plane RIGHT NOW!"

"Well maybe if your acting hadn't been so atrocious, we wouldn't BE in this mess!"

"Because having a giant metal man walking the streets of a major metropolis wasn't gonna draw any attention! What did you THINK was gonna happen?!?"

"I don't see YOUR aft pulling it's weight in this arrangement, MEAT-BAG!"

"Well it's gotta be a lot less exhausting than hauling around your two-ton IDIOCY!"

"WILL YOU SHUT UP AND LET ME THINK!!"

As Starscream said "think", his fist smashed into the house closest to him. But unbeknownst to him, the house had been severely damaged by the Blitz and was already incredibly weak, the only thing standing being the brick that stood adjacent to the back ally. The brick wall he smashed his fist into, which was enough to send the entire wall crumbling, like the drop of a curtain.

Otto and Starscream turned towards the massive opening...

...and were greeted with the sight of several British soldiers, armed vehicles, and a tank.

The British soldiers went dead silent, their eyes drifting up to the massive figure before them. There was a deafening silence, both sides caught in a strange frozen moment in time. 

Then the gun turret of the tank adjust towards Starscream.

"Wait..." Starscream whispered.

Otto turned, confused by the distinct tone of fear in Starscream's voice. The barrel of the tank stared directly at him, filling Starscream with fear.

"Megatron, wait...please don't...!"

Starscream's whole frame shuddered. His body seemed frozen. He could swear the outline of a mech wove itself around the turret, red eyes burning from the figure of a helm.

"Stay BACK!"

Even though Starscream's guns couldn't be activated, the aggressive position of the giant metal machine was not lost on the soldiers.

A shell crashed into the roof just inches away from Starscream's head. Otto, jolted free by the shock, broke into a run, eager to get as far away from the soldiers as he could. He heard gunfire erupt, and the pounding sound of massive footsteps behind him. He suddenly felt himself scooped up and thrown into the front seat of the cockpit in Starscream's chassis.

"Fix the connection!" Starscream shrieked, running with all he had.

"What?!"

"That explosion wouldn't be enough to damage my T-cog! It must've interrupted the connection somewhere! There's a panel behind you, open it and find the connection and fix it!"

The panel, which was on the floor of the cockpit, could be manually opened. Otto opened it and crawled inside, ignoring the dangling legs of the still-unconscious prisoner bound in the second seat. 

There wasn't a great deal of room to move around in, the space used to its utmost efficiency. However, the damage had been inflicted around Starscream's torso, meaning it was nearest for Otto to find the damage.

Immediately Otto found the orb-like structure continually shifting and pulsating, and the severed connection cable. Partially severed, but enough that it wasn't connecting the strange electrical charge.

"I found the wire! It's detached!" shouted Otto, trying to stabilize himself as Starscream ran, "There's no way I can reconnect it properly in these conditions!"

"Then hold it together long enough for me to transform once!"

Otto carefully grabbed the cable, which seemed to insulate the electricity surging through the inner fibers. The electricity sparking, almost dripping from the inside, concerned him greatly. It was not helped by the realization of the pulsating orb, or rather, the T-cog's, obvious power.

"Is it safe for me to do this?"

"Yeah! Plug it in!"

Otto paused.

"I don't like how fast you answered that!"

"You wanna maybe die or for sure die?! Because those are your options right now!"

"Alright, alright, just let me...just," he breathed, "prepare myself."

"Prep faster! The fog's clearing, they're closing in!"

Otto inched the wire closer.

"Come on!" Starscream urged.

Otto drew closer, still reluctant to connect it.

"Come on!"

Otto hesitated, terrified of the terrible power he saw fluctuating in the t-cog; only a few centimeters from connecting it.

"JUST-!"

Starscream slammed a fist on his chassis.

"DO IT!!"

The slam lurched Otto, forcing him to connect the cable. A jolt of something resembling electricity, but more on par with the electrical waves present in brainwaves, coursed through him, giving him an paralyzing, alien  sensation he could not describe.

Starscream sensed the connection and wasted no time. Leaping forward, as if diving off a high board, his body shifted into the Messershmitt jet, the cockpit shifting from vertical to horizontal as it did. Otto, still half inside the panel opening, was flipped on his head. legs flailing over the strapped-in, passed-out Alan Arnold Griffith.

***

As all this was happening, the control room was in a frenzy. 

"They lost the target, sir."

"Someone get the rest of the squadron in the air!" raged the commander, "I want that thing in pieces!"

"They'll convene in eight minutes!"

"I see him!" crackled a pilot over the radio. "He's headed down Kent road!"

"Whatever it takes, do not let that aircraft leave London!"

One of the girls scooted a red plane model onto the map of the aforementioned street.

***

Starscream swung a hard 90 degrees, his wing tip scratching the road as he turned, sending Otto slamming into the side of the cockpit. Fighter planes, catching sight of him, dove at the fleeing aircraft, firing freely on the emptied road. Otto ducked as he heard the bullets zip around them as the planes flew past.

“What the hell are you waiting for?!" he screamed, "Get us out of here!”

“My engines aren’t getting enough power!"

"Are you shitting me right now?!?"

"The electricity must’ve burst an energon vein! That's why it blew open!"

"They’re coming back 'round!”

The planes had circled and were making a second dive at the jet. But Starscream, fully in control of his form, slammed his wheels to a halt, the tires screeching, causing his frame to make a 180 degree spin before he rocketed off in the opposite direction, the fighter pilots barely missing him.

"You need to patch up the line so it stops leaking! Once I get enough flow, we can escape!"

Otto crawled towards the opening.

"Would you like me to check you robotic pancreas while I’m at it?!” he shrieked in panicked fury.

Starscream's scanners picked up an elevated point. He sped off towards it. The pilots quickly maneuvered their aircrafts to chase after the red jet.

“Crazy bastard!" one of the pilot swore, "He’s headed for Waterloo station!”

Sure enough, Starscream had no qualms screaming through the streets, now crowded with human civilians, and barreling his way into the crowded station. Londoners, bewildered at the sight of the plane hurtling towards them, ran and jumped out of the way.

"Move meatbags!" 

With a series of hard bumps, Starscream jostled himself onto the railway and sped down the tracks.

"Where the hell are you going?!" cried Otto.

“With a little elevation, I can get us airborne!”

Otto scrambled upright to see where they were. They zoomed along the rails, rising up towards the bridge that stretched over the Thames. Suddenly a light shone in their direction and Otto screamed in terror, pressing his body against the seat, as he saw a train barreling straight towards them. But Starscream, with only a few feet between him and the locomotive, swerved off the bridge, pulling up hard as he managed to barely gain lift, his wheels skirting the river Thames before retracting within his underbelly.

Otto saw the Hawkers Hurrianens hone in on them.

"Faster!" shrieked Otto.

"My thrusters aren't at full capacity, dimwick! I can't outrun them if you haven't fixed the line yet!"

The Hawker fighters, persistent as ever, zoomed after Starscream, intent on downing him for good. Starscream, unable to increase his speed whilst lacking the necessary fuel, headed for the next bridge, where he pulled a hard inside loop and shot at the fighters. 

As he turned upside down, Otto tumbled onto the canopy glass, his heart quickening as he saw the dark waters below him. The RAF pilots maneuvered safely out of Starscream's trajectory, but would not give up as they followed him down and under the bridge. Starscream, still upside down, tilted so a wingtip broke the water's surface, sending a wall of water bursting up behind him, briefly obscuring the pilot's vision as they flew under the bridge. 

However, once the spray had ceased and the pilots flown through the bridge, the water cleared from the glass, and they saw no sight of the red aircraft.

"What the-?"

The pilots searched every angle, rising in the hopes of getting a better vantage point, but there was no sign of the elusive craft.

"Dammit! Where the hell did he go?!"

a new voiced crackled over the radio.

"Four two one seven, this is alpha delta coming in at your ten, sir."

"What the hell took you so long?" the pilot grumbled.

But the new voice suddenly turned panicked.

"James, pull up!"

"What? Why?"

"Pull up dammit, he's right under you!"

The pilot, startled, yanked his controls back, pulling his plane back and clear of the upside down jet that had been flying in perfect sync with him, practically unnoticed. Otto, squatting awkwardly on Starscreams canopy, had forced his torso into the open panel of the cockpit floor, which now hung ove him, paying no mind to the limp body of Alan Arnold Griffith strapped securely into the backseat. As he looked inside the compartment, he managed to see the leaking line and thus located the damaged area.

A hail of bullets came at Starscream's ten o'clock, or rather, his upside down four o' clock. A bullet struck the hinge of his canopy, eliciting a shriek of pain from Starscream who, just as a human would do when hit in the patella, reflexively opened his canopy, sending Otto falling out of the cockpit. It was only thanks to Starscream managing to fling his seatbelts out and wrap it around one of Otto’s wrists, that the human was prevented from meeting a grisly end.

Otto cried out, yelping in terror as he saw the ground below him fly by, dangling helplessly from the plane, unable to pull himself in, even as the seatbelt dug into his wrist. It could not be said that the few British pilots who managed to get a good look, were baffled by the stunt on display, assumed the unconscious passenger in the back was controlling the plane. The fighters swooped in, zeroing in on Starscream once more.

"Oh, frag me!"

Swooping down near the surface of the river, Starscream yanked his frame back so his nose pointed straight up and his tail dragged through the water. It was only thanks to the power of his jets, weakened as they were, that he remained airborne. The drag of the water was enough to slow him enough to make a makeshift, half-aileron roll while still pointed up. The Hawkers zoomed past him as he made his 180 degree turn, now facing the opposite direction and blasting as hard as he could straight into the air. 

This maneuver, fortunately, allow Otto to slide onto the top of the cockpit where he managed to haul himself back inside the cabin. Starscream securely closed the opening behind him. Plunging back into the open panel on the cockpit floor, he saw the leak, unsure of how to fix it. Then it occurred to him.

Otto set to work removing his socks as well as the socks of Griffith, and ripped a hole in all four of the toes, putting them inside one another until he had a makeshift sock tube. He pilfered Griffith for his shoelaces and, with the layers of socks, connected the damaged energon lines and tied them secured with the laces. It certainly wasn't a long term solution, but it was enough to get the energon flowing to where it needed to go.

Starscream felt his systems flood with the much-needed energon and fully kicked the engines into Mach speed, zooming far beyond the reach of the Hawkers.

***

Chapter Text

The private meeting between the Senate, sans Shockwave, had devolved into a massive spat in which all concerns or comments were drowned out in a sea of noise. At last, Sentinel Prime stood, raising outstretched servos in an earnest bid for silence.

"Peace, friends, peace." he pleaded, "You're failing to consider the optimal outcome to all this."

"Optimal? Optimal?!" screeched one mech, "Shockwave might as well be screaming his anarchist propaganda to the heavens, all with a trail of gullible followers cheering him along the way, and you stand there and say it's optimal?!"

"Calm yourself, Senator-"

"He's already spread this corrupted ideology to the poor idiots foolish enough to believe it," another senator interrupted, "Whatever following he might've gained has already reached its peak, it's destined to peter out."

"Perhaps you've forgotten how quickly Tarn collapsed into its own cesspool of anti-functionalist chaos." yet another senator cut in, "And now Vos openly revokes any jurisdiction the Senate once held over their district's enforcement. How many more city-states are we willing to let fall before we cease this degradation?!"

The arguing was beginning to grow once more, but Sentinel's voice rose above the rabble.

"Softened metal, the strongest fold makes."

The Senate grew silent, looking amongst themselves in perplexation, confused by Sentinel's strange usage of an old Cybertronian saying. Sentinel went quiet, drawing their intrigue.

"Let me ask you all this," he continued, "In terms of this most recent display, what has Shockwave done?"

"He's overstepped his authority," answered one senator, "Bypassed routine consultation and approval, granted via the culturati administration board, to suit his own ends."

"Yes, yes, we know that, but what has he actually done according to the public?"

"...He undermined the academy's authority to determine student accolades."

Sentinel shook his helm.

"To the public optic, all Shockwave has done is grant scholarship funds, of his own credits no less, to two lower-caste bots who, against all odds, managed to rank top scores at the most prestigious academy in Iacon. He's crafted an exciting image, a real life "tin to titanium" story, a glittering fabrication blinding mechs into considering his stance correct, with no further thought. Why should it come as any surprise he's garnered so much adoration? He saw an opportunity to play into the masses, and pounced without hesitation."

The Senators muttered amongst themselves, but Sentinel continued.

"Did he gain approval from the board? No. Did he authorize it with any science division? No. Did he adhere to any of the proper procedures that come with granting such a large sum of money for an expedition? No. What he did do is ensure the gesture was broadcasted across the whole of Cybertron. Why?"

The Senate listened, but all hesitated to reply.

"He wants to erode confidence in functionalism?" one answered.

"He wants to erode confidence in functionalism." Sentinel echoed affirmingly, "He wants to erode it so badly, that he's willing to put the lives of two inexperienced students on the line to garner public appeal. Shockwave is pleasing to the eye, charismatic, intelligent, he knows this, but," Sentinel held up a digit, "He's grown arrogant. He's so in love with his own vision of the future that he's failed to consider the ramifications that come with such misapplication."

"You...propose we charge him with gross negligence?"

"I propose nothing."

The council mumbled amongst each other. 

"If we exert our authority as he had, given such inadequate provocation, we'll only be further weakening our own position. Whatever he may think of Cybertron's proscriptions, they haven't been implemented without cause. To give such unchecked financial leeway to bots unsuited for such a dangerous expedition, no experience, no credentials, no guarantee of results, is a horrendous oversight on Senator Shockwave's part, and merely opens the door to catastrophe."

"These are not some mindless wreckers from the dregs," one senator argued, "They're fliers. Highly-experienced fliers. If they return with satisfactory findings to prove their success-"

"When disaster befalls their expedition," Sentinel interrupted, "What shall we do? Blame unsupervised students who were too foolish to realize what they were getting into? Or call out the irresponsibility of permitting ill-equipped frame-types to engage in operations unsuited to their station? Shockwave cannot be allowed to put any further lives at risk, whatever their caste, and the sooner his misconduct is acknowledged, the sooner the public will understand how dangerous his ideology has grown."

"A pretty outcome indeed," snorted a senator, "Assuming disaster befalls the expedition at all!"

Sentinel went silent, slowly sitting down and leaning back.

"You assume it won't, Senator?"

***

The inner corridors of Kaon's great colosseum were packed with attendees of all shapes and sizes. Many belonged to the lower castes of Cybertron, though it couldn't be said a good number of higher-class bots were not visible among the throng. There were, of course, a multitude of vendors, smelteries, a dozen bars, sales-mechs selling cheap visors for attendees with poorer optics, there was even one bot roaming the halls selling souvenirs that may or may not have been pilfered from the damaged frames of previous combatants.

"You wanna say that to my face, junk?"

A wrecker, one who could transform into an alt-mode that resembled an excavator, had knocked over a brawler's grade-A nucleon mixer, and the brawler was far from pleased. Both had been drinking quite a bit already and were, in no uncertain terms, drunk on power.

"I don't got nuttin' to say to you!" the wrecker slurred.

The brawler slogged him across the face, eliciting a barfight in which at least three other bots ended up joining in. Though the fight was fierce, the surrounding patrons seemed to pay it little mind, either scooting out of the way, or picking up their own drinks to prevent them from getting smashed. 

Skywarp, stepping carefully over and ducking under the fight that ensued, made his way over to the bar. He would've warped, but even he wasn't so stupid as to reveal his outlier ability in public. The bartender bot turned, sanitizing a glass with a blue flame "wash".

"What'd ya' want?" he asked, only giving a passing glance.

"Yeah, can I get four of the Amethyst Specials?"

The bartender looked up, suddenly becoming focused. 

"With or without circuit speeders?"

Skywarp smirked.

"Stick to the K-juice."

"Hot or chilled?"

Skywarp pursed his bottom lip, feigning deep thought.

"Spiked."

Without another word, the bartender went to work preparing the drink. As its name implied, it was a beautiful glowing purple color that was contained in a clear thermos. The bartender prepared three of the drinks and handed them over, all sealed carefully within clear quartz thermoses. He made the last one, looking no different from the other three, and handed it directly to Skywarp. Skywarp grabbed hold and there was an imperceptible look that passed between them before the bartender let go.

"Enjoy the show." he said flatly.

Skywarp wormed his way through the crowd back to where Thundercracker, Starscream, and Skyfire stood waiting, each looking uncomfortable to varying degrees.

"Alright, I got the good stuff. Let's head in."

"You couldn't order at any of the three bars we passed on our way up?"

"Oh, loosen your bolts a little, Starscream, it's not gonna kill ya'." Skywarp frowned and shuddered slightly, "Ugh, I still can't get over how weird it is using your real name."

"Can we go?" Thundercracker grumbled, covering his olfactory receptors, "Pretty sure someone expelled exhaust nearby."

The four made their way through the thick of the crowd outside to where the colosseum ring, far below, stood open. They had all sat down when, behind them,

"Hey, what gives!? You're blockin' the view!"

The four turned to see a grounder, unfortunately situated behind Skyfire, fuming at having his view obscured by the shuttle. But before Skyfire could apologize, Skywarp jumped in.

"You got a problem, pal?"

"Go park your economy shuttle somewhere else!" the bot sneered, "Some of us pay good money for these seats!"

"Some of us really couldn't give a scrap." Starscream grumbled.

"Look just tell your monolith to move his aft, before I start chippin' away at his back!"

Skywarp smiled wide.

"I've got a better idea."

He grabbed the bot...

"How 'bout I just get you better seats?"

...and flung him towards the gladiator pit.

Thundercracker and Starscream nonchalantly leaned forward to watch the bot fall while Skyfire covered his mouth in shock. The two seekers leaned back.

"And you wonder why we don't go places with you." Thundercracker grumbled.

Below in the pits, they caught the tail-end of some defeated bots getting dragged out of the ring, battered and torn, groaning in pain. 

Skyfire winced. 

"You good, Sky?" Starscream noticed.

"This...doesn't bother you?"

Starscream shrugged.

"Still less rowdy than the training academy back home."

"Oh yeah," Skywarp noted, "you've never been to Vos, have ya?" 

"No. Though I've heard a lot about it from Starscream."

"Oh yeah, like what?"

"The usual, though he's spoken often of the Chords of Primus. Said it was his favorite spot in the whole city."

Skywarp thought a moment before the recollection clicked.

"Oh yeah," he muttered, "Suicidal wingnut always did sneak off in there."

"Suicidal?"

"Hey Warp." Starscream growled, holding up his drink threateningly, "How 'bout I throw this over you and set it ablaze?"

Skywarp stared back blankly.

"How 'bout I give you a hug?"

"Ugh!" Starscream grimaced, recoiling further when Skywarp threateningly reached out for said hug, "Get the frag away from me!"

"Could you two pipe down?" Thundercracker grunted, "I think they're about to start."

"BY SPECIAL REQUEST," blared the announcer over the speakers, "WE'VE GOT A REAL TREAT FOR YOU BOTS TODAY! A THREE-ON-ONE-CHALLEEENGE!"

The boisterous bravado did its job as the crowd roared with excited elation for the next fight.

"EACH FIGHTER IS PERMITTED ONE EXTERNAL, NON-FIREARM WEAPON OF THEIR CHOICE! VICTORY WILL ONLY BE DECLARED AFTER ALL BOTS ON EITHER SIDE HAVE BEEN INCAPACITATED!"

Lights and sparks shot off around the south gate, drawing the audience's attention towards it as the gate was raised.

"ON THE SOUTH GATE, WE'VE GOT NOT ONE, NOT TWO, BUT THREE COMBATICONS! ONSLAUGHT, BRAWL, AND SWINDLEEEE!"

The roar from the crowd was deafening as the three aforementioned bots strode in, each holding a weapon of their choice. Onslaught clasped onto a long metal rod with an electrically charged tip. A chain with hooks attached at the ends was held by Swindle. And a large mace, adorned with spikes, was brazenly being swung to and fro by Brawl.

"Seems a bit unfair." Starscream noted apathetically.

"Yeah." Skywarp snorted, "Should've given em' two weapons."

Starscream glanced at Skywarp confusedly, who did not look back, but kept his optics glued to the arena. Starscream shook his head annoyed and was about to turn back when, from the corner of his optics, he noticed some strange movement in the distance.

Two small bots were busy tampering with some kind of speaker, situated just out of sight under the cover of a platform, but too far for Starscream to ascertain what they were doing exactly. Finally, the red and black one reached for a nearby vent, opened it, and urged his blue and grey comrade inside before following himself. Starscream blinked, confused by what he'd seen, before noting Skyfire's expression, taut and uneasy.

"You alright, Sky? Really?"

Skyfire fiddled his servos.

"It's just...I don't do well around-"

"AND CHALLENGING, ONE OF OUR TOP GLADIATORS AND FORMER UNDEFEATED CHAMPION! MAKE SOME NOISE FOR SOUNDWAVE!"

The attention turned to the north entrance as the gate rolled up. The crowd went into a frenzy as the combatant emerged from the shadows.

The mech, whose navy-blue frame was in stark contrast to the white of his fore-arms and thighs, strode gracefully into the arena. Golden-yellow accents framed a slick, smooth sheet of silica that decorated the majority of his chest, while the visor and mouth shield made it impossible to detect any emotion. But what shocked Starscream above all else was that this bot was unmistakably a communication frame, the last frame-type Starscream would've ever expected to see in a gladiator's pit.

"Where's his weapon?" questioned Thundercracker aloud.

It was true, there seemed to be no external weapon at his disposal. Even the device on his shoulder was clearly part of his body, and would be no match for any of the weapons his opponents held, but no one seemed to either realize or care.

The announcer chimed in before there was any chance to answer.

"FIGHTERS! BEGIN!"

It was clear the Combaticons were confident in their victory.

"Oh, come on!" Onslaught laughed, "He's makin' this too easy!"

"Hey, boombox," mocked Swindle, "How 'bout ya' turn on a smooth baseline? Give us a nice beat to pummel ya' with?"

Soundwave didn't respond, but merely gave a slight tilt of his helm, as if calculating his next move. Brawl slapped his weapon in his servo, gritting his denta as he walked up to his opponent.

"Whatever, if this idiot wants to die that fast-"

He raised his weapon, intending to bash Soundwave's helm in.

"-I see no reason not to OBLIGE HIM!"

He swung the bat down, and immediately felt it stop. Shockwave, gripping the mace, emitted a strange distortion from around his servo, before emitting a blast that sent Brawl staggering back, struggling to regain his footing.

"That ability-" Thundercracker recognized.

"He ain't called Soundwave for nothin'." smirked Skywarp.

Soundwave intertwined his digits as he stretched and cracked the joints in his servos. Once done, he slapped them together, prompting the same frequency distortion to appear, as he took a much more aggressive stance. 

Brawl viciously swung his mace as Soundwave stepped back, moving his body artfully, dodging blow after blow. But as Onslaught joined the assault, thrusting his electrified rod at the blue mech in rapid succession, Soundwave was forced to utilize his power to block, or at the very least minimize, the strikes.

"Incredible," Skyfire breathed, "He's using concentrated frequencies to block their attacks!"

"But the discharge is too rapid." Thundercracker noted, "He's not getting any chance to build power."

Realizing he was being pushed back, Soundwave grabbed Onslaught's electric stick, just below its conductive point, and held the electrified part up to the mace as it swung down and struck the rod directly. Bursts of electricity shot through Brawl, who went staggering back. Swindle, however, had transformed into his alt-mode, a purple and yellow, LUV-esque form, and swerved his way behind Soundwave. Transforming back, he skillfully flung the chain around Soundwave's right servo before securing the other end on his own tail hook and immediately transforming back into vehicle-mode. He drove in the opposite direction, putting as much strain as he could on the limb and rendering it immobile. Seizing the chance, Onslaught used the rod to put Soundwave into a makeshift armbar, locking his arm above his helm and leaving him completely vulnerable.

"He's all yours, Brawl!"

Brawl eagerly took the open invitation and began laying into Soundwave, delivering strike after brutal strike. Starscream frowned, Thundercracker winced, Skyfire covered his optics, but Skywarp grinned knowingly as he leaned forward, eager for what was to come next.

Even in his position, Soundwave's right forearm could still bend down and touch his right shoulder, on which sat a button-like apparatus. Pressing it, Brawl was startled when the silica plate, revealed to be some form of a storage compartment, flipped open, allowing a dark-gray blur to shoot out, viciously clawing at his faceplate.

Seizing the opportunity, Soundwave turned his attention to the arm wrapped in chains. He yanked the chain hard enough to earn some slack, quickly wrapping it around Onslaught's right wrist. Swindle, surprised, but undeterred, simply punched the gas harder, unwittingly yanking Onslaught to the ground as Soundwave, lying atop his dragging frame, partially transformed his arm, not enough to determine what his alt-mode was, but enough for the chains to slip right off. Once free, he made a dash for the rod.

"Swindle, you idiot! You're dragging the wrong bot!"

Swindle made a hard U-turn, finally seeing the mistake and allowing Onslaught the chance to free himself. Transforming into his own alt-mode, a halftrack-esque vehicle, Onslaught charged after Soundwave, ramming his legs and sending him flipping hard onto the ground. Not stopping, Onslaught sped towards the electric rod.

Soundwave, getting to his servos and knee-joints, immediately heard another engine closing in, and turned just in time to see Swindle speeding closer in an attempt to ram him. However, Soundwave, without time to stand, managed to roll over him and recover with minimal damage. He wasted no time grabbing the chain which Swindle, in his haste, had foolishly left attached to his tailhook, and pulled him back. Swindle, spinning his wheels and realizing he couldn't overpower the pull, instead shifted into reverse, hoping to catch Soundwave by surprise. But Soundwave was an experienced gladiator, and just before Swindle could hit his legs, grabbed his frame and smashed his hood hard into the ground with a perfectly executed suplex.

As this was happening, Onslaught drew close to his electric rod as Brawl was still trying to grab hold of the creature that darted all across his frame. But before Onslaught could reach the rod, the creature jumped off of Brawl, dashed forth, and plucked up the rod in its jaws, revealing itself to be a small, panther-like mech with hip-mounted rockets and a high metallic growl. The bot Skywarp knew to be Ravage.

"I thought it was three on one?" Starscream noted.

"Cassettebots don't count as combatants." Skywarp explained, "They can only be registered as weapons."

The three fliers looked to Skywarp in aghast revulsion, then back at the ensuing fight.

Ravage dashed towards his master, dodging Onslaughts pitiful attempts to catch him. Soundwave, having pilfered the chain from Swindle, tossed one end of the chain out, wrapping it around Onslaught's leg. Onslaught tried to undo it, but Soundwave yanked hard, causing him to fall. Ravage delivered the rod to Soundwave, climbing up onto his shoulder as his master jammed the electrified end into the middle of the chain, shocking both Onslaught and Swindle, whom he'd left the other chain end attached.

Soundwave was forced to stop only when Brawl came charging in, swinging his mace with killing intent. Soundwave used the rod to block his strikes, shocking Brawl at every opportunity, but the shocks seemed to do little to deter the most brutish of the trio. After several vicious strikes to the rod's handle, Brawl managed to crack it in half, rendering it useless; just as Onslaught recovered and jumped back in. Swindle was still reeling from the damage.

What followed was a dance of such expertise, Starscream was almost impressed. As Soundwave dodged blows, Ravage crawled across the tangle of limbs, confusing Onslaught and Brawl as he bit, scratched, and swatted at them, always timing his moves to work in sync with the blows of his master. Ravage distracted Brawl, allowing Soundwave to steal his mace and deliver a devastating blow to Onslaught's helm. Brawl, finally managing to grab hold of Ravage, squeezed down as Ravage snarled in pain.

"You little vermin! I'll tear your-!"

But before he could finish, the mace went into direct contact with his helm, sending him to the ground. Ravage jumped free and ran to his master, climbing onto his shoulders as Soundwave flung the mace aside and grabbed the two injured bots by the neck, lifting them up.

There was a whirring sound, and the distortion around his servos grew, the two bots, realizing what he was doing, wrestled desperately to pull the servos off, but Soundwave's grip was absolute. The energy was building, growing into a much more concentrated attack than any of the ones he'd given before.

"SOUNDWAVE: SUPERIOR." 

Soundwave leaned in.

"COMBATICONS: INFERIOR."

The explosion send the two bots flying towards Swindle, who managed to clear his helm just in time to see the two hurtling towards him. 

"Aww, scrud."

They slammed into him hard, rolling all the way to the pit wall and, in doing so, tangling the chain all across their joints and gears, making it impossible to move without dragging the other two around.

The match was over.

"AND THE VICTOR IS SOUNDWAAAVE!"

Cheers shook the stadium, though Soundwave seemed indifferent, not even glancing up in the audience's direction.

Skywarp jumped up and cheered in elation, much to the annoyance of his trine mates. It was only then when Starscream noticed Skyfire missing and caught sight of his massive frame making its was towards the exit. Starscream jumped up and pursued.

"Hey!" Skywarp called, "Hey, where ya' going?!"

The Combaticons, defeated and humiliated, struggled to get to their pedes, every move yanking the other in an unnatural way.

"Great plan, Onslaught." Swindle grunted snidely, "Pick the chain" ya' said. "It'll be perfect" ya' said."

"My plan was perfect before you screwed it up!"

"Oh sure, because I was clearly the lesser brains of the group! Oh wait, that was you, wasn't it Brawl?"

"I would've had his internals in knots if you two hadn't-!"

The three heard a growl and looked over to see Ravage standing right before them, staring intently.

Swindle frowned.

"What're you lookin' at, bug?" snarled Swindle.

Without warning, Ravage pounced at Swindle's faceplate.

"Get it off me! GET IT OFF ME!"

The bot was sent sprawling back, screeched in panic, rolling and yanking the other two bots down with him. The crowd howled with laughter as they saw the comical act, not realizing that Ravage was untangling them as he scurried all over their bodies.

"RAVAGE: RETURN."

Ravage dropped the chain from his mouth and dashed to Soundwave, leaping up and transforming as he disappeared into Soundwave's open chest cavity. Without another word, Soundwave turned and exited the arena the way he came. 

As he passed into the north gate of the colloseum, there was the sound of scraping metal. He turned to see a small vent near the ceiling burst open and the two cassettebots appear, grinning from audial to audial.

"INQUIRY: MISSION COMPLETE?"

Meanwhile, the Combaticons got to their pedes, irate, but surprised when the chains fell off them with ease. They quickly made their exit to avoid further humiliation.

"Little pest. Next time I get my servos on him, I'm gonna-"

"Swindle, wait. You've got something stuck on your tailhook."

Onslaught plucked the object of interest off said hook and looked closely. His two brethren drew close, curious.

"What is it?"

It was a sheet of metal with a message, written in Cybertronian, and followed by a particular, angular symbol.

Up in the halls of the colosseum, Skyfire carefully wormed his way through the crowd. 

"Sky!" 

Skyfire stopped as Starscream jogged up to him.

"What happened? You just disappeared."

"I'm sorry, Star, but I can't stand it any longer. All this violence, the disregard for sentient decency, everyone cheering for it, it...I just can't stand it."

Skyfire fell silent, as did Starscream. Their presence lost in the flurry of spectators.

"Yeah, I figured as much." Starscream finally answered, "I did say you coming was a bad idea."

Skyfire's wings perked up.

"You're not upset?"

"Pfft." Starscream scoffed, "I've got no interest in this scrud either. But I appreciate you trying to suffer through with me."

"Then," Skyfire urged eagerly, "Let's just go, both of us. Right now."

Starscream gave an exasperated sigh.

"Look, Warp'll never let me hear the end of it if I bail now. But it's fine. You go on ahead, we still need to finish inventory for the expedition. "

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," barked the seeker, pushing his shuttle friend towards the exit, "I'll probably make a stop in Vos on my way back, so don't be surprised if I'm not right behind-"

Skyfire suddenly turned and shoved Starscream hard, sending him to the floor. Starscream was confused, until he saw the drunken wrecker, hurtling past where he had stood, and slamming into a nearby wall, embedded within the metal and groaning.

'Sorry" Skyfire apologize sheepishly, offering an open servo to Star, "He came in so fast, that was all I could think to do."

Starscream huffed with a grin.

Back in the seats, Skywarp was growing anxious.

"I'll go look if it's bothering you so mu-"

No." Skywarp hissed, pushing Thundercracker back into his seat, "I'm not risking you ducking out too."

"Hey guys."

Skywarp and Thundercracker turned to see Starscream return and take his seat.

"Where the pit did you run off to?" Skywarp huffed.

"I was just seeing Skyfire off."

"What?" Skywarp balked, "Why?"

"A lot of prep-work still needs to be done. Besides, he's not keen on this gladiator slag either."

Skywarp seemed somewhat disappointed. He turned back to the arena, considering.

"Shame." he muttered, almost inaudibly, "He looked pretty strong too."

Starscream looked to Skywarp questioningly and was about to ask what he meant by his statement, when the crowd began to rythmically utter a name.

"ME-GA-TRON. ME-GA-TRON. ME-GA-TRON. ME-GA-TRON. ME-GA-TRON."

Starscream and Thundercracker gave each other confused looks as they saw Skywarp join in on the chant. It grew and grew until it shook the entire stadium, some bots stamping their pedes, clapping their servos, or clicking their wings in unison. 

Meanwhile, inside the north gate of the arena, Soundwave crouched beside the two cassettebots that were currently gushing over his victory.

"That was awesome, boss!" rambled the grey and blue one, "I mean you're always awesome, but today you were triple awesome!" 

"When you slugged that slagger right across the faceplate!" the black and red one exclaimed, mimicking the fight moves, "Then took that chain and just-wapoosh!"

As he made the sound effect, he flung a servo back, slamming right into the face of his fellow cassettebot by accident. His fellow immediately retaliated by striking him across the helm.

"Ow! What gives!?"

"Watch where your aiming, wingnut!"

"Hey, it's not my fault if your dodge protocols are busted!"

"Say that again!"

"It's not my fault if your-!"

The bots jumped at each other, wrestling and tussling like the immature children they were, before Soundwave reached down and gently pulled them apart.

"ENOUGH. RUMBLE, FRENZY: RETURN."

The two immediately ceased their fighting, groaning in disappointment.

"Aww, come on, Waves!" Frenzy pleaded, "Can't we stick around?"

"You know the next match is gonna' be the best one!" Rumble whined.

"NO ARGUING."

Frenzy and Rumble pouted, but obediently jumped and transformed their way into Soundwave's chest cavity without another word. As Soundwave rose to his pedes, a mech strode closer from the shadows, as if summoned by the chant echoing throughout the arena. Soundwave turned, facing the mech, and stepped aside.

"PREPERATIONS NOW COMPLETE. ARENA SOUND-SYSTEMS: SUCCESFULLY INTERCEPTED."

The bot didn't answer, but gave only a pause and slight turn of the helm to acknowledge the information. He continued to stride towards the arena, optics burning red with a hatred unmatched by any gladiator that ever walked the pits of Kaon.

He was big, that's for sure. Certainly not larger than a mech like Skyfire, but he stood at least a helm taller than most other bots. Aside from the black and metallic gray of his body, the only colors were the scant pin-pricks of color adorning the tiny dials of his midsection, and the splash of red along his arm joints and the sides of his torso. He wasn't old, at least, no more than the bots that surrounded him, but he had the appearance of someone who'd been worn down, used, marred a great deal more than what was right. His demeanor too, implied experience and abuse that, in of themselves, aged him far more than any physical exertion could've.

"So," Thundercracker muttered, "This is your miraculous warrior?" 

Skywarp grinned.

"Pretty awesome, no-?"

"No." interjected Starscream flatly.

At first, at a distance, Megatron almost seemed boring, unimpressive even, but the closer to the center he strode, there came the terrible sense that this was not a mech to be trifled with. Perhaps it had to do with his aggressive expression, or the way he carried himself, but in truth, it probably stemmed much more from the massive cannon attached to his right arm. It was obviously part of his body, Starscream had himself guns that could emerge and retract at will, but he'd never seen anyone carry their frame-weapon so openly all the time, least of all one the size of Megatron's.

"ALL SPECTATORS ARE ADVISED TO REMAIN AWAY FROM THE PROTECTION FIELD DURING THIS MATCH! WE APPRECIATE YOUR COOPERATION! IF YOU CHOOSE NOT TO COOPERATE, WE'LL STILL APPRECIATE YOUR IMMEDIATE DISCOMFORT!"

Starscream furrowed a browridge at the announcement.

Protection field?

As he voiced his curiosity, long, thick metallic rods slowly rose from around the edge of he arena, lifting higher and higher until they stood three three times as tall as Skyfire. Suddenly, the rods burst with energy as high-voltage, ionized electrical currents wove together to create a massive, powerful net around the arena. Starscream was baffled, no matter how strong Megatron was, surely there'd be no need for such an elaborate security system.

A low rumbling clued him in that the electrical cage wasn't for Megatron.

It came from the west gate, which was a notably larger and more securely sealed entrance. Four layers of heavily fortified doors had to be pulled back before the massive combatant entered the arena.

"But that's...!" Starscream gawked, "That's a Predacon!"

"What are they, crazy?!" gasped Thundercracker, "A monster that size, it's not gonna be a fight, it'll be a massacre!"

"Can it you two." Skywarp glared at his trine mates, grinning with a knowing twinkle in his optic, "This is where things really get interesting."

Megatron stared for a moment at the monstrous Predacon before him, a massive mangle of sharp metal, burning rage, and fiery breath. He grit his denta in disgust.

"Do you see, my brothers?"

A good number of attendees, including Thundercracker and Starscream, were completely shocked when the speakers suddenly reverberated with the clear, albeit gruff voice, of the combatant below.

"Do you see the freedom they promise us?"

Up in the announcement tower of the colosseum, the bots in charge started scrambling in panic.

"How's he doing it again!?" 

"I thought you fixed it last time!"

"Just get that aft-hole off the speakers!"

But try as they might, they could neither turn off the speakers, or switch channels, or speak over him with their own announcements. The audience was completely within his grasp.

The Predacon roared and charged, and Megatron charged in kind.

"Work hard. Do your function right...!"

The monstrous beast swiped at the gladiator, but with remarkable agility and strength, Megatron merely leapt under the limb and dashed between its legs. As he did, his right servo retracted within his forearm.

"...And if you're lucky, maybe, maybe you'll get a chance to get out!"

An energon mace emerged from his arm, swinging violently as he slammed it into the back leg. The Predacon shrieked in pain.

"Maybe you won't get crushed, or thrown away, or blown to scrap! Maybe you won't spend your whole life wondering why you listened to bots...!"

The Predacon turned with a vicious swipe, only for the gladiator to quickly roll out of the way.

"...that despise EVERYTHING you are! Everything THEY made you!"

The Predacon continued striking at Megatron, who matched each strike with a swing of his mace.

"You think following your function will satisfy you? Will satisfy THEM? Look! LOOK! This is their freedom! This is their opportunity! This is the only outcome they ever intend to give!" 

The Precadon turned quickly, and managed to slam its massive tail into Megatron, sending him carreening into the arena wall. He groaned as he fell to the ground.

"Since when did Primus decide who grovels in the dirt?" he snarled, rising to his pedes defiantly, "Who dies while others live as they please? Since when did Primus decide which sparks should be stripped from their protoforms to be forged into cold-constructs?!"

Starscream's optics widened as Megatron's words began to draw more intrigue than the fight itself. The Predacon charged, bringing its massive claw down on its prey, ready to shred him to pieces. But Megatron grabbed the massive limb with both servos, straining to hold it back.

"Who decided what traits are deserving of EMPURATA? Who decided dissention was worthy of SHADOWPLAY?!"

Megatron tightened his hold on the creature's claw and twisted it painfully.

"BECAUSE IT SURE AS PIT WASN'T PRIMUS!"

The sudden twist caused the Predacon to reflexively crash into the ground, shrieking in pain. Megatron climbed upon the beast's belly laying into its head with the mace.

"Are you not weary!? Have you no fury!? How long will you quietly accept crumbs, while those elite spark-eaters gorge themselves on the plus of Primus?!"

The creature squealed pathetically. Megatron retracted his mace, his servo re-emerging as he leveled his cannon at the Predacon's head.

"How long will you believe that you are destined to live in misery because of a function YOU HAVE NO CHOICE DECIDING!?"

The power built up in the cannon, glowing with a deadly purple shade.

"How long will you believe the Senate holds any real power over you, when they live every joor in fear of what will happen when bots like you, crushed beneath their heel, finally cry out and say "ENOUGH"!"

The blast tore through the Predacon's helm, shattering its processor and rendering it offline. It let loose one last mighty roar, then fell silent.

There was no cheer from the audience. Everyone was quiet, awaiting Megatron's words.

Megatron stepped off the creature and slowly, almost tenderly, touched the torn head. He closed his optics, it almost seemed as if he felt guilty for his victory.

He looked up at the crowd, his voice softer, but no less commanding.

"You're the only one who can answer that. Therefore, ask. Never stop asking yourself. Ask it when you work, when you fuel, when you lie on your berth. Ask it with every step you take, every roll of the wheel, every turn of the wing! Ask yourself, ask and ask and ask until you get an answer, when YOU will finally decide ENOUGH IS ENOUGH?!"

His voice boomed over the speakers.

"They call us liars, dissenters, spreaders of deception. They have called me thus, and all those who've realized the truth."

He strode proudly across the sands of the pit.

"But I will not deny it! If it is my words that cause them such distress, then I shall never deny their accusations!"

He flung his servos out defiantly.

"For if speaking truth is a deception, THEN WE ARE GLADLY GUILTY!!"

The applause that came from the crowd was different than the ones before. It wasn't the wild rabble of a crowd seeking to be entertained, it was the roar of a people who felt as if someone had spoken straight to their sparks. 

Starscream had not been part of that roar. Intrigued as he was by Megatron, there was one thing about him that nagged his processor, something that made his tanks churn.

"Hey Screamer..."

Skywarp offered up a small slip gasped between his middle and index digit. Starscream took the piece and unfolded it.

“We’re having a party..."

Inside was the Decepticon symbol.

“...and you’re invited.”

***

"And this'll all heal perfectly?" asked Otto, "On its own?"

"Of course." Starscream boasted, "My nano-bots auto-repair most minor injuries. It's the larger gashes that need patchwork."

"Your biolog-...technol-..?" Otto paused, considering, "Your physiology never ceases to amaze me."

Otto sliced the metal mesh he'd loosened from the backseat of Starscream's cockpit.

"Ow!" he shrieked, "Careful, dimwatt!"

"Sorry. This ought to be enough to finish the job."

"It better."

Starscream had managed to limp far enough west for them to find an isolated mountains range to hide in. Perching his alt-mode atop a ledge, Starscream found it made quite the excellent lookout should anyone come near, though judging by how deep in Wales they were, the odds of someone stumbling upon them was very unlikely. Starscream still remained stuck in his plane mode, but fortunately, after removing the limp form of Griffith at Starscream's insistence, Otto set to work handling the repairs properly. 

Unravelling a portion of the wire mesh taken from Starscream's seat, Otto climbed into the open compartment on the cabin floor. Threading the metal through small holes he'd managed to punch into the edges of the damaged fuel lines, he gradually tightened it together; as if sowing in a patch on torn clothing. The mesh acted as a type of grafting material, akin to how humans might conduct a skin-graft. After tightening the weave and reinforcing it three times over, Otto stepped out of the cockpit and onto the wing to retrieve the material he'd asked Starscream to melt, by heating his afterburner. 

"Remind me why you insist on putting that revolting sludge on my fuel lines?"

"Rubber. It's called rubber, and it's derived from tree sap; there's nothing revolting about it. It'll plug up any leftover openings that might be in your lines, the best guarantee that you'll have no leaks. I am sacrificing a shoe for this, so maybe show a little gratitude."

Starscream merely grunted in response, returning to his silence whilst Otto carefully applied the hot rubber. Scraping and dabbing it with a twisted piece of cloth torn from his pocket liner, he quickly plugged up all remaining openings, making sure the line was watertight. Once satisfied, he set the leftover shoe aside to cool down and looked over his work.

"That should do it. We'll let it sit a minute. In the meantime, I'll see to reconnecting that t-cog."

"I must say, for a flesh creature, your particular breed of humans are quite competent with repairs."

Otto smirked as he examined the damaged wires, "Best engineers in the world, bar none."

"Really...?" Starscream mused, as if considering something.

"Oh, before I forget, how's your fuel levels looking?"

"Not ideal, but it'll get us back to your residence without issue."

"Good."

Otto went back to his repairs. For a while there was a calm silence between the two.

"So," Otto asked casually, "Who's Megatron?"

Starscream was totally taken off guard by Otto's question. 

"Wh...what?" 

"Back when we were cornered, you pleaded to someone named Megatron. You sounded pretty distraught. Is he a being like you?"

"That's none of your business."

Otto paused, stared at Starscream's control panel, then threw down the tools in a huff.

"Hey, what gives?!"

"No, no, it's fine." Otto frowned, crossing his arms, "You don't want to talk? I don't want to repair you."

"What?!"

"It just gets a little irritating when I'm nearly turned into a meat pie because you never bothered to mention the rather important tendency to have nervous breakdowns!"

"That-! It wasn't a breakdown!"

"Oh, so you just wanted to get shot in the face by a tank, is that it?!"

"Shut up!"

"Or is that yet another thing I'm gonna' have to repair before the end of the day?"

"Don't pretend like you know anything about me!"

"You're right! How the hell could I!? You never tell me anything!"

How would I know!? You don't tell me anything!

Starscream went silent, taken aback by Otto's wording. After a moment, he laughed irritably.

"As if you'd play the waiting game when your precious family's still waiting on the mainland."

"Oh, I don't know," Otto looked back inside the opening, "I'm a pretty good mechanic. If I tinker around your insides, I'm sure I'll figure something out."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Come to think of it," Otto taunted, fiddling with one of the wires, "What does this wire do?"

Starscream shuddered with fury.

"Listen here you miserable fluid-filled, elastic-framed, gelatinous...gear-gumming-!"

"How 'bout this one?"

"STOP TOUCHING MY INTERNALS!"

"You know," Otto glanced at the cockpit panel, "I actually thought you were terrifying when we first met. A downright Eldridge horror from beyond the stars. But now I'm starting to see you're little more than an overgrown, tin-wrapped toddler. Too big, too strong, and too immature for his own good."

"Fix my slagging t-cog this instant, or I'll make you sorry, I swear!"

"I'm sure you will, but you'll have to transform first."

Starscream grumbled, furiously flapping his ailerons and rudders in frustration, before finally falling silent.

He gave a heavy sigh.

"Megatron's...an acquaintance."

"Nobody reacts that way because of an "acquaintance.""

The plane shook with anger. Otto didn't care. 

"He and I disagreed. Often."

Otto slowly picked up the tools. 

"On what?"

"Many things."

"Be specific."

Otto crawled inside the panel, getting in position to work on the t-cog connection. He waited for Starscream to start speaking before working on the cables.

"Let's just say I didn't exactly have the strongest confidence in his...competence as a leader."

"Leader?" Otto furrowed a brow, "Leader of what?"

There was a long silence. So long, that Otto halted his repairs, silently urging an answer.

"You probably have no idea what functionalism is, do you?"

"Functionalism?"

Starscream sighed again.

"It's the belief that your frame determines your function, ergo your function determines your fate. It was the institution by which Cybertron ran for many cycles. Forged with a mining frame? You mined energon. A shuttle frame? you transport cargo. A seeker? You hound recourses as a military craft. You emerged into a caste and belonged to that caste indefinitely. It was your duty to society, that was what you'd do." 

Otto continued repairs, his body working flawlessly on its own as his attention was completely enveloped by Starscream's words.

"Megatron belonged to one of the lowest castes in the system. The hardship he endured pounded him into the strongest mech I've ever known. He sought to break down that old system, free bots from functionalism, and to his credit, he was no quibbler. Even I once thought he might actually pull it off, but..."

Otto felt a shudder ripple through the frame. But this time it had not been of anger, but of dread.

"...he was...erratic. Volatile. Downright sadistic at times. Even before he came to power, his obsessive nature put me on edge. I just hadn't realized how deep the bug ran back then."

Otto thoughts drifted to a certain leader.

I can imagine.

"Is that why you crashed?" he asked aloud, "Were you trying to get away from him?"

"I was trying to get away from the debris, stupid. I told you that."

"No, I mean before that, travelling in space. Were you on the run?"

Starscream paused.

"I was looking for sources of energy."

Otto looked up curiously.

"What for?"

"Because by that point, Cybertron was dying." 

There was a painful silence that followed. Otto felt he'd extracted enough from Starscream and continued repairs, demanding no more from him. Fortunately, the t-cog connection had been easier to fix, it was clear where the wires needed to go, and the dormant energy no longer shocked him, as Starscream wasn't actively trying to transform. Once completed, Otto crawled from the compartment and onto the wing.

"Alright. Just let me scoot off, then give it a shot."

Otto slid off the engine, quickly turning to see if the repairs were successful. To his great joy and relief, Starscream effortlessly shifted into his root-mode. He immediately checked his movements and features, pleased that everything had transformed properly. He quickly raised his arm and was delighted to find the gun emerge smoothly and retract without problems.

Otto suddenly noticed, with great horror, that Griffith had disappeared.

"Where is he?"

"Hmm?"

"Where is he?! I set Griffith down right here!"

"Oh, him." Starscream casually gestured towards the bottom of the mountain, "He's over there."

Otto turned to see, far below the cliff face, staggering through the rugged grassy terrain, Griffith fleeing, already having made an incredible amount of progress considering he'd climbed down a mountain.

Otto turned in disbelief.

"Were you gonna tell me at any point?!"

"After that slag you pulled, I saw no reason to distract you further from repairs."

Otto was ready to blow a gasket, but he bit his tongue as both palms dragged against his face, pulling the bottom of his eyelids down. He clasped them together in a prayer-like fashion. Then, with a strained smile and a barely hidden tone of frustration, he gestured towards the distant Griffith.

"Well would you like to go GET him?"

Starscream gave Otto an unimpressed stare, before rolling his optics and casually sliding off of the ledge, which was little more that a high drop for the mech. Casually striding down the hill, he easily caught up to Griffith who, even at that distance, Otto could tell was scrambling in terror from the titan. Starscream casually grabbed him and strolled back. Disappearing behind the ledge, Otto stepped back as he saw Starscreams's servo grab the ledge and lift his scowling face into view.

"I've gotta say, for such puny organics..."

He raised up his other servo, grasped in which was the shrieking Griffith.

"...you sure make a lot of noise."

Starscream unceremoniously tossed Griffith onto the ledge, sending him rolling painfully into a nearby flat rock.

"Watch it!" Otto barked, "You trying to kill him too?!"

He walked up to Griffith, gently touching his shoulders.

"Hey, you alright?"

Griffith turned and pounced on him, grabbing and slamming him to the ground. The two rolled back and forth, sharing blows, grasping, punching, in what quickly became a desperate fight for survival. As Griffith clawed at his neck, Otto tilted his head towards Starscream, who stood by at the ledge, leaning on his servo and watching with an almost bored expression.

"A little HELP?!" Otto choked out.

"Mmmm..." Starscream mused tauntingly.

"STARSCREAM-!"

Griffith began choking Otto more vigorously. Luckily, Otto's groping hand found its way to a rock, which was promptly bashed against Griffith's jaw. It was enough to be released, but not enough to stop the fight. Griffith managed to get up and kick Otto in the head, sending him sprawling to the ground. Grabbing a large branch from a nearby tree, Griffith raised it, intending to club Otto's head in.

Starscream, having thus far taken no part in the squabble, finally curled his index digit and flicked the branch right out of Griffith's hand, crunching it to pieces against a rock. Griffith whirled around, as if suddenly realizing the massive being could, in fact, move of its own accord. Starscream looked to Otto, who was gasping on his hands and knees.

"Get up. Playtime's over."

Otto glared daggers at Starscream as he rubbed his throat. As he approached Griffith, the man backed away, almost seeming ready to fight again.

"Ah-ah-ah..." Starscream warned, "I wouldn't if I were you."

Otto approached, clearly irate, before pulling the shoe strings he'd retrieved after repairing Starscream from his pocket. He went behind Griffith and tied his hands up.

"Now," Otto gasped, pushing Griffith to his knees, "We can have a civil conversation."

Starscream climbed up, sitting Indian style and planting his servo on his cheek.

This should be pretty quick. he mused.

It was not quick.

Starscream was bored out of his processor. The servo, still pressed against his faceplate, was the only thing keeping him from falling into stasis.

"Oh, for the love of-we are not with the Nazi government!"

"I don't care what you're with! You think I'd betray my own country to the likes of you!?"

Otto rubbed his face. On one had, he couldn't help but admire Griffith's resolve, especially considering the circumstances he was in. But on the other, he couldn't help but feel frustrated that his explanations weren't getting through thanks their prisoner's pig-headedness.

"It's not like we're asking you to give up any weapon information," Otto reasoned, "We just want to know about your father's travels!"

"I'm not telling you anything, you damned Kraut!"

Otto glanced at Starscream, it was clear he was running out of patience.

"Look, if you know anything about the ship, you'd better talk or-"

"I'd rather die!"

"Okay, you know what?" Starscream groaned, getting to his feet, "We're wasting time."

Without warning, Starscream grabbed Griffith. He stretched out his servo, staring far towards the sky in the distance.

"What th-?! Put me down!" Griffith half-demanded, half-pleaded, "Put me-!"

Starscream hurtled Griffith through the air like a professional-league baseball player, sending him soaring and screaming into the distance. Otto's jaw dropped in disbelief as Starscream held a servo up, shading his optics.

"Whew," he whistled, "Look at him go."

"You killed him!"

"Oh, please. You forget: I'm a scientist. I've observed what you were able to handle." Starscream smirked, walking up to the ledge, "And I've run the numbers."

Leaping from the ledge, he transformed and zoomed after Griffith. Otto could only stay behind, staring up in utter bafflement. He threw out his arms in exasperation.

"WHAT NUMBERS???"

Griffith plummeted, gasping and shrieking his head off as he realized there was no way out of his predicament. He was going to die.

Or at least, he would've, if a crimson jet hadn't suddenly flown up and, with artful flying unmatched by any human, slowed to the rate of Griffith's descent; enough to pluck him right out of the sky and into his cockpit, without so much as a sprain. Before Griffith could react, Starscream's seatbelts jumped up and clicked around Griffith, whose hands were still bound, effectively trapping him.

"So, you'd rather die, eh?" Strascream growled through the speakers. "How about we give you a few options?"

Speeding towards the mountains, Starscream flew violently through the perilous landscape, being sure to bring his cockpit close to the jagged rocks, so Griffith could see the danger.

"Perhaps you'd like me to dash your soft body against these cliffs?"

He zoomed across a nearby lake, low enough so that spray flung over his frame, making it look like they were crashing into the water.

"Or maybe hold you underwater 'til you slowly drown!"

Griffith wriggled and wrestled in his constraints. He was determined to hold fast, but the claustrophobia and helpless terror was quickly devouring what courage he had.

Starscream pulled up from the water, zooming towards the mountaintops. He spun hard, the centrifugal force pulling at Griffith's body mercilessly.

"Or is that too quick? Should I slowly crush you to death? Or let you freeze? How about suffocating in the stratosphere?"

"Stop!" Griffith pleaded, "Stop it! Stop it, please! I beg you!"

"You gonna' tell me what I want to know?"

"No!" he whimpered, "No, no!"

"Then we still have a failure to communicate, don't we?"

Starscream kicked his engines into high power and soared straight into the air, flying higher and higher. Not bothering to seal his cabin, the air slowly grew thinner as the temperature dropped, leaving Griffith shivering and gasping in fear, threatening to pass out.

"You're looking a bit pale, fleshling," taunted Starscream, leveling out and turning upside down, "Maybe you need some fresh air!"

Flipping his canopy open, he released the restraints and sent Griffith falling out of the sky. The freezing wind whipped past the man as his poor heart threatened to beat its way out of his chest. He screamed for help, a useless endeavor he knew, but he was unable to prevent his body from reflexively panicking.

Starscream, falling alongside him, shifted back into his root-mode, casually observing his distress with a bemused eye.

"See? Isn't that much better?"

Starscream stuck a digit out and, with a mere brush against his leg, sent Griffith spinning as wildly as a gyroscope.

"Weeee!" cheered the mech with malicious glee.

"Alright!" screamed Griffith, "Alright, I'll talk!"

"Hmm?" Starscream feigned, leaning towards him and cupping a servo around his audial, "What was that?"

"I said I'll talk! I'll talk, just please, PLEASE stop this torture!"

Starscream shifted back into alt-mode and, just as before, was able to match the speed of the fall as Griffith re-entered his cockpit. curving into a flight pattern, he quickly located the cliff where Otto waited and shifted back into root-mode mid air, sticking a perfect landing.

He smirked smugly, eyeing the prisoner locked in his chassis. 

"I think he's quite ready to spill his internals now."

Griffith, shaking like a leaf, eyes still quivering in shock, lurched forward and vomited generously onto the control panel.

***

No words could do justice to the horrified look of disgust on Starscream's face as he sat chest deep in a nearby lake, washing out his insides as best he could.

"Why are organics so disgusting??" he whimpered.

"Serves you right, you psychopath!" Otto chided at the shore, rubbing Griffith's back, who was still mentally recovering from the experience.

"Listen," advised Otto gently, "You'd best tell him what he wants. It's not like I have any control over him."

Griffith looked to Otto, and, finally calming himself enough to talk coherently, recounted his tale.

"I can only give you what I can remember. He died when I was a boy, you understand, but..."

He swallowed, trembling for a while before regaining himself.

"...there was one story I remember, one he only ever told me. He'd been a young man when he'd travelled to America. Went to the west coast. To Washington. I remember because, for the longest time, I thought he'd gone to the capital, but he was talking about the state Washington, not the city. Besides, as I understand, there are no mountains near the capital."

Starscream, hearing Griffith talk and having, mostly, finished cleaning his cabin, rose out of the lake and kneeled close, eager to listen. However his looming presence only sent Griffith spiraling into a terrified trembling.

"Just tell him the truth," Otto tried to reassure, "And no harm will come to you."

Griffith struggled to regain himself, continuing once he finally managed to do so.

"That's where he went to: a mountain. A big mountain. There was a great deal of tourism in the area, it was very popular according to him; very famous in that region. He decided to go hiking during his stay, explore the terrain of the land. 

But there was snow, and he was ignorant to the danger. He foolishly didn't take a guide, or a companion, or even tell someone where he was going. He fell into a small, but deep hole; the mouth of a cave. Somehow he managed to survive, but the ice had made it impossible to climb out the way he came in. For hours he called, but no one would answer, and he knew his chances of discovery were impossibly slim.

He stayed by the entrance, drinking water from the melted snow until night came. He nearly froze to death when darkness fell, but there was a strange glow that came from within. Stupid as it was, he ventured in, and came upon a trail of strange, illuminated fluid that lit the darkness. And saw..."

Griffith paused, his eyes filling with terrified awe, as if he himself were hearing his own story for the first time.

"...He saw a ship. A great, monstrous ship. He said it towered higher than our fir forests, taller than any building he'd seen in his lifetime. There were three exhaust ports, so massive, they could hold a rugby field several times over. He realized the liquid he'd seen earlier had been a kind of fuel, leaking from the craft. He doused a cloth in it, wrapped it around a walking stick he'd brought, and lit it for a makeshift torch. He saw an opening further on, leading into the ship, and saw...massive, metallic beings. Beings like...him."

Griffith gestured in terror at Starscream. Otto, realizing the implication, grew more horrified as he listened to Griffith's tale.

"All splayed out, lying on the ground motionless, as if sleeping. He touched one, and told me, with great terror, he'd felt a stirring, as if someone had been disturbed in their sleep. They bore marks. Some violet, some red, but notable symbols, as if to mark different guards or battalions. 

He fled from the ship blindly and would've been lost to the darkness had the strange fuel not burned far longer than what should've been possible. After, what he later learned, had been three days of traveling, only subsiding off of cave water, and no food to offer strength, he managed to find a small exit, thanks in no small part to the cave drafts showing the path by way of the torch. He made it out safely, but did return later with a team to try and find the openings, but never did. The snow had made the landscape impossible to identify, and the secret was his alone. 

He never told that story to anyone but me. He knew no one would ever believe him. I certainly didn't."

Griffith shook as he beheld the terror of Starscream.

"To think, that story...all this time-"

"Where's the mountain?" Starscream growled.

Griffith trembled at the voice.

"I-in Washington state. Near the west coast."

"Where specifically."

Griffith swallowed hard. The words felt dry on his throat.

"I...I don't know."

Otto felt his heart beat increase slightly. He glanced at Starscream, whose expression clearly indicated he wasn't satisfied.

He reached for Griffith.

"I don't know! I don't know! I SWEAR I don't know!" Griffith curled up, shivering in fear, "It was one of the tallest mountains in the state! he never told me the name! I swear! That's all I know!"

Starscream hesitated a moment, then pulled away. 

"Let's go."

"Oh, uh...right." Otto answered reluctantly, going over to Griffith and untying the binds behind his back.

Griffith looked confused.

"What're you doing?"

Otto held up the thin leather straps.

"Getting my shoelaces back."

"Hurry up!" barked the mech.

Otto jogged up to Starscream and climbed in. Griffith quickly realized what was happening.

"You-You're just gonna leave me here!?"

Starscream rolled his optics.

"You're real quick on the update, aren't ya'?" 

Otto looked sympatheticlly to Griffith.

"It's nothing personal."

"What am I supposed to do?! How do you expect me to get home?!"

Starscream looked back with a cold condescending sneer.

"Hitchhike."

Without another word, he transformed into his jet form and zoomed into the air. Griffith could only stare in utter confusion, before deciding the best direction to walk. The weather was fair and the land not terribly treacherous. He'd reach civilization. Eventually.

High in the air, Otto's mind wracked Griffith's words back and forth. His description of the ship, of the underground passage, but most of all, of the creatures that were of the same nature as Starscream.

Looking out of the cockpit, he noticed something he'd long ignored.

"Starscream."

"Hmm?" 

"What is that symbol on your wings?"

"Excuse me?"

"That purple symbol, it looks like a face. You tried to hide under our marks. What does it stand for?"

Starscream didn't respond. Otto didn't need him to.

"You didn't come here alone. Did you?"

No answer.

"How many more are there?"

Nothing.

"Two?"

"..."

"Ten?"

"..."

"Twenty?

"..."

"Fifty?"

"How many humans does it take," Starscream answered cautiously, "Before it's considered a war?"

Otto fell limp in his seat, the gravity of his realization closing in on him.

"Is this Megatron...among them?"

It went quiet for a long while.

"...Probably."

***

Chapter Text

Skyfire tinkered away on Starscream's recorder, having requested it back after remembering some minor adjustments he wanted to make before the trip. Starscream had handed it over without complaint before leaving to take care of some weatherproofing upgrades needed for his frame.

Within the small dorm, a plethora of supplies practically imprisoned Skyfire within the tight space. He'd picked up everything after his departure from Kaon, making sure to procure every possible piece of scientific equipment they might need. Data loggers, data pads, sample containers, soldering irons, precisions staffs, drills, picks, chisels, rangefinders, beakers, burettes, flasks, vials, droppers, pipettes, burners, butane torches, magnetic stirrers, tongs, tweezers, brushes, scales, sanitation equipment, neutralizing agents, protective servo and helm-wear, medical mesh, testing kits, rulers, timers, thermometers, thermostats, microscopes, telescopes, spectroscopes, photometers, star trackers, centrifuges, a flow cytometer, and even a Geiger counter. If there was one thing Skyfire could guarantee, it was that they'd have all the necessary tools for the job, wherever they ended up.

Skyfire knew his alt-mode had substantial storage capacity, but he still wanted to make sure everything was packed correctly. He'd learned early on from his cargo-transport days, the hard way no less, what a disaster it could be when fragile items weren't properly tied down. Luckily, he'd have Starscream to assist, and it was reassuring to know the seeker was a stickler for proper equipment care.

Fiddling with the recorder, he was surprised to find it was already storing a significant amount of data. Hitting the play button, he watched as a small projection emerged to display the footage.

"Sorry." a recording of himself apologized to the camera, offering an open servo, "He came in so fast, that was all I could think to do."

Skyfire quickly recognized the moment as the instant after he'd shoved Starscream out of the way to keep from getting knocked into by the drunken wrecker at the colosseum. 

"Must've turned on by accident when I pushed him." he muttered aloud to himself. 

Curious, he viewed the footage, but quickly found himself skipping ahead to avoid watching the fight.

Maybe he did some sightseeing. He did say he would stop by his own city-state.

Skyfire fast-forwarded through the footage until he could tell Starscream was no longer in the colosseum. Pressing play again, he was surprised to see Starscream still with his trine-mates, walking through a dark labyrinth of greasy metal walls and unwelcoming, metallic corridors.

"This...can't be Vos?" Skyfire wondered aloud.

The conversation from the recording cut off his thoughts.

"Can we forfeit this adventure?" Thundercracker shuddered, "This place seriously gives me the creeps."

"Quit whining," Skywarp snickered, "It's just up ahead."

"You said that fifteen kliks ago."

"And I stand by it."

"I swear, Warp," growled Starscream, "If this ends up being yet another massive waste of time-"

" Screamer, trust me. After tonight, neither of you will ever see things the same way again."

Skyfire felt a little guilty, watching this private adventure between Starscream and his trine. He knew it was incredibly rude and invasive of him, he'd already hurt Starscream before by prying, but a deep curiosity forbade him from hitting the skip button. 

***

The three seekers ventured further into the maze of back-alleys, which grew more ominous and decrepit with every step. Finally Skywarp stopped, looked around carefully, before raising the Decepticon token into the air, remaining perfectly motionless.

"What are you doing?" Starscream asked, in a tone most annoyed.

"Shh."

Skywarp continued to hold the coin high above his helm.

Suddenly there was a whoosh of air and the coin was snatched from Skywarp's servo. Thundercracker and Starscream jumped back as they looked up and saw a silhouetted, avian form circle back and perch on one of the high walls, holding the Decepticon token in its beak-like mouth. It stared at the three with narrowed red optics, studying their faceplates for a time, before resuming its flight and disappearing into a small vent opening in one of the walls. 

A low rumble alerted the trine to a section of wall, which opened to reveal a set of stairs leading down. Starscream and Thundercracker, against their better judgement, tentatively followed Skywarp as he descended to the bottom, where a thick, reinforced metal door awaited.

Skywarp knocked.

TOK. TokTOK. TokTOK.

A small, thin viewing window shot open. A red optic stared out. 

“Rise up.” muttered Skywarp.

The window slammed closed. A series of locks were released on the other side before the door was raised by a massive gray and purple mech, three helms taller than any of the seekers. With two-pronged claws for servos and a single red optic, the obvious victim of empurata stared wordlessly at the three as they made their way inside.

Starscream heard voices reverberate further down as he continued to follow Skywarp. They emerged into a large room, cramped with bots of various functions. Ground frames, flight frames, vehicons, warriors, wreckers, brawlers, miners, laborers, transport-frames, all gathered under the mark of the Decepticon. And, at the far end of the room, was Megatron himself.

The gladiator conversed with Swindle, Onslaught, and Brawl, as Soundwave stood by, patiently waiting. Surprisingly, Starscream could detect no animosity between Soundwave and the Combaticons, despite their vicious clash earlier that day; on the contrary, they almost seemed friendly with one another. Though out of earshot, it was clear Megatron spoke to the trio in a calm, yet spirited manner, completely captivating the three with his proposition, whatever it might be. 

As the trine drew closer, worming their way through the crowd, Starscream saw the same avian-esque cassette-bot fly from a vent in the ceiling and land on Soundwave's arm, depositing Skywarp's token within his master's servo. The animalistic bot leaned close, as if whispering something to Soundwave, before flying back through the vent.

Soundwave in turn whispered to Megatron, whose attention was redirected towards the seekers. He looked back to the Combaticons, wrapping the conversation up quickly.

"...it goes without saying, the decision must be unanimous. But should you agree, understand that there's no turning back. You will commit, no matter the cost."

The Combaticons looked amongst each other, unsure. Swindle gave a curt nod.

"We'll talk it over."

Megatron turned, leaving the three as he trudged towards the newly arrived seekers; Soundwave shadowing close behind. Each powerful step silently commanding the other bots to move out of his way as he closed in, grabbing Skywarp's servo with domineering familiarity.

"I'm surprised you didn't "pop" in like you usually do."

"Ah well, you know." Skywarp gestured to his trine-mates, "Couldn't leave these dumbbells waiting in the wings."

Megatron looked to Thundercracker, offering a handshake. Thundercracker awkwardly took it, startled when Megatron clasped it firmly between both servos.

"Thundercracker, I presume. Skywarp's told me much about you."

"That's..." Thundercracker eyed Skywarp, "Not reassuring."

"Believe me, he's only spoken highly of your competent temperament and prowess on the battlefield; even without the use of your outlier ability."

Thundercracker's optics went wide as he stared at Skywarp; his faceplate etched in a look of aghast betrayal. Knowledge of their outlier abilities was one of the most closely guarded secrets the trine kept. Discovery meant risking empurata, yet Skywarp had seemingly shared it with this questionable mech without hesitation. Even as his trine-mates cast accusatory glares at Skywarp, not a drop of guilt or regret passed across his faceplate.

Either way, the matter held no concern for Megatron as he turned his attention to the final seeker.

"Starscream."

A strangely reflexive twitch jerked Starscream's attention towards the battle-worn mech.

"I confess," Megatron extended a welcoming servo, "I've been looking forward to meeting you most of all."

Starscream only gave a moment of regard to the open palm.

"Sorry." he replied snidely, "But my mentor always did say never to trust strangers."

Skywarp and Thundercracker found themselves going dead silent, unsure of how Megatron would react. To their relief however, the gladiator merely smirked with indifference.

"Sound advice." he lowered his servo, "By any chance, your mentor wouldn't happen to go by the designation Cryak, would she?"

Starscream balked.

"How...? Who-?"

"I was formatted for the mines; my fate was to live and die in those endless holes. I watched as fellow cold-constructs were crushed by machinery, cave-ins, smelted alive by furnaces, or simply worked into functionless scrapheaps. For a long, long time, I thought nothing of it. I had no perception of anything outside that kind of life. It was simply the way things were. Until I met her. We worked in the same subdivision back at our home-sector. By volunteering for, as even they described it, "suicidal expeditions", she managed to pull herself free from that life, though it was no less merciless an occupation. Whenever she came back, she spoke much of Cybertron's beauty and deeply lamented its corruption."

Megatron tilted his helm back slightly, his gaze drifting.

"Don't misunderstand, I owe my ascendency to several bots who helped me reach this point. But she was the one who opened my optics to the truth. Her love, her patriotism, it's never left me."

Starscream lowered his helm, "That's Cryak alright."

"I was aware of her assignment as mentor to a young seeker." Megatron explained, "She'd informed me of your attendance at the academy before going immersant. For your sake however, she never divulged any details regarding your appearance or designation. But it was never needed, given what she told of your character..."

A bitter taste burned in Starscream's mouth.

"...She spoke often of your innate brilliance, of your passion, your pride. Said you were someone who could love Cybertron with the same devotion as her, possibly greater. Prior to her final departure, she urged me to seek you out, trusting I'd find you when the time was right..."

He felt a past-bound vitriol rise in his systems.

"...When Skywarp claimed one of his trine-mates got accepted into the Academy, I was hesitant to believe it wasn't a fabricated boast. You must understand, a mech in my position must be wary whenever things seem a little too convenient. But after seeing the broadcast of you at the award ceremony with Senator Shockwave, looking exactly as Skywarp described, I knew there was no mistaking it. "

Megatron cast an approving glare towards the black and violet seeker.

"He did well to bring you to me."

The flutter of wings and the look of elated satisfaction on Skywarp's faceplate made Starscream want to purge. Megatron turned back.

"I'm glad to finally meet the mech she spoke so often about."

"Funny," spat Starscream coldly, "She never mentioned you once."

Skywarp's wings and faceplate collapsed in horror as an awkward silence befell the group. It was so tense, even Soundwave was compelled to take a step back. The oppressive atmosphere was only saved when Skywarp noticed two lavender-colored bots in the crowd.

"Blitz! Astro!" He exclaimed, grabbing Thundercracker and escaping the strenuous exchange, "TC you gotta meet my buds, you know, the triple-changers I told you about-? "

"What about Screamer?" Thundercracker hissed.

"I think it's best if they conduct introductions without us nearby."

Thundercracker glanced back worriedly.

"For once," he mused, "I agree."

Starscream moved to follow his trine-mates, but the sudden outstretched servo of Megatron blocked his path.

"I'd hoped you and I might talk in private. There's much I wish to discuss..." 

Starscream opened his mouth, but found the words dissipate as Megatron loomed closer.

"...It would mean a great deal to me, seeing as no one else was ever that close to Cryak."

Uncomfortable though he was, Starscream lowered his gaze relentingly. 

"The way those facilitating your fight scrambled to shut down your little speech, it would imply they really didn't want the crowds hearing what you had to say." he narrowed his optics, "But then it begs the question: If your "sermons" are so problematic, why do they keep letting you get away with it?"

"They don't."

The gladiator's faceplate flashed with a look that harbored such deep, pained enmity, it managed to send an unconscious shudder throughout Starscream's frame. 

The emotion fled as quickly as it'd come. 

"But alas," Megatron smirked, gesturing to himself, "I pull in too much revenue."

Somehow, against his will, Starscream felt a laugh crawl from his vocal components.

***

The footage remained trapped within Starscream's perspective, making it very hard for Skyfire to fully discern his friend's reaction to the events on display. But if his responses and tone were anything to go by, it was clear Starscream had no interest in dealing with these Decepticons or their motives.

Megatron in particular was difficult to figure out. On the one hand, he seemed unusually intelligent and introspective for a miner, and his magnetic disposition completely juxtaposed his reputation as a ruthless gladiator. But then, reasoned Skyfire, how many bots had dismissed both him and Starscream's capabilities due to their function? Was it really unreasonable to assume the same held true for Megatron as well?

Yet something about how he carried himself, how he spoke, the flash of his optics, the curve of his mouth, even the manner in which he shook hands, caused a twinge of unease to ripple through the shuttle.

Intrigued now more than ever, Skyfire watched as Starscream was led to a private room, accompanied by both Megatron and Soundwave.

***

"I thought you wanted a private meeting." 

Megatron took note of the remarkably unsubtle glare directed at Soundwave, who dutifully stood guard beside the doorway.

"Soundwave is merely present to ensure we have no unwelcome eavesdroppers."

"So him and his little ornithopter are managing security?" Starscream sneered at the blue mech, "Quite the arsenal of tinker-toys you've got at your disposal."

Soundwave remained at his post, but a slight tremble couldn't help but reverberate across his frame.

"I'd advise you not to mock Soundwave's family so lightly."

Megatron's vague warning elicited a raised brow-ridge from Starscream.

"Senator Shockwave made mention of a mech who wanted to do away with Cybertron's corruption. Someone who believed it could only be healed by uprooting the entire system. I don't suppose you'd know who that might be?" asked the seeker sarcastically.

Megatron gave a knowing look, but did not answer. 

"But it leads me to wonder," Starscream continued, "Why you're not working with Shockwave directly. He clearly shares your sentiments, and he's hardly reluctant about helping unpopular allies. Wouldn't your cause be better served with him at your disposal? "

"I respect and admire Senator Shockwave's efforts, but his empathy blinds him, prevents him from doing what needs to be done. I fear, if he persists in his ignorance, it will only bring him to disaster. But even if I'm wrong, even if he's in no real danger, it doesn't change the fact only one Senator openly resists this system's corruption. The only path to true change, is action."

"And spewing generic rhetoric at some back-channel meet-and-greets is somehow gonna' achieve that?" Starscream scoffed, "Or did you use up your best material at the colosseum?"

Irritation rose within Megatron's spark, and yet a part of him couldn't help but applaud how Starscream was perceptive enough to realize how ineffective the aforementioned tactics were in the long run.

"Assuming you've seen Soundwave's fight earlier today, you've already familiarized yourself with the Combaticons." 

The seeker raised a brow-ridge, and gave a nod.

"But do you have any prior acquaintance with the Constructicons?"

Starscream blinked before shaking his helm. Megatron strode up to a one-way window adorning a large section of one of the room's walls, pointing into the throng of his followers. 

"See those bots? The ones with the green and violet frames?"

Starscream walked over and looked. It wasn't hard to pick out the three bots whose color schemes matched flawlessly.

"What if I told you, both groups," Megatron turned, "Are combiners."

Starscream's faceplate dropped, staring in stunned silence at the mechs, then at Megatron. He couldn't help but cast a quick glance towards Soundwave, as if to affirm he'd heard correctly.

"That's impossible. The combiners were eradicated during the Quintesson war."

Megatron smirked.

"The few protoforms which emerged at the tail-end of that war survived. But before they'd even begun to truly comprehend their innate power, they were separated, by the powers-that-be no less."

Clasping both servos behind his back, Megatron paced the room, circling like a predator as he spoke.

"Two of the Combaticons and three of the Constructicons are currently locked away in maximum-security holding cells in the Iaconian prison. They allow a select number from each combiner team freedom on the outside, parole for good conduct, so long as they behave and do their function accordingly. Should they misbehave-"

"-They simply swap them out with a better-behaved member still in prison." Starscream deduced, "A taste of freedom grants just enough false hope to keep from rebelling."

"But as you can imagine," Megatron continued, "The definition of "good behavior" is subject to the whims of the Senate."

Starscream paused, considering.

"Reuniting both teams...that much power...would be devastating."

"The number of wrongfully imprisoned bots also contained there is not insignificant. If we manage to assimilate even a fraction of their numbers among our ranks, it'll be enough to purge this rotting system from Cybertron..." 

Megatron pulled back.

"...But our members belong to low-caste classes, they've neither the training nor the knowledge needed to execute such an operation. We need mechs skilled in strategy, familiar with military security, someone who can outsmart our opposers, who understands militaristic protocols. Someone educated, resourceful."

He held out an open servo.

"Someone like you."

Astounded at the brazenness of the proposal, Starscream laughed in disbelief.

"That prison," he explained incredulously, "Sits at the precipice of a bottomless gorge that plunges straight into the core of Cybertron. The only grounder path across is a narrow bridge, heavily guarded at all times, which requires a military escort, on and off the premises. All visitors are documented and spark-scanned upon entry, the elevators are equipped with security cameras and spark-sensors; no one can move between floors without detection. And that's not even considering what happens if the alarm gets raised. You're asking for the impossible."

"You were able to coordinate a surprise attack without detection using only your trine-mates. Wasn't that supposedly impossible too?"

Shocked Megatron knew of the incident, Starsrceam reasoned that Skywarp must've informed him directly.

"That," grunted Starscream, "Was a prank. What you're proposing is a full-scale assault."

"I'd hardly call blowing up a highly-monitored government facility a prank. And even if I did, the leap from one to the other is not so wide as you might believe."

"And you expect me to make that leap?"

"I would expect no less from the mech who'd be my second-in-command."

Starscream froze, stunned by the offer.

"You could be so much more Starscream." Megatron purred, "So much more than what this corroded system will ever grant you. It's a miracle you were able to climb as high as you have. Do you really think they'll allow a seeker to ascend any further? Sooner or later they'll impose their limit, and when they do, they'll ensure that you can never rise back up again. To them, you're just a military frame that's forgotten his place."

He leaned close, the words from his mouth honeyed and full of promise.

"But we both know that's a lie. Just another lie in a long string of deceptions. But you, Starscream, you have thoughts. Feelings. A mind of your own. A spark that makes you yourself. You. LIVE."

***

Skyfire watched in unspoken dread; deeply tempted to shut the video off then and there. Starscream's face wasn't visible in the footage, but from the stillness that followed Megatron's proposition, it didn't take a genius to realize he was seriously considering the offer before him. 

Skyfire couldn't bear not knowing his answer.

***

Starscream glanced at the floor, chuckling in slight bemusement.

“You talk well. Very well. It's easy to see how you amassed such a following..."

A smile crept across Megatron's faceplate. Once more he extended an open servo towards the seeker, eager to seal his acceptance.

Starscream raised his optics, regarded the open palm, and casually recoiled.

"...But I think I'll pass."

Megatron's smile vanished.

"Good luck with your little coup." Starscream sauntered towards the door, waiving a servo dismissively, "I'm sure Cryak would've been tickled by it-"

Soundwave blocked the exit, staring intensely at the seeker. Starscream tensed, eyeing Soundwave with an air of distain.

"I hold no love of the Senate," he muttered, "And morbid curiosity entices me not to interfere. On the contrary, I'm actually eager to see how this plays out."

Soundwave stared a moment longer, before raising his helm towards Megatron.

"HE SPEAKS THE TRUTH. "

The factual assurance of Soundwave's statement caught Starscream off guard. He stared, searching Soundwave's, when suddenly a realization clicked.

"I've heard rumors, but I never thought there'd actually be an outlier who could scan electrical impulses." he looked to Megatron, "You really have a knack for attracting dangerous mechs."

"If you sympathize with our cause, why won't you join it?"

Starscream carefully considered his reply.

"What's your end game in all this? What exactly are you hoping for? "

Megatron's optics grew distant, as if surveying a future only he could see.

"The universe and its vast riches have always been enough, for all to live in peace and impartial comfort. Functionalism has mangled that inherent balance. Those elite-caste filth gorge themselves, living in absurd opulence as they exert control that grows with every cycle. Yet they are not satisfied, cannot be satisfied; and they never will be, even as they continuously devour the lives of others. But we shall devour them. And when that time comes, the only law that will remain will be that of justice. Of true equality. Only then can prosperity and balance finally return to our home."

"And who'll enforce that balance? You?"

"YES."

The self-assured immediacy of Megatron's answer sent a shudder through Starscream's spinal strut.

"I find your contempt ironic." Megatron again gestured through the one-way window, "The decision to seek us out, hear of our purpose, join our cause, every single one of them made it of their own volition. For most, this was the first real choice they'd ever been given, and they wrestled deeply with that choice. I urged it of them, warning of what they might lose, what they'd sacrifice, and in spite of that not one, not one, has walked away. "

"First time for everything."

Megatron scowled.

"And then you, the one mech who's managed to attain some control over his station, who's been given a taste of luxury, within the span of a few nano-klicks, can only think to scoff."

"Because it's obvious you have no idea what you're actually doing." snapped the seeker, "This is their first real choice? What choice? "Die as a slave or live as a rebel?" Oh yeah, that's a real hard pick. I'm sure they wrestled a full ten klicks given that selection. Makes me wonder what would happen when a third, fourth, pit, infinite options become available..."

Starscream leaned forward,

"...See, that's the problem with your cute little utopia plan. When you actually give bots a real choice, there’s a very good chance they won’t choose you."

The mechs glared silently at each other, the air sparking with aggression even as Starscream sauntered backwards. 

"But like I said," he shrugged tauntingly, "You don't know what you're doing."

Starscream again made for the door, only to once more be blocked by Soundwave. The seeker vented, unenthused at the prospect of having to fight his way out.

"Let him go, Soundwave..."

Both Soundwave and Starscream glanced at Megatron who stood facing away, servos clasped behind his back, staring out the window at his followers below.

"...It's his choice, after all."

Reluctant at first, Soundwave slowly stepped aside. Starscream eyed him cautiously, suspicious for a moment, before clasping his servo around the handle.

"How disappointing."

A jolt of foreboding terror tore through Starscream. He froze, nearly looking back, before quickly shaking off the feeling and escaping the room.

Thundercracker stood quietly by, sipping on a cube of energon as Skywarp chatted up his two triple-changer friends. He was feeling very much like the third wheel of the conversation when he spotted Starscream clambering down the stairs, away from the room he'd been taken to. Seeing his chance to slip away, Thundercracker snaked through the crowd in hopes of intercepting his trine-mate. 

Up in the room, Megatron carefully followed Starscream's movements with keen interest, even as he heard Soundwave draw near.

"IS THIS WISE?"

"You question my judgement, Soundwave?"

Soundwave paused, considering.

"SOUNDWAVE WISHES: MERELY TO UNDERSTAND."

Upset as he was, Megatron couldn't help but be pleased by the answer.

"He won't reveal our location, you've guaranteed that. Besides, admitting any association with us only puts him at risk of incarceration. Even he knows that."

" SECURITY: NOT PRIMARY CONCERN. "

Megatron side-eyed his communications officer. It only took a moment of contact to understand his meaning.

"We'll manage. Besides, if he wants to go about matters his own way, then he's going to accept the consequences of that decision. If this comes back to bite him..." 

His optics narrowed, returning their glare to the seeker as he pressed a servo to the glass

"...He has only himself to blame."

The gladiator turned.

"That being said...Ravage."

Soundwave promptly opened his chest cavity, allowing Ravage to leap out, landing with near-silent grace beside their leader. Megatron knelt, gently stroking the cassette-bot's jaw, drawing a low rumble, like the smooth motor of a small engine, from the Felidae-frame.

"Faithful Ravage." came the soft command, "There's something very important I need you to do for me."

Within the crowd below, Thundercracker managed to catch up to Starscream, only to notice the deep consternation of his expression.

"Everything okay, 'Scream?"

But before Starscream could answer, Skywarp leapt in, swinging a servo over Starscream's neck=.

"Ain't he great?" he laughed loudly, clearly over-energized, "I knew you'd like him. I'm tellin' ya Scream, this guy's gonna be the best thing that ever happened to-"

"Warp." Starscream interjected, throwing the servo off his back and viciously prodding his trine-mate with a digit, "I saw your stupid match, I went to your stupid party, I listened to your delusional leader, now keep your end of the bargain and shut. The frag.-"

***

"Hey Sky."

The abrupt sound of present Starscream's voice sent Skyfire scrambling to stopping the recording before the seeker noticed. Fortunately, his massive frame was able to completely obscure both his panic and the footage display before Starscream had a chance to notice.

"Y-You're back." Skyfire fumbled, "Did...Did you get everything taken care of?"

"Sure did."

Starscream raised his servos above his helm, showing off an unexpected new set of attachments.

"Oh," Skyfire perked upon closer examination, "You went and got strut hooks."

"Eh, no point risking separation during rough patches. It'll certainly keep atmospheric entry and exiting simple."

Skyfire smirked, feigning offense.

"So I get to do all the heavy lifting while you piggy-back?"

"Hey, you're the one with the massive auxiliary tanks. I'm just being practical. I already figured we limit ourselves to G2V star systems, the photospheres ought to be no higher than six thousand drelms. Should keep us safe from any neutrino bursts, but, well..." he gave a shrug, "You never know." 

Starscream glanced over the supplies surrounding them.

"So...what else do we need?"

"It's all here. Once we figure out loading arrangements, we're good to go."

"And..." Starscream clenched his denta nervously, "What does that leave of our funding?"

"My request went through."

Starscream's faceplate dropped, stunned.

"You're kidding."

Skyfire smiled, shaking his helm.

"The Department of Scientific Research contribution proposal? THAT request?" 

Skyfire nodded.

"Seriously?" Starscream gaped, "How'd you get the references? The application interview?"

"Never needed it." Skyfire shrugged, "Got a call, flew over to the bureau, femme at the counter confirmed the approval, said to head to public-service terminal 13UR, depot-station F4C-K9D, I was able to pick up the majority of our equipment on the spot. No charge."

Starscream stood in a daze, mouth agape, still reeling from the notion.

"That's got to be the fastest I've ever heard of a proposal getting approved." he shook his head, amazed, "Like...record fast."

"You think that's crazy? Remember the green grounder? The one you tricked into driving up your alt-mode the day we met?"

It took Starscream a klick before his faceplate lit up in remembrance.

"Oh yeah, totally forgot about that two-wheeled fool. Why? Did you run into him?"

"He was the one servicing the depot."

"No..." Starscream gasped.

"I'm guessing he was stationed there for probationary community service. Punishment for the incident and all."

"He didn't give you a hard time, did he?"

"Actually, he was quite pleasant. Brought out everything I needed straight away without complaint. Seems probation did him some good."

Starscream narrowed his optics suspiciously.

"Did you check the quality?"

"Yes, Star, everything was in excellent shape." Skyfire huffed, "I double-checked just this morning."

"Well, scrud." Starscream shook his head in disbelief, "Now I wish I'd bought more high-grade in Vos."

Skyfire gave an exasperated sigh.

"I don't understand why you insist on spending so much on your fluid levels. Even I can replace mine for a fraction of the price, not to mention this time it's high-quality stuff from the depot."

"I ain't puttin' any of that scrap in me." Starscream snorted, "Call me a snob, but everything from Vos is perfectly suited for seeker frames, I've never had any problems when I use fluids from home."

Skyfire rolled his optics. It really didn't matter at this point, they had what they needed and some leftover funds to boot. Let him have his high-grade.

"Anyway, how's the upgrade going?"

Skyfire blinked, suddenly remembering the recorder still clutched in his servo.

"Oh, that." He affirmed nervously, "Just a few more adjustments and it'll be all set. The storage capacity will certainly be a lot larger."

"Splendid." Starscream beamed, "I don't want to miss a single nano-klick when we get out there."

Skyfire couldn't help but smile.

"You're really excited for this, huh?"

"Well, obviously. It's our first certified expedition. How could I not be?"

As Starscream made his way across the room to fetch his data-pad, tiptoeing carefully past the scattered equipment, Skyfire glanced down at the device. He opened the storage folder and stared at the single file, lost in thought.

"Hey. Starscream...?"

The seeker looked back.

"...Are you...happy?"

Starscream blinked at the question.

"What?"

"Leaving Cybertron behind. I worry how you'll handle...being so far away, for all that time."

"We're not gonna' be away that long."

"I know. it's just...I feel..." Skyfire paused, considering his words, "What if things...change. while we're gone? I mean...All the unrest, the issues with the Senate, and all that stuff about that Decepticon group-"

Starscream gagged on a stifled laugh.

"I wouldn't worry about them. It's not like they're the first to make such proclamations."

"I'm just saying, if the situation gets really bad, if it stops being safe and...I don't know...we don't like?"

Starscream, confused and slightly annoyed, flatly asked, "Skyfire, where's all this coming from?"

The shuttle went quiet, unsure how to properly continue.

"Sorry, I...guess I'm just nervous. "

Recognizing there was something amiss, but unable to perceive what exactly, Starscream worked his way back over, slapping his friend's back reassuringly.

"Look," he assured, "If the Senate is able to do one thing properly, it's keep things the way they are. There's no point fretting over what-ifs. Besides, even if things go a bit haywire, we'll always have Cybertron. Yeah?"

Skyfire stared up at the confident expression.

"Yeah." he mustered through a flimsy smile, "I suppose you're right."

Starscream sauntered away, setting to work organizing their equipment for transport. Seeing his back turned, Skyfire looked back to the recorder, the paused footage staring back at him. 

He selected the file.

And deleted it.

***

Down in one of Iacon's most popular bars, bots of all shapes and sizes collected to drown their troubles in engex; grade-A nucleon if their misery called for it. At a small, modest entertainment stage near the back, there came a disembodied voice announcing the next performance for those who cared to notice.

"Our next number, by popular request, "Get my Future" by Arcee and the Beats!"

An elegant pink and white femme gracefully trotted up to the microphone as a meager smattering of applause arose from those seated near the stage; the most resounding of which belonged to the lime-green wrecker and sporty red, orange, and yellow grounder close by, the two mechs showing their unwavering support for a good friend.

Alongside the femme jogged the "Beats" of the group: the gray grounder, Jazz, and red communication frame, Blaster. Blaster immediately kicked his acoustics on with a smooth beat, followed by an invigorating baseline from Jazz's hip speakers as Arcee began singing sweetly, all three performing the carefully prepared choreography with flawless perfection. Yet, in spite of their upbeat performance, most bots gave it little more than a light tap of the pede; if even that.

Amongst the indifferent patrons, the green grounder and his orange flier friend sat at the main bar, the grounder recounting events that transpired since their last meetup.

"I actually ran into this one mech," he explained, "Said he had a friend who's a Senator, and apparently they all think the whole thing's a load of scrap too. But they won't overstep their authority, so their servos are tied."

"What a joke." his flier friend growled, digging his metal claws into the countertop, "It just grinds my gears seeing those scrapheads get grant funding and bureau-issued equipment while we're smoldered with "disciplinary service"; especially you in that...that...tack shop."

"Yeah, I used to think so too." smirked the grounder, "but you end up acquiring some pretty useful knowledge, especially from the bots you end up servicing."

"Oh? Such as?"

"Well, take for instance: heat-transfer fluid. Apparently, if explorers have low-quality thermal-fluid in their lines, it can lead to some pretty embarrassing accidents. There's been cocky explorers whose entire careers were stunted because of such a stupid mix-up; and it's an easy mistake to make for first-timers, especially since it's almost impossible to distinguish between low and high-grade by sight alone without professional guidance.

"Sounds kinda' dangerous."

"Nah," dismissed the grounder, "The damage is never that serious from what I've been told. The biggest injury they suffer is to their credibility."

"What clanker-head told you that...?" 

Surprised by the question, the two looked over to see a couple older mechs sitting nearby. One, a dull gray-green with light gray highlights, and the other, a crimson mech with a prominent red crest, large chest compartment, and the thickest drawl they'd ever heard in their lives.

 "...Because they outta' be thrown behind bars for spreading that kind of fatal error!"

"Uh..." grimaced the grounder, "Do I know you?"

"Not to my knowledge," joked the gray-green bot. The crimson bot, however,  ignored the question, targeting the grounder with extreme gusto.

"You best check your sources before you believe what your told, boy."

"Pretty sure nobody asked your opinion, old-timer."

But the ornery mech's verve was only intensified by the flier's snarky remark.

"Well tough turrets, flutter-flange, that kind of block-helmed understandin' is what puts lives at risk. If he don't get the facts burned into his processor pronto, he's gonna leave some mech up slag creek without a thruster!"

"Hey, lay off. he just gets the equipment they ask for. It's their own fault if they screw themselves over cuz' they don't know any better."

"Y-You make it sound like a matter of life and death." the green grounder chuckled, though his humor had suddenly diminished.

"Because it is a matter of life and death. You think I'm gonna just sit by while you young-trucks spew garbage that could get someone offlined?"

"Oh come on, don't you think you're exaggerating?" urged the grounder nervously, "I-I mean, even if something did get busted, it would just be surface level damage."

"Surface level damage?!" the ornery mech exploded, grabbing the grounder's collar-plating, "Listen here you little scrap, mismatching fluids'll get you killed under the right circumstances. There's been mechs who've have their internals boiled right out of their frames because they couldn't regulate their temperature in high-heat zones! Pit, I know two mech's with permanent hardware damage 'cuz ice-crystals blew open their main arteries. Bots go offline from that kind of carelessness! And you just sit there, actin' all know-how, and tell me it's surface-level damage-?!"

"Alright, easy does it, 'Hide." urged the gray-green mech, prying his friend's servo free from the grounder, "Remember your oil pressure." 

With a grunt, the crimson mech sat back down, shaking his helm in disgust.

"Bots these days, I swear. All them book-smarts and none of 'em ain't got a lick of common sense, no-where, no-how. "

"Sure, sure," chuckled his friend, patting him on the back, "But everyone has to learn things for the first time, in their own time." 

The two older friends went back to their drinks while the orange flyer rolled his optics in annoyance.

"What a wing-nut." he grunted, "Talk about having a few screws loose."

The green grounder felt a terrible dread suddenly burn within his spark.

***

The green grounder banged on the door, Muttering impatiently to himself as he did.

"Come on, come on."

"Excuse me..."

He turned, seeing a femme looking him over suspiciously.

"...are you looking for someone?"

"Uh, yeah. I...have a delivery for the mechs in this room."

The femme glanced at the door, realizing to whom the dorm belonged.

"Oh, they're gone. Left this morning for...the Hydrax spaceport I think? They'll probably off-world for a good while. You can leave any deliveries with the campus mailing system."

The femme walked off, her casual chat unwittingly leaving the green grounder adrift with horror.

***

Far beyond the reach of Cybertron's communication systems, the seeker and shuttle landed on their first planet. The surface was brimming with shimmering crystal forests, the clear, geometric formations jutting out in every direction up from the mother-of-pearl-esque soil.

Am I happy?

Starscream checked his recorder, ensuring it was not only hooked securely onto his frame, but was also actively capturing clear footage of the area. 

When was the last time someone asked me that?

Surveying about area, Skyfire pointed towards the horizon, awestruck with how the yellow sun illuminated the glassy terrain, making the whole landscape sparkle like diamonds.

Has anyone...asked me that?

The planet was certainly no candidate for fuel harvesting, and Starscream was dubious whether the minerals found would be of any industrial use.

I don't recall ever really thinking about it.

Still, it had a stable, albeit slightly warm temperature. If nothing else, it might find some use as a safe landing-zone for intergalactic travel.

***

What is this ease I feel?

After a long day of exploring an orange planet, covered in vast deserts and wastelands, the two settled down for the night.

As though I could tell you anything?

The air was cold as space, leaving the surface lifeless and eerily peaceful. 

Trust you with anything. 

However, the underground geothermal activity meant the ground itself was quite warm.

Without worry or dread.

Plus the remarkable absence of any moisture on the planet allayed any concerns regarding ice crystal formations; not that it would've been a problem anyway, thanks to the high-grade thermal fluid in their systems.

Even Cryak couldn't give that to me.

Towering sedimentary rock formations jutting out from tangerine soil, varying in width and height, displayed a marvelous tapestry of elements compressed together as the burgundy, teal, and chartreuse moons hung over the plateaus of the planet.

So why?

Setting up camp, the two proceeded with various experimental tests, assessing the soil, identifying the air composition, recording all the data collected from their scientific study.

Why you?

The planet showed great promise in the sheer amount of raw material available. The near complete absence of corrosive elements meant it was in prime condition for quarrying.

Why only you?

***

Starscream stood atop the ebony columnar-jointing that spanned the shores of the rose-pink sea, far beneath the vast emerald-clouded sky.

Is this what it means...

High over them, the planet was covered completely by a sheen of emerald-green clouds, regulating the atmosphere to a fairly ideal temperature, if a little on the chilly side.

...to be true friends?

Though there was some elements of fuel mixed within the ocean waters that would float to the surface, only a limited amount could be collected per cycle.

Is Skyfire...

For two bots, it was a sufficient source of fuel, but given the varying factors, such as how the fluid was naturally cycled and circulated, it was unlikely to be a viable candidate for mass extraction.

...my true friend?

Starscream looked over to see Skyfire beside him, admiring the view with content joy.

Yeah.

He looked over, giving a wide smile.

I think...

Starscream couldn't help but smile back.

...so long as I have a friend like you...

They looked back over the peaceful landscape.

...I can be well, and truly,....

It felt as if they were the only two beings in the whole universe. 

HAPPY.

***

Starscream stared up helplessly at the Cybertronian sky.

He couldn't move.

Everything hurt.

"Hel...p...." 

The words wheezed from his vocal component. He could feel the energon leak from his body.

Against every ounce of his will, he felt himself slowly slip into emergency stasis.

"...Sky...fi...re..."

***

"But, maybe," Otto pleaded, "Maybe it's better if you don't find the ship."

"Enlighten me." scoffed Starscream.

Trudging on through the fog-shrouded forest as Otto struggled to keep up, Starscream was determined to retrieve the extra ethanol Otto had procured within the barn before leaving.

"If Megatron is among them," reasoned Otto, "Not to mention these numerous enemy soldiers, why risk disturbing them? They're completely inoperable and harmless as is."

"Exactly. They're sitting targets while locked in stasis. It'll be easy as anything to render them offline."

"But..." Otto floundered, "If this...you said this..."Teletran-I" is set to revive them as soon as it detects-"

"From what that other human told us, its programming likely won't react to organic life."

The knowing glance Starscream cast towards him was all it took for Otto to understand the implication.

"Starscream, listen," Otto cautiously pleaded, "I'm-I'm just not sure...It doesn't seem wise-"

Starscream turned suddenly, kneeling over Otto, red eyes burning threateningly.

"You wobblin' on me?"

Otto fell silent, slowly lowering his gaze.

"No." he answered in defeat.

"Then quit whining." Starscream rose to his pedes, "Your wellbeing is assured, so long as you stick with me. And if it's your precious city-state you're worried about, I see no reason why it can't retain its useful standing. Your kind's industriousness has proved quite useful, after all."

The guarantee did little to allay Otto's fret; in fact, it only served to worry him more. It worried him so much, that he failed to notice the concern on Starscream's face as he abruptly halted and took a deep whiff of the air.

"That's...I'm grateful you'd be so generous," Otto fumbled, "But...but what if-?"

"Do you smell smoke?"

The question broke Otto's train of thought. He stopped, directing his attention towards the air. 

There was the distinct aroma of burnt wood.

He bolted towards his home. He ran and ran, giving no concern to whether Starscream was following. Only upon reaching the clearing of his property which emerged from the thick mist did he come to a halt. 

The barn was destroyed; The blackened, charred walls, barely standing firm, was a skeleton of its former self. The house, miraculously, remained untouched.

But the door sat ajar.

Otto sprinted over as fast as he could, dashing through the front entrance.

"Alexia?"

The inside was trashed, everything strewn about and rifled through. Otto felt panic overwhelm his soul as he scrambled through the rooms.

"ALEXIA!? MAX?!"

Otto turned to see Alexia stagger out of the kitchen, dead-eyed, but unharmed. 

"Alexia." He ran up and hugged her, "Oh danke Gott! Are you alright?"

She hung limp in his arms, slowly cringing away in disgust.

"He's gone."

It took a moment for Otto to register the words, and another to register her meaning.

"Where?" he panicked, "Where's Max?"

"Is it true?" Alexia demanded sharply, "Did you steal those radios? Did you?"

Even without an answer, Otto's face told her everything. 

"Gott Otto," She gripped her forehead, "How could you be so stupid?"

It was obvious the theft wasn't what upset her the most. 

"Who took him?"

She shook her head but didn't answer. Otto swallowed hard, trying to calm his own panic.

"Who took him!?"

"Who do you think?!" she burst bitterly, "They tore through everything, asking where you were; what you were plotting! Max tried to stop them; when he couldn't, when they went for me..." she choked, "He started spewing all this nonsense about Geist being some "magic" plane that could turn into a man. How you were sneaking fuel in so he could fly us to Switzerland; all so they would stop. They him away, thrashing and screaming, clutching onto that toy plane you made as if his life depended on it! And the whole time he was bawling his eyes out because he felt so guilty for betraying an imaginary friend you LIED to him about! He did everything to protect me, because YOU weren't there!"

Otto paled.

"They believed him?"

"Of course they didn't, they're not stupid!" screamed Alexia in devastated rage, "They left me here! To tell you they want the names of the real pilots, and whomever else you're working with! They said they'll never give Max back otherwise! But we both know the truth, don't we?! Whatever you choose, either way, we'll never see him again!"

Alexia began pounding on Otto's chest in a fury.

"Where were you?! Where WERE you, dammit?! What were you THINKING?!"

Otto, still struggled to take in the desperate situation he'd come home to, merely took the strikes his wife dolled out. Tears streamed down her face.

"Am I that pathetic to you?! That had to go lie to me? To HIM?! What else?! What ELSE have you been lying about?! "

"I never lied."

Otto's sudden, dazed answer gave Alexia pause. She stared at him, shocked.

"What?"

"It's the truth." Otto replied, finally finding his words again, "I know it seems fantastic but it's true! I swear, it's all true!"

Alexia stared blankly a moment, before her face slowly began twisting in disgust.

"I'm sorry," Otto pleaded, "I'm so sorry I didn't tell you before, I just didn't know how! You already saw, how no one else believes it, how was I supposed to explain something like this? Besides, I...I didn't want to give you any false hope before I knew for sure he'd help us escape! Until after I'd kept my end of the bargain!"

Alexia pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Get out."

"Alexia, you've got to believe what I'm saying!"

Alexia shook her head, refusing to even look him in the eye.

"Stop."

"Starscream is out there, in the forest right now! I'll show you!"

"Otto, stop it."

"I'll prove it's the truth!"

"Just STOP."

"We'll get out! All of us! it's not to late! With him, we can-!"

A vicious slapped struck Otto's cheek. He touched the reddening skin gingerly, staring back at Alexia, whose eyes were brimming with tears.

"I looked past it," she choked out, "Even after something so...sickening, I could keep loving you. Because if nothing else, I knew you loved Max. You'd never betray him...us. When you told me, with such pain, such remorse, I could ignore something so unforgivable, because you'd remained honest with me. But now, you've deceived me, deceived Max, lied to my face with such comfortable ease...and now I..."

She shook her head in misery.

"...I can't. Not anymore. I've tried, but you make it so...so difficult."

Alexia buried her face in her hands and sobbed as she collapsed on the torn up couch. Otto stared at her, devastated and desperate.

His face hardened with determination.

He grabbed her roughly and dragged her from the house, towards the burnt barn and the woods.

"Stop! Let me go! What are you doing?!"

She wailed on him with her free hand, but he would not relent. 

"Starscream!" he shouted, "Starscream!"

"Stop! Stop this! I've had enough!"

"Starscre-!"

As they approached the barn and drew near the woods, still thick with mist, Otto's attention was suddenly drawn to the cat, who'd been sitting on a nearby stump staring intently towards the barn, completely ignored.

Otto never cared much for the creature. He didn't hate it per say, but it was such an annoying little thing, with the way it always acted so high and mighty, as though it owned the place. He'd tolerated its presence, its aloofness, because it was quiet and knew how to stay out of the way.

As the creature frequented his property so regularly, whether he care to or not, Otto had grown fairly familiar with its habits and quirks. The way it would move when irritated versus when it was calm, how it would stare at him when content versus when it was bored, the way its tail would flick when interested versus when angry, and the way it would stare at an object...

...versus when it stared at a person.

And Otto had a keen feeling, whomever was hiding behind the barn, wasn't Starscream.

Grabbing Alexia, Otto brought his mouth close to her ear.

"Alexia." he hissed, "How many soldiers were with Dieter when he took Max?"

"Huh? What does that matter?"

"Did they all leave with Dieter?"

"Wha-? Yes."

"All of them?"

"Yes!"

"Are you sure?"

Alexia's opened her mouth, but the creeping realization kept her silent.

"I'm going to walk into the woods," Otto explained slowly, "When I do, I want you to run. Don't worry about me, just get-"

Otto noticed the cat staring in their direction.

No...behind them.

Otto whirled around and saw a Wehrmacht corporal lingering by the barn, staring right back at them. The corporal  glanced at the four-legged whistleblower, which promptly darted into the forest.

"Damn cat." he growled. "Guess we'll have to do this more directly."

Before either Otto or Alexia could react, a hoard of Wehrmacht soldiers pounced on them, clasping hands over their mouths and restraining them as they were forced into the forest. Feeling the hand removed from his mouth, Otto was about to call out for help, when he felt the barrel of a Lugar pistol press to his head.

"Shhh..." urged the corporal, "We don't want to alarm your friends in the forest now, do we?"

"Hello?"

The sound of Starscream calling out alerted everyone. Otto felt the barrel press harder against his temple as the corporal silently gestured for his soldiers to fan out and take cover.

"Answer him." hissed the corporal.

Otto swallowed, his throat felt dry.

"It's me." he called, feeling the gun press harder, "J-just me."

"What's going on?" asked Starscream, still hiding in the fog.

The leader mouthed "all is well" to Otto.

"All..." Otto choked, "A-All is well. Just had a little spat with Alexia."

Alexia glanced at him, then noticed a dead branch by a tree she was being held near. Slowly, she moved her hand towards it, wrapping her fingers ever so slowly around the closest limb.

"What was that burnt smell?" asked Starscream.

The corporal mouthed the word "accident".

"The barn caught fire." Otto replied, "It was an accident."

"What?!" exclaimed Starscream, "Don't tell me the ethanol-!"

"Burnt up too."

All at once, an idea struck Otto. 

"Alexia couldn't get inside to put it out in time, the door was locked." Otto continued, "I don't know how it happened, I could've sworn I'd left my keys inside the house."

There was a pause before Starscream answered.

"...I see." 

A long while of still silence passed. Otto almost began to fear Starscream had abandoned him.

"I'm guessing squishies have swarmed my med-kit by now."

Otto carefully considered his answer.

"A nano-klik extraction of two to the power of three might save it." replied Otto, "We'll worry from there."

"And if it offlines?"

The soldiers cast confused glances at each other, clearly not understanding what was being said. Otto licked his lips nervously, the gun against his temple still aching. He knew they'd have no quarrel pulling the trigger if he was deemed unprofitable.

He swallowed hard.

"Save my conjunx."

He felt his head slam against the tree behind him, the Lugar barrel digging further into his skin, to the point it felt like a drill.

"What are you saying to him?!" The corporal demanded in a whisper.

"His medical kit was in the barn," Otto lied, "He had a lot of valuable resources, so he's concerned."

"Actually, you know what?" Starscream called, "Forget the med-kit. I need you to come over and help with the equipment. It's been acting up lately. If we had the others here it wouldn't be a problem, but I can't exactly fix it by myself."

Encouraged at the thought of this mysterious person being alone, the corporal looked to Otto, encouraging him to answer.

"Alright," Otto obeyed, "I'll be there. Just a kli-just a minute."

The corporal gestured for a handful of men to move in, following the voice.

"I swear," the voice bemoaned, "It's always break, repair, break, repair. Nothing ever just works when it needs to..."

Starscream continued rambling as the men continued moving in, creeping through the fog with fox-like stealth as Starscream continued babbling absentmindedly.

"...You'd think there'd be something a bit more advanced, but nooo, they've got to make it the most convoluted method possible..."

The soldiers closed in on the voice, speaking from behind a thick brush. They surrounded it and prepared to move in. 

...I guess that's just the way it is, no point crying over spilt high-grade..."

The soldiers burst through the bush, but found no person.

"...you've just got to take these things slow..."

Just a radio putting out a lot of chatter.

"...Nice and slow..."

There was a hum from above, and the soldiers looked up to see the wrong end of a gun, mounted on the arm of horrifying, giant figure with blood glowering, blood red eyes, grinning manically down at them.

"...roasted."

An explosion and the screams of men caught the rest of the group's attention. Shocked to hear gunfire, Alexa reacted instinctively. Grabbing the branch, she swung it into her captor's face. Though not heavy enough to do any real damage, it was enough to disorient him long enough for Alexia to slip free and dash into the fog. One soldier aimed his gun and fired in her direction, only managing to hit a tree she ducked behind.

"Nein!" cried one of the other, older soldiers, "We still need her, dummkopf!" 

The older soldier ran after Alexia, disappearing into the fog. Though weighed down by his equipment, he was strong and fast, and Alexia wasn't that far ahead. 

Running as hard as she could, Alexia suddenly tripped on a root, falling hard to the forest ground. She tried to crawl into hiding between a few nearby bushes, but the soldier fell upon her. She flipped over and tried beating him away, but he pinned her arms under his knees.

"Stupid!" he hissed, frustrated at the attempt, "Did you really think that would work?!"

She began shrieking, loudly enough for the soldier to warrant slamming a hand over her mouth for silence. With his free hand, he pulled a rope from his satchel.

"Had it been any of the others, you would've had your brains blown out!"

But Alexia's eyes drifted upwards, past the face of the soldier, and grew even wider. Squirming more frantically than ever, she squealed beneath his hand, panicking in a far more desperate manner.

"Stop resisting! You'll only make it-!"

A giant metallic foot slammed into the soldier's body, kicked him like a football and sending him slamming into several branches, before falling into a dead crumpled heap in the distance. Alexia stared up at the figure towering above her as its foot crashed mere feet away from her head.

She promptly passed out in shock from the terror.

The corporal and his few remaining men heard the commotion. pulling their guns out. The leader looked to Otto.

"Bastard! How many are there?!"

"One." he whimpered.

"Don't lie to me!" raged the corporal furiously.

The sound of his men dying drew the corporal's attention, and he had just enough time to see the last man crushed beneath the metal foot of a giant looming from the mist, red eyes burning, and a grin as wide as a dining room table.

Panicked, the corporal released Otto and emptied his Lugar at the giant face. Starscream held up a hand for protection, undeterred as he strode forward. Once the bullets were out, the man swung his rifle around and fired. It was enough to make Starscream wince, but in the end, only served to make him madder.

Emptying the rifle, the corporal threw it aside and made a dash for one of his fallen comrade's weapons. Starscream, annoyed with the shooting spree, lurched forward and scooped him up. The corporal, terrified as he was, continued to resist, pulling out his knife and stabbing futilely at Starscream's hand until the blade snapped. Starscream swapped servos, allowing him to clutch the man's torso, trapping his arms by his sides and rendering the corporal utterly helpless.

"You know," Starscream drew him close, "Despite your disgusting softness, your particular breed of humans have an impeccable sense of design..."

With the index of his free servo, Starscream gently poked the man's chest.

"...Your planes, your weapons, your structures, even these coverings are well thought-out and executed." His index drifted the terrified man's head, "Well, all except these..."

He stroked the helmet delicately,

"...It's practical, I'm sure, but the shape...I just can't help being reminded of someone..."

Then gripped it firmly between his index and thumb.

"...I really hate."

With a horrible snap, the servo that held the corporal twisted a full 180 degrees, while the other kept the man's head locked in the same spot. The limp body dropped, falling with a sickening thud beside Otto. He saw no blood or open wounds, only the corporal's shocked expression, etched upon a head that was completely twisted backwards.

Otto panted, recovering from the terror of the moment. After so much chaos, everything had suddenly gone dead silent.

Starscream looked to Otto.

"Grab your junk. We're leaving." 

Otto, trembling, managed a terrified whisper.

"...Max."

Starscream raised a browridge.

"Hmm?"

"They took Max."

"What?"

"They took my son! He's in Berlin!"

Silent realization befell Starscream.

"Oh..."

He remained motionless for a moment, before turned away, shrugging.

"...Tough break, I guess."

A certain horror filled Otto, one where he couldn't believe Starscream's reaction, and one where such a reaction was perfectly expected.

"Wait...wait, no, y-you don't understand! He's in Berlin! He's alive, they're just keeping him there!"

"What do you want me to do about it?"

Otto stared aghast at the indifference of the question.

"Help me! Help me get him back!"

Starscream paused.

"No."

The answer turned Otto's blood ice-cold.

"You promised. You promised you'd get us to Switzerland safely-!"

"I said I'd transport you and your family to the neutral sector. I don't remember any "rescue mission clause" being part of the deal."

"I can't leave without him! There's guards everywhere! I wouldn't stand a chance on my own!"

"If there's nothing you can do, there's nothing you can do."

"But you can do it! If you help me-!"

"Not gonna' happen."

"He's my SON! He's family! I can't do it without you!"

Starscream squatted so low, his faceplate was mere inches from Otto. He stared with an expression devoid of pity or guilt.

"I don't WANT to."

There was a horrid finality to his tone that made Otto realize that he could not, in any capacity, reason his way into obtaining Starscream's help. The mech owed him no such favor, and even if he did, there was no way for Otto to enforce it. And with knowledge of his ship's whereabouts already obtained, Otto could think of little else he had to offer that could to entice him.

Falling on his hands and knees, he bowed his head, whimpering.

"Please...please...he's the only thing I've done right in this life."

Starscream scowled at the pathetic display.

"Why don't you go grovel to the humans who took him? See if that works?"

But Otto had no comebacks, no snide remarks, just a continuous, pitiful utterance.

"Please...please...!"

Starscream stared off quietly, unmoved.

"...Do whatever you what with me, but save him!"

Starscream shuddered, the words striking him to the core.

"Save HIM!"

***

Starscream found himself staring up at a ceiling. His body ached, but he felt stronger as he slowly attempted to lift his frame from the berth.

"Aap-ap-ap!" a familiar medic chided, "Lie back and take it easy. You've just come out of a long recovery. It's honestly a miracle you survived that long."

"Sur...vived?"

"You had a bad crash. We found you dangerously low on energon. It's a wonder your systems hadn't shut down into stasis before then."

"Crash...?"

Starscream sifted through his memory.

"...I...crashed...Yes, I remember..."

He struggled, recollecting the events that preceeded.

"I had to get back...get help...for...for-"

Starscream's optics widened, he stared intensely at the medic.

"Where's Skyfire?!"

The medic blinked.

"Who?"

"Skyfire! My shuttle partner! We were-!"

Starscream tried to sit up when he felt his servos lock in place, Looking down he saw that he was handcuffed to the berth, on both sides.

"What...what is this?"

"Please calm down."

"What is this?" he screeched, "Why would you-?! Uncuff me this instant!"

The medic's expression turned remorseful, as if he yearned to grant his patient's request.

"I'm sorry." he muttered earnestly, "But it's not my call."

Starscream stared back, confused; an ominous dread filling his spark.

***

The authorities had only permitted a meager recovery time, against his medic's emphatic protests. Once deemed functional enough for their tastes, Starscream was dragged into the courtroom. As he was yanked from the transport vehicle and dragged towards the building, bots swarmed him, all having to be pushed back by the authorities as they bombarded him with questions or trash, sometimes both.

"Did the Decepticon's put you up to this?!"

"What?! No, I-!"

"Were you take Senator Shockwave?! Is he okay? Is he online?" 

"I-I don't-?! Why-Why would he-? Why would I-?"

"What have you done with the rest of the funding-?!"

But before Starscream could be asked anything else, oreven wrap his helm around the implications, he was whisked inside, away from the crowds, and dragged towards the courtroom. 

***

"Shockwave expressed a desire to meet with the seeker prior to their off-world departure. Said he wanted to ensure the funds were correctly applied. He feared misuse after they'd been given such a substantial grant on top of the Department's contribution as it would've been easy to embezzle much of those funds."

Despite still reeling from the news of Shockwave's disappearance, Starscream scoured his memory; something about the witness' statement seeming incompatible from what he remembered.

"Of course," continued the witness, a Senator no less, "We urged him to take a guard with him for his own protection, it was only wise given how many bots saw him as an enemy. But he stubbornly refused, saying he didn't want to present himself as hostile to any citizen of Cybertron. You all know how much of an empath he is...was."

"Wait a klick," protested Starscream, jumping to his pedes, "He told us at the award ceremony he didn't want to involve us any further! Coming into contact would've just-!" 

"The accused will remain silent until given permission to speak!"

Biting his glossa, Starscream glanced about at the accusatory optics surrounding him. He slowly sat back down as the prosecutor looked back to the Senator, still seated at the witness stand.

"Do you believe a bot of the accused's function has the physical capacity to kidnap a mech like Senator Shockwave?"

The witness took a moment to look over Starscream.

"The accused isn't just an average military-flier, he's a high-trained, highly-skilled weapon. Vos' best. Even a mech like Shockwave would've been completely vulnerable to a surprise ambush from such an experienced military personnel, however he chose to do the deed."

Starscream gripped his servos together. He could only wait patiently for his turn to argue his case.

***

"Is it true that you were responsible for mapping out the worlds you went to?"

"Yes." affirmed Starscream, "I did."

"And is it true you were in charge of handling the calculations when determining the temperature of the planets visited?"

"Yes, but-"

"And is it true that, in spite of all this, you willfully allowed your colleague to enter a planet with extreme temperature-zone while having inadequate heat-transfer fluid in his systems?"

"NO! I had no idea his systems were full of low-grade! I would've never let him leave Cybertron if I'd known that!"

"Yet you yourself never suffered from these maladies as a result of the low-grade." the prosecutor drew uncomfortably close, "Why?"

"That..." Starscream hesitated, "...I..."

***

It was difficult for Starscream to register the passage of time as the trial moved on. The medic who cared for him, Ratchet, currently held the stand; very reluctantly giving his testimony.

"Was the accused affected by the low-grade heat transfer-fluid?" asked the prosecutor.

Ratchet wavered.

"The kind of injuries he sustained were severe, any moreso would've put him offline. Wherever he'd been, he'd suffered serious-"

"Answer the question, Doctor."

Ratchet fell silent. He gave a heavy sigh.

"No." he relented, "There was no sign any such fluids had been present in his system at all."

"Did he have high-grade heat-transfer fluid in his systems?"

"Yes."

"Was this the same high-grade offered at the depot from which his colleague received his high-grade from?"

Ratchet hesitated, casting an apologetic glance towards Starscream.

"...No."

***

The prosecutor gestured to the projection at the front of the room, displaying the medical records drawn up by Ratchet during Starscream's recovery.

"According to Doctor Ratchet's medical tests taken during the recovery, the accused had a highly specialized blend of heat-transfer fluid in his systems. A blend specifically produced in Vos."

The prosecutor turned to the court.

"But why? Why use such expensive high-grade fluid when he could've just taken what was available at the terminal?"

"I didn't want it." Starscream interjected, "I just didn't want it in my system."

The prosecutor raised a brow-ridge in response.

"You didn't seem concerned your partner didn't have this Vosian high-grade."

"I thought the fluid he had was safe!"

"You thought it was safe?" the prosecutor prowled towards Starscream, "Then why not put it in your own systems?"

"B...B-Because I didn't trust it! I was used to putting Vosian in my lines! I knew it was better quality!"

"You didn't trust it?"

"No!"

"But you thought it was safe."

The seeker balked, taken aback by the twisting of his meaning.

"I...That's-"

"You didn't want it, thought it was safe, but also didn't trust it, all while not once did it cross your mind to give this oh-so reliable Vosian high-grade to your partner?"

Starscream fell the words die in his throat. 

"Which one is it, Starscream?"

***

"The accused's partner had put in a request for an equipment donation, and as his credentials were within our standard guidelines, we saw no just reason to block his approval."

Starscream perked up at this statement. The prosecutor leaned closer to the witness.

"I cannot say, But when conducting our interview, he inadvertently expressed concern over his partner exhibiting "irregular and potentially unsafe" behavior. We of course questioned him about this, but he gave no further expounding of this sentiment. However, as a psychologist, I could tell immediately from his frame-language and temperament, he felt very concerned about his own safety around the accused."

"THAT'S A LIE!"

Everyone jumped at the explosive accusation of the seeker.

"The approval was granted almost immediately after he applied! Skyfire TOLD me himself!"

"No proposal can be approved without interview." refuted the witness, "It's standard, cast-iron protocol."

"You LIE! He NEVER had an interview! NEVER needed to provide anyone with references! You just GAVE it to-!"

Starscream's optics widened in realization. He slowly sad back down, ignored as the trial continued.

"You just..." he whispered to himself, "Gave it..."

***

"...the degree of involvement regarding Senator Shockwave's disappearance has yet to be determined at this time. However, the loss of high-tech equipment, city-state funds, and, above all, willful sabotage a mech's systems in malicious aforethought, the premeditated nature of the incident cannot be overlooked. Therefore, for the charges of embezzlement, fraud, sabotage, and first-degree termination, we hereby find Starscream, First Lieutenant Energon Seeker of the High-Guard, GUILTY."

Starscream felt as if the whole of Cybertron were crumbling beneath his pedes.

"You shall be immediately transferred to a holding-facility. You will be withdrawn in three solar cycles to be read and delivered your sentence."

"I'M INNOCENT!" Starscream leapt up, "INNOCCENT, YOU FOOLS!"

But the guard bots grabbed him, clamping magnetic cuffs around his servos and wings.

"SKYFIRE'S OUT THERE, IN CRITICAL CONDITION! YOU WANT PROOF?! BRING HIM BACK! BRING HIM BACK AND ASK HIM! HE'S STILL ONLINE!" 

The guards dragged him towards the exit, one yanking out a magnetic mouth-gag as brining it up to Starscream's faceplate as he jerked left and right.

"HE NEEDS HELP! SEND A RESCUE! SEND A SEARCH! SEND ANYBODY, BUT SAVE HIM! SAVE-!"

The gag was clamped on, muffling his screams as he was thrown into the back of an armored prisoner transport vehicle, no windows, no exit, no escape.

***

Otto looked up to see three giant fingers in his face.

"Three.."

Otto stared back, confused by Starscream's word.

"...you get three solar cycles to devise and execute a retrieval plan. Then I'm GONE. With or without you."

It took a moment before Otto realized what was just said. He gave a gasping laugh, trembling with relief.

"Danke!" he choked, "Dank-!"

"SHUT UP." snarled Starscream, "I've promised a chance, not success..."

Otto nodded frantically, grateful beyond measure for even that.

"...If you want to thank me, you can start by ceasing that revolting leakage of your optics."

Otto quickly wiped the tears from his face; he hadn't even realized had been pouring out. As he did, he slowly remembered.

"You modified Max's plane, didn't you? With a signal or the like? Something that can be traced."

Starscream thought for a moment.

"Well yes, it's nothing complex, but it's a reliable enough way to...wait-"

Starscream's mind suddenly made the connection. His optics widened as he slammed a hand on the ground in rage.

"-YOU LEFT MY RECORDER WITH HIM?"

"Can you track him?" pressed Otto.

"Oh, fantastic!" Starscream slapped his face, ignoring the question, "Now I HAVE to go get him!"

"Can you track him?" 

Starscream groaned. He stared back at Otto, gritting his denta in frustration.

___

Starscream rammed his frame against the armored walls frustrated, muzzled like a feral beast-machine, he was incapable of even calling out for help, not that anyone would come for him. He could feel his spark flicker with despair. He curled up on the floor.

He wasn't distressed by the restraints, he'd been forced into even less mobile states before. It wasn't even the tiny, impenetrable room he'd been confined to. It was the thought that no one was coming for him. No one could help him. No one would help him. Even when Cryak had done her cruel training, she'd always been there. Her spark, her presence gave him comfort even in the most trapped of his moments.

The loneliness drove its way into his spark. He shuddered, he wanted to stretch his wings, he felt as though he were in a compactor. The static building in his servos grew agonizing.

The helplessness was truly the worst part.

Someone.

Anyone.

HELP.

A tinkering sound jolted him free from the terror. He raised his helm and, to his utter shock, saw a familiar feline-form before him.

Ravage casually examined Starscream's predicament, creeping closer to Starscream's face. Starscream squirmed back, but his restraints kept him from moving easily. With a swipe to his face, Ravage scrapped the mouth guard gagging Starscream. Having successfully removed it, Ravage stepped back and began to playback a recording from his systems.

"Hello, Starscream."

Starscream's optics widened as he heard Megatron's voice clearly ring out from Ravage.

"It's a shame our reunion must be conducted in such a manner. But t he truth is, your return couldn't have been timed better. For their purposes."

Starscream wrestled his bound frame into a sitting position, his focus locked on the slow, spinning apparatus on Ravage's body.

"I have it, on good authority, that their initial plan was to dispose of you and blame the expedition failure on Senator Shockwave. But, as you can see, things didn't quite pan out as they'd hoped."

Ravage lowered his head slightly, observing Starscream's reaction closely.

"We suspect Shockwave found evidence of their corruption. Perhaps he threatened to expose them, or perhaps they simply wanted him gone for good. Whatever the trigger, it was enough to warrant having the good Senator suddenly vanish from public view. I'm sure they were quite panicked on how to explain his abrupt disappearance, until YOU dropped back in; alone, unaffected by their sabotage, and prime for the blame."

Starscream's eyes widened, his jaw dropped as he listened.

"Do you understand, Starscream? You NEEDED to be guilty. The verdict had already been decided."

 There was a pause on the recording, as if Megatron knew Starscream would need a moment to process the information.

"Do you know what they're planning to do with you?" Megatron's voice asked tauntingly, "Do you WANT to know?"

There was a moment of silence, Starscream and Ravage merely locked optics.

" Shockwave and I may not have agreed on how dire things were, but he was one of the only mechs who gave a slag about our plight. We know where they've taken him. Our numbers are limited, so we can't afford to be careless, but the longer we delay, the greater the risk their shadow-play will destroy his mind beyond saving. But with your skills and knowledge, we may just have a chance, ONE chance to save him."

A lot rumbling grew from the recording.

"If you have any honor, ANY gratitude towards Shockwave..."

His voice lowered to a growl. 

"...I trust, this time, you'll make the correct choice."

There was a few nano-klicks of dead air before the recording clicked to an end. Ravage looked expectantly to Starscream.

The seeker's faceplate hardened in rage.

***

"Alexia..."

Alexia felt a gentle slapping across her face, and awoke to see Otto staring worriedly back at her.

"...Alexia, please. Wake up. We don't have much time-"

Her eyes widened and she leapt upon him, clinging to him and shuddering like a leaf in a storm.

"Otto! Oh, Otto it was awful! It felt so real, like it was-! I dreamt...those men came...took Max away, and then-then they took us into the forest where..."she shuddered, sobbing, "..this monster...crushed them! A giant titan of metal, tall as the trees, nearly crushed my head and...Gott, its eyes! It's like I can still see its horrible-!"

"Hello."

Alexia turned at the unexpected voice and immediately screamed at the top of her lungs when she saw Starscream casually leaning against one of the trees. Otto jumped up, clamping a hand over her mouth and cutting off the scream as soon as it began.

"No, no, no!" he begged, trying to calm her panic, "It's fine! It's all fine, he's on our side."

Starscream raised a browridge.

"I am?"

"Everything's good, alright? We're all fine. We're all friends here!"

"We are?" 

Otto glared at Starscream, slowly removing his hand from Alexia's mouth.

"You're not helping!" 

"He....he.....It's..." Alexia stammered, shaking helplessly whilst staring wide eyed at the creature.

Starscream got down on his servos slowly, drawing close and staring at her. Alexia could only shake like a leaf, terrified by the giant face and the burning red eyes.

Starscream looked to Otto

"You sure we can do this with her in tow?"

"She's my wife-er, conjux, remember?"

"That's what worries me."

Otto stared at Alexia, still shaking. He rubbed her sides soothingly.

"Alexia...Alexia it's fine. "

Still trembling, Otto twisted her body towards him, rubbing her arms tenderly. Her eyes remained locked in terror upon Starscream.

"I know." he whispered, "Believe me, I know, it's a lot to take in all at once, but he's our best chance of getting us out of here."

Alexia didn't answer, still terrified beyond measure.

"I never lied to you. I just...didn't know how to explain...this. You can understand, can't you? Now that you've seen him?"

Alexia still stayed locked in terror. Otto held her desperately.

"Alexia, Max needs us. He needs you."

Finally breaking from her trance, Alexia slowly looked back to her husband. 

Otto grit his teeth, his breath trembling.

"I need you.

Alexia slowly managed to calm herself, glancing warily at Starscream.

Despite her fear, she forced a nod and gave a nearly inaudible whisper.

"Okay."

***

Starscream winced as sparks exploded from the armored walls edge, moving until they'd cutting a large hole in the back of the armored vehicle. The metal flew open and Starscream came face to face with the Decepticons, Megatron, Soundwave, and his own trine-mates standing at the front.

Skywarp smirked.

"Took ya' long enough."

Chapter Text

It is difficult to explain the comfort darkness brings.

To those who dread exposure, dread being perceived, darkness is a friend. Darkness is a disguise.

Across the capital, all homes were dark, enforced to be dark. Curtains were required to be sufficient enough to block out the light. One lit window could be enough to expose the city's presence to a bomber squadron.

After all, when it came to nighttime air raids, light was death.

And Berlin was all but devoid of it.

Amidst the quiet city, the Wehrmacht stables stood quiet. The numerous horses, magnificent specimens bred for calvary use, slept soundly, assured in the knowledge they'd be well fed, well-protected, and well-loved. It was ironic how the Reich, so cruel and heartless to humans, could in the same turn be so loving and tender towards its animal compatriots.

One of the horses awoke with a start; a young mare with a blue-gray coat so rich in hue, it almost looked lavender. The horse raised her head, staring out into the darkness. It was too dark for her to see anything, but her keen ears swiveled back and forth, searching for the threat she felt was very real.

She felt it. Something was out there. Something big.

Big...and getting closer.

Eyes widening until the whites were visible, she threw her head, pawing repeatedly as her cozy stable suddenly grew suffocating and claustrophobic. Her whimpering nickers of distress were enough to draw the attention of a Wehrmacht captain who's work was to train the horses. 

"Whoah easy," He cooed, coming up and tenderly patting her neck,  "Eeeasy there, Zwielicht. What's got you so worked up?"

The captain was startled when her unrest quickly spread to the other horses. Though none went into a full panic, they shifted uneasily, all tossing their heads, stomping the ground as threatened by the presence of a terrifying predator. 

"Hauptmann?"

The captain only gave a quick glance to the other Wehrmacht soldier that walked up, returning quickly to examine the horses' suspicious behavior. He couldn't help but notice they kept looking skyward, straining their necks and ears up.

The captain frowned, staring up at the sky.

"Get a message to those manning the Flak towers."

"Sir?"

"Tell them to keep especially close watch tonight. The horses don't usually act this spooked."

"With all due respect, sir," the soldier hesitated, "I'm not sure knowing that would press them to-" 

"I don't care what they think of it, just do it." snapped the captain, "I've yet to be misled by a horse."

The captain eyed the blackness of the sky suspiciously, unable to discern a single thing as the horses continued to grunt and snort in unrest. He returned his focus to calming the horses, oblivious to the silent shadow that flew by overhead.

---

Max pulled his cherubic arm and shoulder back out from the small opening before crawling out from under the bed. The locked room was clean but stark. Aside from a mirror, a dresser, and a small bed, beneath which he found a ventilation duct, too small for him to crawl into, there was little else. The soldiers who'd abducted him had not bothered confiscating the toy plane, something for which he'd been immensely grateful. He would've never been able to forgive himself if he'd lost that too.

The door would absolutely not come unlocked, no matter how hard he wrestled with the handle. The window of his room was no good for escape, he was too high up, and had no materials with which to craft a makeshift rope. At a loss, and the anxiety of his situation constricting around him, he sat on the bed, clutching his toy plane. His nervousness ran circles in his brain, desperate for a way out, anything to break the monotonous silence. He sat, alone, imprisoned, staring off in worry, wondering what was to become of him. His little heart trembled. 

He longed for his family. 

Fiddling with the plane absentmindedly, his finger plucked at the seams of the toy.

The toy was an old present, every nook and cranny was familiar to him. The shape, the feel, the weight...

...was increased.

He hadn't noticed it earlier, the chaos of being taken away had consumed all thoughts, but there was no mistaking it: the plane had become heavier. Not only that, there had been some alterations made in regards to the metal seam-work. It was subtle, but it was there.

His curiosity piquing, Max examined the toy and soon discovered a section of the fuselage which, with a little finagling, could be popped off. To his surprise, the inside, far from being hollow, was stuffed with some kind of device with wiring rerouted into the propellors, wings, and tail of the plane. 

Keep a hold of this for me, alright? Don't let it go, no matter what.

Otto's words echoed in Max's memory.

---

Prior to nightfall, Starscream had watched from his forest cover as the stolen military car slithered its way down the winding country roads. Once no longer in sight, he turned and set to work clearing his earlier 'pest control' venture of its remnants. Shoveling his great servos into the earth, the mech withdrew mound upon mound of soil, accumulating it into a neat pile as the cat sat at the opposite end of the hole, keenly observing.

In spite of its ego, the little beast couldn't help but entertain a modicum of respect, for the metal titan actually had the prudence to cache his haul, the way any proper, self-respecting feline would've. It never understood why humans went through the trouble of killing so many of their own kind, only to leave all that fresh, juicy meat to rot out in the open. But then, the cat reasoned, most humans just lacked common sense like that.

---

Max came upon a set of small buttons and dials. Taking hold of one of the dials, he turned it carefully, only to be shocked when the propellers of the plane kicked on. In a panic, Max quickly turned the dial back, relieved to see the propellers come to a halt. Fascinated now more than ever, he perused the selection of small buttons grouped together, contemplating which one to press. He pressed one...then another...then anoth-

A yelp of shock jumped from him as a beam of light shot out from the nose of the plane. He instinctively dropped the toy as the beam of light splayed onto a nearby wall, creating an upside down moving image. Realizing it was some kind of film projector, Max quickly turned the plane right side up, setting it on the bed so there was enough distance to create a decent sized image.

There was no sound, but the footage displayed a large, white, humanoid creature that fiddled with the camera filming the recorded image. Max's innocent mind wondered if the being was some sort of bizarre angel given it had both wings and such a kind, gentle, albeit unearthly, face. The camera shook as it was turned around to reveal a canyon, leagues deep and gaping wide, of blue, purple, and green sedentary rock; an alien sight if there ever was one.

A different mechanical being walked into view; smaller, sleek, redder, and with an air of confidence. It backed up to the ledge, giving a cocky gesture, before languidly falling backwards. 

Max's eyes went wide at the seemingly suicidal move, but as the figure grew tiny, plummeting away from the camera, it suddenly made a hard bank to the left, zooming up out of the canyon. Though still far away, it was clear it had altered its shape, transformed into some strange aircraft. It zoomed along the canyon walls, the other bot carefully following with the camera, attempting to give a sense of the sheer scale of the landscape. 

Max heard footsteps approach his room and panicked. Frantically looking over the buttons, he began pressing them haphazardly in the hopes of shutting it off. He pressed one, the video paused. He pressed another, the video rewound. He pressed another, the footage skipped to a different location. 

He had no time to figure it out before the guards would come in and discovered the plane, he doubted they'd let him keep it if they knew. He yanked off the pillowcase and wrapped the plane in it, just enough to smother the projection. Quick as a whip, he crawled under the bed and shoved the plane into the ventilation duct. The plane was just small enough to fit. He managed to scramble out and get to his feet just as the door opened.

Within the ducts, undetected, the plane continued playing its silent recording.

+-+-+

Skyfire and Starscream sat on a barren moon, gray, quiet, overlooking a beautiful planet whose pale blue surface betrayed its cold temperature. It was certainly in a fine spot, one of the most ideal locations they'd ever come across in the universe; as if Primus himself had crafted it with all the care and tenderness he had given to Cybertron. They were taking a break to prep on the calm, safe moon before venturing below.

"Most bots stay on the outer rims," explained Starscream, using the atmosphere sealed within their chassis to communicate, "but the most beautiful singing goes deeper. If you're not careful, you'll be lulled into a stasis so deep, you'll never awaken."

"That's...a frightening thought." replied Skyfire.

"Looking at your own expiration is always a bit frightening." Starscream shrugged, "But for me, I don't know, it's serene; reassuring even. Every time I've gone in there, I have to worry about getting out in time-but one day, when I go immersant, I'll get to listen to that music without worry. I'm in no rush to get there, but it's just, I don't know, comforting in a way. Knowing such a peaceful spot, to which I can put my spark to rest. I suppose I get it from Cryak, she was that way too. Said she knew of a place where she was determined to go at the end. Never told anyone where it was. Never wanted anyone to know. She wanted it to be just her and Primus. That was her comfort, she said, it's how she could keep going on such dangerous missions, because she had a place ready for her. For me, the Chords is that place. That place, knowing what it is, what it will be for me, It's...a great comfort. Cryak couldn't follow me in there. It was my joy; mine alone."

"I...suppose I do understand," mused Skyfire, "...if only a little."

"It's why most fliers choose the inner chords as their final resting place. They just fall asleep as Primus sings to them..."

Starscream leaned back on his servos, staring up at the pearly planet, a silver-cast orb floating in the serene blackness of space.

"...It's amazing Sky, the Chords of Primus are the most serene part of Vos--no, the whole of Cybertron. Only fliers can access it, it's made of a tangle of long pillar-like structures that vibrate constantly, like metal chimes. I've heard it said the vibrations harmonize with one's spark frequency and promote healing. It's the most serene sound you'll ever hear..."

He recalled the sounds, ethereal and beautiful. If a human had come across it, the best comparison they might come up with would be the combination of Gregorian chants, crystal singing bowls, delicate chimes, and an orchestra of wind instruments, string instruments, and the faint addition of a gentle children's choir. But it was a sound that couldn't truly be described, only experienced.

"...I'll show you when we get back." Starscream offered, "I've done it tones of times..."

Skyfire's wings drooped. He wrung his servos in silent contemplation, optics glued to the ground.

"...There's a trick to staying awake, even being so deep in the chords. You see-"

"I'm not going back."

Starscream blinked at Skyfire, confused. The shuttle lifted his eyes, gazing at him with bittersweet resolve.

"I'm leaving Cybertron."

The seeker gaped at him, stunned by what he'd heard.

---

"Starscream!" Skyfire urged, chasing the seeker as he strut away in a huff, "Starscream please, talk to me!"

"What's there to talk about? You've made the situation abundantly clear!" Starscream snarled, clearly embittered, " You'll ditch me to fly off into the wild blue yonder while I have to go back and face the consequences!"

"I'm not ditch-!" Skyfire calmed himself, "You make it out like I've been scheming to abandon you! I hadn't even been absolutely sure of my decision until now!"

Starscream whirled around sharply.

"And that makes NOW is the best time to tell me!?"

"I couldn't even be confident of what I wanted before now! I didn't want to bring it up until I could explain my reasoning without being all wobbly about it!"

The seeker rolled his optics, shaking his helm and walking off once more. Skyfire chased him, about to argue back. But, frustrated as he was, caught himself.

"You're right." admitted the shuttle reluctantly, "I'm sorry, and you're right. I should've discussed it with you beforehand and I am sorry, but I chose to deal with it in the way I did, so I have to bring it up now if I want to keep this from hurting our friendship."

Starscream didn't answer, still sulking.

"I think..." Skyfire paused, coming to a halt, "I think something really bad's about to happen on Cybertron."

Starscream froze in his tracks. He didn't turn around.

"I think you know it too. Something I don't want to be around for."

+-+-+

Satisfied with the depth, Starscream turned to the mangled stack of Wehrmacht soldiers and, one by one, slung them into the hole. Most were plucked by a leg with two digits, in a manner not unlike what one might do when disposing of a dead rodent. Each corpse unceremoniously piling atop one another in a grotesque display reminiscent of a Dix expressionist painting.

He frowned, memories continuing to play in his mind.

+-+-+

"What about our research?!" stressed Starscream, "Our findings?!"

"I'll send a probe back containing all the data we've collected. The funds left will pay for the equipment ."

"That wouldn't cover everything!"

"You think they'd waste time and resources hunting us down to pay off such an insignificant amount?!"

"You can't just NOT go back!"

"Why not?!" Skyfire protested, throwing out his servos.

The two went silent for a moment, Skyfire's expression on his faceplate hardening.

"You told me once that my size gave me freedom. That I should stop being ashamed of that freedom. But I think it's high-time you took your own advice."

The seeker raised a browridge, giving a perplexed scoff.

"As If I'd be held back by shame!" 

"No. Of course not." Skyfire refuted sarcastically, "You'd rather cling to this desperate, parasitic need to romanticize the oppression you faced!"

"Excuse me?!"

"You've endured it for so long, become so accustomed to it, so familiar, so intimate, that it's become this twisted comfort for you! So many pitfalls in your life have stemmed from the machinations of others, I don't deny that, but Starscream, you console yourself on that knowledge! The idea that at the end of the day, it can't be your fault, because someone else must always hold power over you! It's become such a crutch, that when you at last find yourself in a position where you DO have complete say, where you DO have complete autonomy, complete authority, you recoil from it like the plague! What for?! Because when one can no longer throw blame on the inadequacies of others, they have to start acknowledging and confronting their own shortcomings, and YOU don't know HOW!"

Starscream wanted to refuse Skyfire's words, but the shuttle gave him no room to do so.

"You resist making consequential choices if no one's there strongarming your decision, because without them it's just YOU! YOU make that decision! It's a decision that defines YOU! YOU and all the trappings and failings of yourself that you HAVE to face! You've suppressed it for so long that you dread opening yourself! You're terrified of what you'll find!"

Starscream shuddered, his face twisted in anger. Skyfire's words ping-ponging within his processor; his helm felt as if it were ready to burst.

Something suddenly occurred to him, allowing him to regain poise.

"A poetic diagnosis," he muttered, summoning a condescending half-smirk, "but there's one key factor you've failed to account for."

"And what is that?" challenged Skyfire.

Starscream gave a bitter scoff.

"The fact you overlooked it so easily shows how little you care."

"Care about what? What am I overlooking?!"

"I guess you couldn't understand..."

"Then tell it! Prove me wrong! I'd love to be proven wrong!"

"...You don't have something so precious waiting for you."

"What's waiting for you?!"

"Not as I do-"

"WHAT'S WAITING FOR YOU!?"

"CYBERTRON!"

Skyfire fell silent, realizing the truth of Starscream's declaration. The seeker shook, the stress of the conversation getting to him.

"It may not mean anything to you, but it's my home! No matter how agonizing my situation was, it always had it! Its sky! Its soil! Every creature that skitters across its surface! The towers of Vos, the Chord of Primus, they are as deeply engraved into my being, my identity, as my yearning to fly!  Everything good, everything worth preserving stems form my home! It means more to me than freedom, more than life! It is more important to me than you could possibly understand!"

Skyfire stared at Starscream, A certain hurt arising in his optics.

"More...than I?"

Starscream opened his mouth but found no words came out. He lowered his helm, but did not avert his optics.

He quietly, pathetically, gave a slow, pained shake of the helm.

A long silence passes between them.

"Then come with me..."

Skyfire grasped his friend's shoulders, tenderly struggling to find the gentlest words he could muster.

"...I'm not saying never to go back, just until this passes. We have the equipment, we've found sources of energon, we know how to fend for ourselves...." 

Starscream froze, realizing the finality of his friend's tone.

"...if you have to go back, I'll understand. I don't think it'll make you happy, but...""

Starscream hesitated, looking at the planet.

"You needn't give me your answer now.  Let's not worry about collecting data here, it's the last planet after all. Let's explore, observe, for ourselves, for our own joy. When we leave, then you can tell me your choice..."

Starscream's expression twisted, as if he had swallowed a bitter tonic.

"...Just promise me that when that moment comes, it'll be YOUR choice." 

"Sky, even at its best, happiness...is a fleeting thing." he tilted his helm away, "Some myopic "acquisition" of a fickle byproduct called happiness won't give me what I want."

"And what do you want?"

Starscream didn't answer. 

"Happiness is a by-product? What of? What could have more worth?"

Starscream's optics flickered for a split moment, a word hitting his spark, but he persisted in his silence. However Skyfire, long having been his closest companion, realized the word that had elicited such a reaction, even without his speaking. A frustration arose in the shuttle, but he held himself back, considering his words carefully. 

"And I can't give that to you? Haven't given that to you...?"

Skyfire narrowed his optics at him, insulted.

"...Honestly, Starscream. What is trust to you? What is LOVE to you?"

"I wouldn't know."

Taken aback by the immediate answer, the shuttle released his grip.

"I'm a cold-construct," Starscream answered, turning his back towards the shuttle, "A tragedy. I'm just not a mech...who's meant to be loved."

It went quiet. The stillness of the moon did nothing to distract from the silence.

Starscream looked back--

+-+-+

The transfer of bodies completed, Starscream pushed the dirt-pile back into the hole. After patting it down and doing his best to blend it with the rest of the ground, he rose to his pedes, ready to head to his secret launch area. A loud meow gave him pause as he glanced back to see the cat staring up at him expectantly. 

The two shared a pompous stare.

"So long Cryak," Starscream waved dryly, "Take care of yourself, ya' hear?"

The mech turned and lumbered deeper into the forest, until the mist and shadows swallowed him up.

"The Senate convenes in eight solar cycles to determine the new sanctions regarding use of empurata. They'll be using my 'trial' and Shockwave's disappearance to push the urgency of the vote, a vote that requires all of them to be present..."

The cat, though unable to understand the titan's words, understood the sentiment of the moment. Recognizing this, it gave a yawn, a stretch, and sauntered towards the town to seek out a new food provider.

"...We've only got one shot to pull this off..."

+-+-+

Ravage moved through ventilation ducts, scouring the lab of its exits and entries. Inside he scanned the rooms, traversing through the vents until he emerged into a database center. Transforming into his data-drive alt-mode and inserting himself into the computer module.

"...we know which 'clinic' they're holding Shockwave in..."

The display screen flickered with the names and data of "patients", flipping through faster and faster before finally stopping on Shockwave's file. 

"...the problem is we can't be sure exactly where inside, so we'll have to spread out and move fast..."

___

A self-operating "camera", strategically stationed on a platform overlooking the Senate, photographed the structure, taking careful, detailed shots of all those when entered, exited, and loitered about the building.

"...security is our biggest obstacle for all targets..."

Though initially only taking pictures of the Senators, it gradually began focusing more on the other bots, particularly the guard bots stationed around certain entry points of the building; zooming in on their faces and getting particularly detailed shots.

---

Late one following night, one of said guard bots was walking up the stairs to the level of his home, tired after a long day and ready to relax. Punching the code into the keypad for his abode, he paid no mind to the two twin flyers, Skyquake and Dreadwing, casually loitering towards his direction as they chatted to each other, assuming their stop was further on. They passed behind him as the keypad beeped and the door was unlocked.

"...but if we quietly "reduce" personnel in the time beforehand..."

He was suddenly grabbed from behind and dragged inside. Before he had time to react, his helm was blown apart with Dreadwing's silencer, his frame slumping to the floor, dead. Skyquake grabbed the door and closed it, quickly glancing about to ensure nobody else had heard.

"...the Senate will be completely vulnerable..." 

___

Elsewhere, several more guard bots, already terminated by three other Decepticons: Shrapnel, Bombshell, and Kickback, were dragged under cover of darkness into a trash compactor and unceremoniously dumped.

"...which leaves the trickiest of our targets; the one most needed for this to go right..."

+-+-+

Even within the darkness, the monstrous structure of the Reichsluftfahrtministerium, or Ministry of Aviation, was easy to pick out from the ground. Built to reflect the might of the regime, it stood five stories in front, six in the back, and spanned the entire length of the street it was built upon. Two private courtyards on each end were encircled by walled, windowed wings of the building. Eagle statues sat perched upon the iron fence that protected the main entrance. Not to mention with the Gestapo headquarters station just a block over, it should've been impossible for any regular person to sneak in.

Otto and Alexia sat in a car down the street from the building; Alexia dressed in a manner befitting of a Wehrmachthelferin whilst Otto wore a uniform he'd stolen from the higher-ranking soldier Starscream had "taken care of" back at their home. Hearts pounding in their ears, the couple waited patiently within the comforting blackness of their vehicle. They watched as near the entrance, a soldier drawing a horse-cart, covered with a tarp, handed over papers to one of the guards. It was too far to hear their conversation, but after studying the papers for a moment, the guard handed them back to the driver and made gestures indicating the man was to drive to the back of the building on the northside. The driver came a nod and flicked the reigns, urging his horses forward and out of sight.

Finally, Otto managed to discern a faint, inky outline descending closer to the roof, undetected. He knew Starscream had planned to soar high over the city, high enough for his engines to be out of earshot, before shutting them off and circling down noiselessly like a vulture. With great skill, he landed on the longest stretch of the Ministry's roof, disappearing from ground-level sight. Otto and Alexia waited fifteen minutes, wary of whether any commotion would arise from Starscream's landing, before exiting the car.

They made a mad dash towards the building, turning into the southwest corner where a good stretch of windowless wall sat cloaked in shadow. They waited anxiously, fearful their skulking had already been noted by some overlooked observer; it all seemed to be going a little too well. Every agonizing minute felt like poison in their blood. They cast anxious glances up at the corner roof; even the subtlest sounds becoming thunderous to their panicked senses. At last, they saw two glowing red eyes poke into view from the roof. The form retreated and a moment later a rope, tied with several knots and a loop at the end, was thrown down.

Otto silently urged his wife to go first, scouring the area anxiously as Alexia clung for dear life and gave the rope three sharp tugs. She bit her lip to silence a surprised cry when the rope abruptly hoisted her up to the roof. She disappeared over the edge and again the rope was lowered, allowing Otto to grab onto it. Once hoisted to the roof, he could see Starscream had been reeling in the rope by twirling it around his index finger; so inconsequential had their weight been to him. 

"This southside courtyard was the last spot the clearest signal was sent." Starscream tucked his wings back, keeping as low as possible to the roof, "The building's structure must be interfering. Find your sparkling, and you should find it too. Don't forget."

A commotion was heard below, and the three turned to see a stream of children being corralled through the north wing hallways on the third floor. Otto's face drained.

"Kinder? Here?!"

Alexia looked amongst them carefully, scouring their faces.

"Max might be among them."

"That's not where the signal came from-" 

"You said yourself it was bad," snapped Alexia, despite her terror of the mech, "It might've moved."

"Alexia-" 

Alexia's sharp look stopped Otto's words, her determination evident. He made no move to stop her. She wasted no time scurrying through the access doors that led inside from the roof. Starscream gruffly scooped Otto up and lowered him down to the uppermost corner window, careful to stay in the shadows. 

The first window was securely locked, as was the second. The third opened with ease, and Otto quickly slipped inside.

"Try not to screw this one up." Starscream hissed.

+-+-+

Starscream's gaze scanned the multitude of optics glowing from the dark. Deep in their secure hideout, the Decepticons swarmed around the illuminated display, the only lit object in the dark room,  a crude blueprint onscreen. Gesturing to the space designated as the abyss, Starscream continued.

"...The pillar Iacon's prison sits atop of has the shortest gap here..."

He pointed towards the ledge, the same one where the bridge was located.

"...The only grounder entrance is positioned at the narrowest distance across the chasm. Heavily guarded and extremely narrow; intentionally so. Try to evacuate that way, they'll descend on us like horde of starved scraplets and pick us off. We have nowhere near enough flying cargo-frames to withdraw the number of prisoners inside, but more importantly..."

His optics narrowed. He switched the image to a blueprint of the bridge.

".. The bridge has explosives built into the structure. The klik they feel the situation's lost, they'll blow the whole thing sky-high."

"More like pit-deep." 

"However," Starscream continued, ignoring Frenzy's snide quip, "The charges around the actual pillar have merely been fastened to the exterior. If we remove those, we can repurpose them as we please."

"Repurpose 'em for what?" Rumble huffed.

Starscream glared at mini-con.

---

"You and Frenzy are the only ones able to mass-shift your way inside the south corner endo-supports and secure the charges. Make sure they're spaced out every quarter-vun..."

Under the cover of night, at the base of the pillar, the bolts and metal straps that had held the bombs were torn loose. High, high at the top of the prison, Laserbeak cut carefully through the thinnest section of the edo-supports with his beak. After a great deal of work, he managed to create two small holes, just large enough for his small head to poke through.

"...we'll need them set before the attack, there won't be time to do it during the operation."

The avian mech carefully dropped two tiny data-drives, each inside one of the two openings. Once through the hole, the data-drives immediately transformed back into their root modes, revealing themselves as Frenzy and Rumble.

The edo-support was hollow inside, and though it made a straight plummet down to the ground, it was tight enough that Frenzy and Rumble merely had to stretch their bodies out to gain enough traction to climb up or down with ease. Upon seeing them ready, Lazerbeak went between the two openings, slipping the dismantled parts of the bombs in one by one for them to carry and plant at the designated points. 

"And you really think that's gonna be enough to fry the joint?"

Both Frenzy and Rumble, one by one, pieced the bombs together and fastened them to the designated points, arming the explosives.

"If the concentrated heat won't do it, the pressure will."

---

Starscream turned his attention away from the cassette-bots.

"Those assigned to infiltrate the clinic division, listen up. Once Shockwave's found, load him onto Astrotrain and rendezvous with Megatron, immediately. Once picked up, he'll fire off the evacuation signal. That'll be the que for the rest of us to leave."

He turned to three neon-colored seekers.

"Nova and Acid's chemical warfare ability will make pursuit more difficult." He looked to the aforementioned Rainmakers, "Erode the freeways leading out of Iacon. Ion, fry every major communication unit you see. If all goes smoothly, they'll be too busy scrambling to get the devastation under control rather than pursue us..."

Starscream gestured to Brawl, Onslaught, and Swindle.

"...You three will join Megatron's assault on the Senate, and STAY. PUT. Once we break out Vortex and Blast Off, Dirge, Thrust, and Ramjet will escort them to the Senate. If you abandon your post by the time they arrive, they may not find you and you lot won't be able to combine..."

---

The Constructicons carefully approached the prison entrance, escorted by Skywarp and Thundercracker. Bridge security personnel checked their spark signatures as Thundercracker explained the purpose of their visit. They hauled along a brand new security transmitter that was to be installed in place of a recently damaged one.

The guards confiscated the seeker's weapons for safekeeping before allowing them passage across the bridge.

"...Thundercracker, Skywarp: you'll be escorting the Constructicons into the prison."

"Just us?" Thundercracker raised a browridge.

Underneath the bridge, hidden beneath the connection point between it and the prison pillar, Starscream and three cone-headed seekers waited, carrying loads of explosives salvaged from the pillar.

"Additional guards would only draw attention..." 

They listened carefully as they heard their five visitors pass overhead.

"...Me and the others be waiting beneath the bridge with the explosives. Once across and secured, Skywarp can teleport us in..."

The red cone-headed seeker, the one called Thrust, leaned out towards the edge of the bridge, itching for a fight.

"...We want to do this quietly..."

Starscream quickly noticed and smacked him behind the helm. Thrust let out a grunt of annoyance as he rubbed the struck spot and ducked back under cover.

+-+-+

Alexia trotted down the stairs ducking behind the flight of the third floor as she saw a man come her way and head up. She continued descending until she came upon the group of children. Maintaining her distance she scanned the group looking carefully among the golden-haired, blue eyed children, but to her dismay, saw no sign of Max.

Turning away, she headed back up, figuring she could rendezvous with Otto and figure out where Max might be. She looked about, wishing she had some idea of where to search.

"Do you need help finding something, Fraulen?"

Startled by the question, Alexia turned to see an off duty soldier looking at her curiously.

"Ah..." Alexia hesitated before quickly composing her nerves. "The group of children that came through here, do you know where they're headed next?"

"You mean after the lectures?" the soldier looked at his military-issued wrist watch, "They've probably gathered on the first floor by now. It's almost time for them to return back to the Kinderheim, ja?"

Alexia's throat tightened at the though of Max being in one of those poisonous facilities.

"The new boy, the one joining today, he's not among them. Do you know where he might be? It's imperative he's, ah...integrated properly."

The soldier considered a moment.

"If he's not with the others, they might still be keeping him in one of the holding rooms on the fourth floor."

+-+-+

"Hold it!" protested Scrapper, "Why can't we go with Megatron? Why do we gotta' be the ones stuck headin' into the clink?"

"Upset you aint' gettin' the spotlight kill with our leader?" Brawl taunted.

Hook stepped in, pointing a provocative digit towards the rage-prone Combaticon.

"Why should he be stuck fighting alongside such uncharismatic bores like you lot?!" 

"Because," interjected Starscream, "There's no justifiable reason for the Combaticons to visit the prison aside from a routine prisoner-exchange! It would too suspicious."

"Hmph!" Mixmaster snorted, "And we're somehow less conspicuous?"

Starscream smirked.

"Of course..." 

---

Ravage, once more sneaking through ventilation ducts, this time in one of the supply depots, located the computer system that kept record of approved material use and new orders. Sneaking in, he transformed into his alt-mode and slipped into the computer. On the screen, the text "Uploading Files" readout, showing a loading bar which, once at 100%, displayed the new file which showed an "officiated" document detailing how the Constructicons Scrapper, Hook, and Mixmaster were scheduled to repair a security transmitter at the Iaconian prison and would be escorted by two seekers. The file was then planted amongst the others. A perfect forgery.

___

Rumble and Frenzy climbed up after planting the charges all throughout the endo-supports as instructed. Laserbeak, sticking his head through the small openings, caught each of the cassette-bots as they shifted and landed in his beak. Setting them both down on the roof, he grabbed each with a claw and took off.

"...who else is going to handle repairs?"

Making a sharp turn once in the air, Laserbeak dove at the security transmitter on the roof, blasting it with his lasers, frying the system before banking hard to the north and flying off to safety.

---

Starscream drifted his servo over the city map shown on the projection.

"Now that we've covered the basics of our three targets-"

"Four."

The Decepticons all turned their attention towards their great and terrifying leader as he strode up to the display, jabbing a digit over a specific point on the map.

Starscream furrowed his browridge.

"The Cyber Nation Network Tower?" he asked confusedly, "Why?"

Megatron locked optics with Soundwave, who gazed back in silence.

"Accessing the most powerful broadcasting system in Iacon will allow us to jam communications and delay any alerts. It's imperative we seize control prior to executing our plan."

An unsettling glimmer of suspicion flashed within Starscream spark. Despite the dubious legitimacy of Megatron's reasoning, Starscream couldn't deny there was a certain advantage to be gain from seizing such a prominent communication hub. The question was more a matter of how much that was worth.

"Might I remind you that we don't exactly have a surplus of mechs to spare."

Megatron smirked, eyeing two particular mechs within the group.

"Two shall suffice."

+-+-+

Alexia opened the door to the sad little room, her heart wincing at the idea of Max being kenneled up in such a place. 

"Max?"

It seemed empty, certainly. There weren't many spots where even a boy could hide. Regardless, Alexia got down on her hands and knees and checked beneath the bed, only to find it was empty.

A small glow came from the ventilation duct.

Curious, she slid her torso underneath the bed and opened up the vent, pulling out whatever was inside and wrapped within the pillow-sheet. Flipping the sheet off, she instantly recognized Max's plane and pulled it out, realizing it'd been wrapped up to smother the light coming out. Thinking quickly, she yanked off the sheets from the bed, wrapping it up and more effectively smothering the light. She figured she could excuse herself by saying she had sheets to take to laundry if anyone asked.

---

Otto scoured the rooms, looking for both Max and the plane. He was grateful most of the rooms were kept dim, for the sake of air raids, a smidge of lighting allowed here and there to keep people from running into walls or tripping over themselves. The only areas with full lighting were those that had the windows blocked.

Regardless, Otto knew he had to be wary of his stolen uniform's rank and salute those of higher station, but he was more inclined to avoid any run-ins at all. There were so many rooms to check, some locked, and he grew more distressed at the prospect of searching. The more people he ran into, the more he risked someone growing suspicious. 

He turned a corner only for his blood to run cold. He pulled back out of sight, peaking around the corner carefully.

An familiar SS member was conversing with a superior officer down the corridor.

It was Dieter.

Dieter was standing in the doorway of one of the rooms, clearly having just come out and speaking to another member of the SS. Otto watched carefully as they closed the door behind them, the two heading down the hallway and out of sight.

Desperate for any lead, Otto moved quickly and entered the room they'd just left, locking the door behind him. He surveyed the dark space.

"Max?" he hissed, "Max, are you here?"

No answer. As usual.

Smelling smoke, he noticed a glass tray where two recently extinguished cigarettes had been discarded. Encouraged by the already present smoke in the air, Otto grabbed the matchbox lying nearby and struck a match. The fire jumped to life, giving off a faint illumination that danced in his deep cobalt eyes. He looked up

and saw a Wehrmacht soldier staring straight at him from the darkness.

His heart failed to beat, he was as petrified as a rabbit staring into the mouth of a wolf.

Neither moved. The soldier's features barely illuminated by the faint light of the match he held.

Match?

Slowly, Otto drifted the match to his right. The soldier mimicked the movement perfectly. Otto moved it to his left, the soldier did the same.

It was only then Otto noticed the embarrassingly obvious muntin strips of the window. 

It had been so dark inside and out that the light from his match was enough to turn the window into a mirror; Otto so startled by the sight of his own reflection, he'd completely forgotten the Wehrmacht uniform he'd been wearing.

He felt so stupid, he could've laughed aloud.

Waving out the burnt through match, Otto flicked another one to life and surveyed the room.

He scoured the desk seated before the window for anything useful. There were papers, documents, a telephone, a lamp, and a long letter-opener with a Reich's Eagle decorating the handle. Nothing that could help his search.

Disappointed, he went to the window, opening it up and sticking his head out onto the courtyard, trying to figure out his next move. As he rested his hands on the windowsill, he noticed his skin seemed to be illuminated with a faint, faint red tint. Looking straight up, he saw the red orbs staring down at him, impatient. Silently, he crossed his arms and shook his head, urging the mech to go back. He heard a huff of disappointment before the eyes once more slipped out of sight.

Tilting his head down, he caught sight of Alexia walking through the section across from him, carrying a bundle of sheets. Confused at first, he quickly realized what she might actually be carrying, wondering if perhaps she had found a lead on Max. Otto waved his hands in the air trying to get her attention, but without making a lot of noise, there was no chance she'd notice him, and he wasn't about to take that kind of risk.

He watched carefully, observing where she was headed, before closing the window and heading out, intent on meeting up with her.

The moment he cracked open the door, peeking out into the hall, his blood ran cold.

Dieter was returning.

Otto balked back into the room and closed the door, listening carefully for Dieter's footsteps, hoping he'd pass. He'd locked the door on instinct, but as the footsteps drew closer and closer, he realized that spur of the moment decision may have been a mistake. He could see, from the scant light leaking in from under the door, someone stood right outside.

The door handle jiggled.

Otto's whole body locked up, frozen into place.

Sweat dripped down his jaw, nay, his whole body. He felt sticky.

The sound of a key slipping into the keyhole jolted movement back into his body.

Dieter unlocked the door, perplexed as to whether he'd locked it by accident before leaving. Leaving the door wide open to allow some light in, he headed to the desk, sifting through the papers, before pulling out the one he needed. Pocketing it, he set the rest down before withdrawing a cigarette from Otto's case, having kept it on his person since finding it. 

He reached for the glass cigarette tray, only to be confused to find the matchbox missing. With a quick glance, he saw that it had been placed on the desk, though he could've sworn it hadn't been left there. Shrugging it off, he struck a light and held it up only to have it immediately blown out by a breeze.

The window was cracked open, not a lot, but enough to allow airflow to come it and extinguish the flame. Looping around the desk, Dieter looked over the window, oblivious to space under the desk behind him, and the man curled up underneath, clutching the sharp letter opener and sweating bullets.

Otto strained to keep his breath quiet. He positioned his legs beneath him, ready to strike should he be noticed.

He prayed that he wouldn't.

Dieter closed the window, reasoning to himself that the window had been cracked open so little he probably hadn't noticed before. Once more striking a match, he leaned his cigarette towards the flame. It's pretty visage reflected in the window before him. 

Dieter stood perfectly still, fixated, staring at the flame as if mesmerized by its light. Otto could see Diete's eyes reflect in the window, and for a blood-curdling moment, became convinced they'd made direct eye contact. But before he could react, Dieter waving out the flame and gave a puff on the cigarette, staring out the window languidly, none the wiser. He turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him as Otto heard the footsteps grow faint.

Otto went limp as jelly, the letter opener tumbling from his trembling hand. He would've burst into relieved tears if he didn't still have a job to do.

Collecting himself, he stood and set the letter opener back on the desk. It took him a minute to calm his heart before he felt ready to move on.

Stepping out of the room, he resolved to head in the same direction Alexia had been going.

He felt the barrel of a Lugar press into the base of his skull.

"Lose something?" Dieter's cold voice asked mockingly, "Herr Schmidt?"

+-+-+

The elevator dinged on the broadcast floor as two bots stepped out. One, a white-gray winged mech with royal-purple accents and a three-pronged crest known as Octane, and the other, with indigo pedes, beige servos, a celadon torso, and a vicious glint in the yellow visor that sat above his mouth guard, was designated as Sixshot. 

The two made their way towards the broadcast room, currently broadcasting the news of the days. Slipping through the hallways, they entered the darkened studio control room which looked out upon the news broadcast stage through soundproof glass. The red "On Air" sign indicating all the audio was coming exclusively from the studio floor, they would not be heard

Still, they paused, waiting for one of the three bots to quit gawking and start talking.

"Alldammit, how many times do I have to tell you blowouts not to barge in while we're-?" one bot began, standing up, "Who the-? Hey, you two can't be in here-!"

Sixshot leveled his pistol and blew the bot's chest open, the silencer muffling any noise the soundproof glass would've failed to suppress. The two other bots jumped for safety, but with clinical precision, were dispatched within a nano-klik. 

Giving only a quick glance out the window, pleased that no one had taken notice of the slaughter, Octane strode up to the control panel, rolling the lifeless mech off it and onto the floor, before sitting down and familiarizing himself with the layout. 

Sixshot promptly left the room.

Octane flicked off the feed. The "On Air" sign went dark as the bot instead broadcasted a digital image that read "We Are Experiencing Technical Difficulties".

"Whoops. sorry 'bout that folks..."

Octane quipped cheerily into the control room microphone as he saw Sixshot enter a door to the studio floor, much to the other bots' surprise. Their vocal complaints were inaudible through the soundproof control room glass.

"...Seems we've run into some technical difficulties..."

The darkened studio floor lit up with each hit Sixshot drilled into the helpless bots in the room. Octane, indifferent, held the microphone between his shoulder and helm as he scooted over to the catalog of prerecorded material and sifted through it, pulling one out and checking the label.

"...But don't you worry, we'll have it fixed in two shakes of a tail-rudder..."

As Octane began setting the up the prerecorded material, Sixshot, splattered with energon, made his way towards the studio floor exit. Octane quickly noticed and tapped on the glass, catching Sixshot's attention. Sixshot looked back as Octane point towards a big camera in the room and giving a knowing look.

Confused for only a moment, Sixshot quickly realized the implication and made a b-line towards the news-room camera. Realizing their attempt to hide had failed, the camera transformed back into root-mode, pleading for mercy.

Sixshot had none to give.

"...In the meantime," chirped Octane, "We'll run you some of our best moments for your enjoyment as we get things ready. Thank you for your patience and understanding. Stay beautiful."

Flicking off the microphone audio, Octane double checked to ensure the broadcast was running smoothly when he heard the control room door open behind him.

He spun casually in the chair, coming face to face with Sixshot, who was shaking his helm in disgust as he dripped with fresh energon.

"Primus," the mech snarled, "Your acting is bad." 

---

The ground-level security guard hovered a detection wand over the satellite, checking for any unstable substances or explosive readings. He looked at the wand's simple display screen, which seemed to be taking longer than usual to analyze the material.

"Scan's a bit screwy, like it's jamming the signal."

"It's a security transmitter," Hook grumbled, "That's what it's designed to do, fool."

"Is it?" The security guard asked in genuine surprise, crinkling his faceplate as he absentmindedly looked to Thundercracker, "I've never heard of that feature before."

"Don't look at me," Thundercracker shrugged, "I don't know nothin' bout this kinda thing. They're the builders, we're just here to keep an eye on 'em."

"It aint' even powered in." noted the guard.

"It doesn't need-! For the love of-that's because we don't design trash!"

The guard rolled his optics, returning his attention to the scan. After a few more attempts, the scanner finally worked, coming up clean. The guard looked to Thundercracker.

"Take the lift up to tier-five security. You will be issued inhibitor spikes."

Skywarp's faceplate went pale.

"In-Inhibitor spikes!?" 

"Transformation is prohibited for all non-security personnel, no exceptions. We'll remove 'em once you're done. Not like they can't do their job in root-mode."

The warden glanced suspiciously over the Constructicons.

"Although...now that I think of it, why'd you three even volunteer for this job? You all hate this place."

"They, uh-" Thundercracker searched for an answer, but fortunately, Scrapper jumped in to answer.

"They said it'd reflect well on our probation review. That's what they say."

The guard tilted his helm in thought, finally giving an accepting shrug.

"Get it done quickly. I'd prefer to have you three out of my wires before my fuel break."

Thundercracker and Skywarp escorted the builders down the hall, the Constructicons towing the security transmitter towards the elevator. They stopped and crowded around the lift control panel while they waited, making a wall around the doors.

"You never mentioned anything about inhibitor spikes!" Skywarp hissed.

"Calm down," Hook muttered, subtly transforming one of his digits into a small, screwdriver-esque tool. "It's not like we'll be wearing them."

Thundercracker didn't turn his helm, but couldn't help but try side-eyeing the security camera he knew hung behind them, watching. He hoped they'd crowded tightly enough to block it from seeing what Hook was doing to the panel.

Sure enough, video feed of the cons was being watched carefully by the security overseer. On another screen, he reviewed the officiating documents for their visit, the same ones Ravage had planted. The security footage froze briefly, glitching and flickering a few times. The overseer frowned, smacking the screen a few times until the movement returned. The feed seemed to work again without trouble.

"Scrap system," he swore, "I told them we're due for an upgrade, bad."

"Ground security to tier-five," crackled a voice from his communicator, "We got three builders and two seekers wantin' to head roof-side to replace that fried transmitter. They've been cleared for maintenance and strip-searched for weapons."

"I see 'em," replied the overseer, "Sending the lift."

Punching in a security code, he permitted the elevator doors to be opened and watched the security camera as the cons entered, switching the feed to the inside of the elevator. Once they were inside and the doors closed, the overseer pulled out a different security screen and prepared to spark scan the group.

The elevator had been specially equipped with this feature which operated similarly to an X-ray or CAT scan. The readout images were dark, pitch-black except for the distinct white lights that represented an individual's spark. This was an impossible readout to fake. Whoever was inside the elevator, with the spark scan, they would be detected. No-one could move between floors without detection.

Looking over the scan readout, the overseer saw five clear spark readings huddled close together. Five sparks, five bots. Everything seemed in order.

The security guard watched with glazed optics at the video feed from inside the elevator. The five bots stood perfectly still, huddled close, staring forward, barely moving a fiber. One would almost think it was a still image if not for the subtle shifting and slightly swaying that ensured it was indeed a video. The security bot spoke into the elevator microphone.

"You'll be required to undertake a few extra security measures before we can allow you further up. When the elevator doors open, you'll see two doors, take the one to your left into the waiting area, that's where you'll receive your inhibitor spikes before you can go further. You'll return to this area once finished to remove them. Please cooperate and we can get this done quickly."

The group inside the elevator didn't react, almost like they didn't hear him.

Wary, the overseer decided to do another spark scan. The readout was slow, but once it emerged, it again showed five sparks, grouped quite close together, but clearly the same number as the bots onscreen.

---

Over at the Senate, all of the Senators had convened, completely oblivious to the reduced security around the building, they were not in the habit of paying attention to such things. Besides, this was to be a quick session, a quick passage of new empurata laws before going home.

Once all had gathered, Sentinel stood, raising his servos in a calming gesture to silence their chatting. None took notice of the figures lurking in the shadows of the upper floors that overlooked the room.

"Now then," announced the Prime pompously, "Let us begin."

+-+-+

With Dieter leading the way, Otto found himself dragged into a large, empty room where spare chairs, tables, and various decorations were being stored. Strongarmed by two other SS soldiers, he was forcefully shoved into one of the chairs and tied down. Dieter drew the curtains on the window before flicking on the single bulb overhead.

"My son..." Otto gasped, "Where is he?"

 “I find myself," Dieter began, ignoring the question, "recalling the way Virgil described the bottom of hell..."

"What have you done with my son?!"

"...the darkest, coldest layer, reserved for those who commit the worst of crimes-"

"WHERE'S MAX?!"

Dieter's whole body trembled with a palpable bloodlust at this second interruption.

"Would you rather see him all at once?" he threatened, "Or bit by bit?"

Even barring the controlled ire that flashed within Dieter's eyes, the implication of his words alone was enough to silence Otto with fear.

"I suppose," Dieter relaxed, backing away, "I am needlessly drawing this out."

Dieter gave a curt nod to one of the men, who promptly exited the room.

"Our brilliant forensics department managed to lift your fingerprints from that little lighter..."

Otto furrowed his brow in confusion.

"...Oh, you know. The one you dropped when you stole those radios? Well, radios and maps, don't think we didn't notice those missing as well. Besides..." Dieter prowled closer, "...you also left this..."

He pulled out the cigarette case, engraved with the map of Germany Otto knew all too well. Dieter tauntingly slipped the case into Otto's breast-pocket, taking care to button it closed and give it a pat.

"Stupid, Otto." he sneered, "Very stupid. Though it does lead me to wonder how you managed to rip that phone booth whole-cloth and move it so far into the forest without detection. Tapping into the phone lines I understand, yes, but doing it in such a manner..."

There was a scuffle from the door, and all turned to see the soldier return, dragging Max in by the collar of his little shirt. 

"MAX!"

Max's eyes widened.

"Vatti!"

They boy tried to rush forward, only to be yanked back by the man holding him.

"Inept parentage," Dieter began, pulled a free chair over from the wall, "Can really be the most cancerous thing to a child's development."

The chair was positioned facing Otto while still keeping it a fair distance from him. The soldier pulled Max next to the chair, still maintaining his hold as Dieter looked to him.

"Sit down, Max."

"No!" shouted the boy, "I wanna go home! I wanna go with Vat-!"

In a single, violent movement, Dieter grabbed the free chair with one hand, raised it and slammed it down with such murderous force, it seemed to shake the whole room. Max, frightened by the threatening display, went silent, trembling as he crumpled under Dieter's heartless eyes.

"Sit. Down."

Max looked to his father, who could only offer a reassuring nod, glancing at the empty chair. Max very slowly sat down as the soldier released his grip, assured the boy would not resist.

"I have no desire to act unkindly towards you Max. Necessary as it is, this will be a very difficult ordeal for you." Dieter squatted down to his level, "It's a painful role we must play, mending the errors of our predecessors. We are the children of cowards. It is our burden. Our shame..."

Dieter spoke with an uncharacteristically, unsettlingly honest tenderness in his voice.

"...But I promise, when this has passed, you will have the greatest sense of who you are, of what you can be...without him."

"My father isn't a coward." Max refuted in a whisper.

Dieter nodded patronizingly, silently dismissing the ignorant protests of the child.

"A father once betrayed the respect I'd placed in him. When the time comes, when the weight of that turmoil bears down on you, remember that it can be shared with someone who understands, someone you can trust." 

"As if I'd trust you with anything!"

Dieter remained unconvinced, rising to his feet.

"As you grow amongst us, your Vatti's traitorous nature will become clear as glass.”

He strode towards Otto.

“After all, he’s just confused." his pale, piercing eyes glared down at him, "Isn’t that right, Rattfallen?”

"There's no confusion when it comes to you!" screamed Max, drawing Dieter's attention, "I know what you did! I heard it all! You KILLED your Vatti! He only wanted to stop you from being so cruel and you killed him...!"

The boy's passionate outburst was enough to render Dieter dumbstruck.

"...My Vatti's good and honest! He would NEVER betray those he loves! Not the way YOU betrayed your Vader!"

Dieter stared for a moment, eyebrows raised, completely taken aback. 

At last, his expression reverted back to its cold disposition. He turned his head, glancing over to Otto.

"I see someone's been telling stories outside of class."

"Dieter-" Otto begged in quiet terror.

Dieter looked back to Max, who continued to stare back defiantly.

"So...he told you all about that little incident, did he?"

There was an dark satisfaction to his words, a knowledge of something Otto seemed well aware of.

It roused assurance in Dieter. In Otto: dread.

"Did he tell you," Dieter continued, "How my father and his friend were plotting against their own homeland? How they were willing to throw the whole country back into destitution? Compromising ten years of reconstruction we'd poured our blood, sweat, and tears into, if it meant undermining the Reich that had managed to lift us out of that poverty...?"

Dieter drew closer.

"...Did he tell you how they were given every opportunity to recant that betrayal? How we were fully ready to release them? Welcome them back if they would only cooperate in protecting the fatherland from its saboteurs?"

"Dieter, don't-!"

The boy's expression remained resolved, unshaken. Dieter drew a calm breath as he leaned closer.

"And did your Vatti tell you..."

"Dieter!"

"...That he was the one..."

"Dieter, PLEASE!"

He hissed directly into the boy's ear.

"...who RATTED them out?"

Cold eyes stared down at the boy, pleased to see his expression change at last, growing wide with shock. He pulled back slowly, standing erect once again as Max struggled to absorb his words.

He shook his little head.

"You lie..."

The boy's voice grew more assertive.

"...You LIE! My Vatti wouldn't do that! He would never-!"

But the moment Max's eyes fell on his father, all protests dies upon his lips, for it was clear, from every inch of his father's agonized, guilt-stricken face, that Dieter had spoken true.

"Why do you think," Dieter snorted, "We called him Rattfallen?"

If the room had closed in on Otto, crushing him to pieces, he would've been grateful. If Dieter had pulled out his Lugar and shot him, with the same coldness with which he had shot his own father, he would've been grateful. A part of him wanted to jump out the window so that his body might be crushed to pieces.

Anything, any death, would've been better than enduring the look of devastation etched upon his son's face.

Dieter sat in the moment, fully aware, fully soaking in what it meant for the two before him. Even if his conscience had held more sway over his heart, he would've still felt no remorse. This moment, in all its agony, Otto had wrought upon himself.

"Put him with the rest." muttered Dieter at last, glancing over to one of the men, "Get the building under lockdown and put out a search. We wouldn't want someone else leaving prematurely."

"Jawohl." The soldier obeyed promptly, yanking Max from his seat.

"No!" Max squealed, futilely resisting every step as he was yanked out the door, "Let me go! Let me go!" 

"Max!" Otto jolted and yanked his body helplessly in the chair, "MAX!"

The door closed, leaving Otto to the mercy of Dieter.

"Please," Otto whimpered, "Don't hurt him. He's just a boy, don't hurt him!"

"Him?" Dieter scoffed, "What good would it do us to harm him?"

"Then why?! Why must you rob us of our child?!"

Dieter's answer was as swift as it was ruthless.

"Because it is our duty to take such children, if we have to rob or steal them. It is our duty to take their German blood, or destroy it..."

Otto had grown accustomed to much villainy in recent years, but even he couldn't help but be astonished by such an iniquitous answer. 

"...leaving such inherently superior individuals outside the Reich, is a risk far too dangerous for us to allow."

Otto felt his stomach drop at what the implication meant for Max. If he could not adapt, did not permit himself to adapt to the teachings of these monsters, he would be pruned, uprooted, all for the sake of Aryan purity.

"But I wouldn't fear for Max." reassured Dieter, "He's still quite mailable at his age. And confronted with the pathetic nature of his father, I've no doubt he'll find himself steered in the right direction."

+-+-+

The overseer watched as the elevator data showed it arrived to the floor. He expected the bots to follow his instructions, but the video feed showed they didn't budge. He opened up a communication channel to the elevator.

"You can get off now, head into the door on your left."

None of the bots moved, they just stood, staring blankly and swaying very slightly. Annoyed, the overseer spoke into the microphone again.

"Hey, your audials malfunctioning or what? You need to get your inhibitor spikes in. Head into the left door."

No one moved an inch.

"Helloooo?"

No reaction.

Fed up, the overseer got up and headed over to two other guards, lounging around on break.

"Look, I don't know if the elevator speakers are busted or if these guys are just idiots, but can you get them off the lift and into the waiting room?"

The two guards gave an affirming wave and headed off towards the elevator at the other end of the floor. His paranoia getting the best of him, the overseer decided to run one more spark-scan.

The two guards entered the area in front of the elevator from the door on the right, a door that required a security-code entry and could absolutely not be broken through by force. They walked in, ignorant of the small data-drive device that waited just outside the door on the right and managed to tumble its way inside before the door closed. 

Meanwhile, the spark-scan emerged and the overseer looked over the readout.

He felt his spark drop.

There were only four sparks.

He looked up to see the two guard bots dashing towards him.

"What, did you just move one bot to the waiting room and leave the other four behind!? Why are you back here!?"

"There's no one to move!" They exclaimed. "There's nothing in the elevator but some security transmitter!"

The overseer stared, failing to register their answer for a nano-klik. He looked to the video-feed, still showing the five mechs waiting. 

"You see," Starscream explained, "That prison is meant to be inescapable; a trap no one can get out of. Anything, anyone that goes in is checked for weapons, tools, any equipment that could help a bot break out..."

His attention was drawn to the servos of one of the mechs, which suddenly jolted to a new position, almost indistinguishable, but there. The overseer at last realized in horror that the video hadn't been a live feed, but a looping recording.

"But that's...!" he stammered, "That's not-! The spark scan showed their sparks! And just now there were still four, you can't fake that!"

"There's no one in the elevator! Just that stupid security transm-!"

They all went silent, the realization dawning on them.

"...And they've become so fixated on preventing bots from breaking out..."

They turned.

"...they haven't accounted..."

Coming face to face with Soundwave.

"...for bots breaking IN."

Who promptly dispatched them.

Ravage sauntered up, jumping gracefully onto the control panel as he admired the carnage of his master. With a jump, he backflipping into his alt-mode and slipped inside one of the data ports.

+-+-+

Starscream waited impatiently on the roof, frustrated at how long the search seemed to be taking. He grit his denta, wondering how in the pit he let himself get roped into rescuing some squishy's sparkling.

The recorder. He reminded himself, he still has my slagging recorder.

"No! Let me go! I don't wanna! I don't wanna! Vatti! Mutti!"

The falsetto sound of shouting and struggling coming from the north side caught the mech's attention. Carefully, ever so carefully, he crawled his way to the edge, or rather, semi-crawled; shifting just enough for his landing gear to emerge. He stealthily rolled himself to the other end of the roof before retracting the gear back into his frame.

Peering over the edge he saw a military bus, in which seemed to be several human sparklings. One of the adult squishies dragged a final sparkling aboard, one that seemed to be resisting in every manner possible, though his small size rendered his efforts useless.

Max might be among them.

The words of that fleshling's conjunx rang in his memory as he watched the bus shudder and start, rolling down into the dark Berlin streets, headlight barely illuminating the road before it.

Starscream gave an agitated scowl, weighing his options.

---

Alexia headed down, still searching for Max, oblivious to what was happening to either of her son or Otto. Distracted by her wandering thoughts, she abruptly ran into a soldier.

"Pardon me, I didn't see-"

The words caught in her throat the moment she realized it was the soldier she'd spoken to before. 

"You're still here?" he asked, confused. "But weren't you-?"

"Excuse me," Alexia said quickly, clutching the bundle tightly, "I must finish my business here; I really haven't time to chat."

She turned and walked away briskly, trying to maintain and indifferent attitude. Finding another staircase, she decided it would be best to head up a level.

The moment she was out of sight, a second soldier walked up to the first.

"There you are. Get to the board room on the third floor, they're doing a body count."

"Body count?" the first soldier balked, "Why?"

"Someone managed to sneak in. They're interrogating him now, but it's likely he didn't come here alone."

The first soldier's eyes widened, turning to look at the stairs where the mysterious Fraulein had disappeared.

Not far ahead, Alexia became agonizingly aware of the heavy footsteps tailing at a distance behind her. She knew if they got their hands on the plane and whatever device was inside, there'd be dire consequences, for all her family.

Panicking and unable to think of another solution, she continued heading up, hoping to reach the roof in time, and with it, Starscream's protection.

+-+-+

Down on the main floor, the limp frame of the entrance guard was being dragged away by Scrapper and Mixmaster, who'd never actually left the first floor and instead slaughtered the security first chance they got. Throwing the mess into a nearby supply closet, they looked to Hook as he was busy fiddling with the control panel at the elevator.

"Let it go Hook, it's not that important."

Hook ignored the two who simply shrugged at one another, used to this sort of behavior. Thundercracker meanwhile, sat at the front desk, awaiting confirmation from Soundwave. As he did, Skywarp went up the front door, mentally calculating the distance it'd take from where he stood to the underside of the bridge. He held a digit to his com-piece.

"Brace for jump."

"Copy." Starscream's voice replied.

Skywarp backed up, then jumped, warping midair. A nano-klik later, he warped back inside, holding onto Thrust, who was carrying a huge load of explosives. He warped again, coming back with Dirge, then Ramjet, then finally Starscream.

Once inside, Starscream began unhooking the explosives he carried from his strut hooks. Skywarp couldn't help but do a double take at seeing this.

"Since when do you get strut hooks?!"

Starscream scowled as he threw a sack of explosives at Skywarp, knocking him over.

"SECURITY INFILTRATION: COMPLETE."

Thundercracker sat up at Soundwave's voice coming through the front desk speaker. He clicked on the microphone on his end.

"Copy Soundwave. This is Thundercracker, can you hear me?" 

"AFFIRMATIVE."

Starscream snatched the mike out of his trine-mate's servo and spoke into it.

"Have you located the Combiners?" 

---

Soundwave looked the control panel screen as Ravage, in control of the data, flipped through the prisoner records at lightning speed. Finally, the data for the two imprisoned Combaticons and three Constructicons came up.

"COMBINERS: LOCATED. TRANSMITTING: DATA FILES."

---

Starscream looked over the data received before heading over to the Constructicons.

"Here. This is all the information you'll need on releasing the teams. Get the Combaticons first, they need to head over to the Senate and..."

He paused, noticing Hook laser focused on what he was doing.

"...You getting this Hook? This applies to you too."

"Not now, I'm working."

"Working on what?! We've got control of security, you don't need to hook into the control-!"

"Listen here!" fumed Hook, "No work of mine, no matter how small, is left looking sloppy! It's a matter of pride, as an artist!"

"What?!"

"Forget it, Starscream." urged Scrapper, "When he gets like this, it's best to just let him fiddle until he's satisfied."

Mixmaster nodded in agreement.

"We'll handle the inhibitor removals just fine on our own. We can't combine without proper space anyway so we'll have to come down. It's not like it changes the plan."

Starscream grit his denta in frustration at the absurdity of the request.

"Fine. I might be able to use Hook's abilities down here anyway."

Mixmaster and Scrapper gave a nod before heading into the lift, Hook still fiddling with the control panel, trying to adjust it to his standards.

---

Soundwave saw Scrapper and Mixmaster enter the elevator through the security camera feed, having been fixed to work as before.

"COMBATICONS' INHIBITORS: MUST BE REMOVED FIRST. CONSTRUCTICONS: WILL FOLLOW."

"Good." came Starscream's voice. "Take care of the other floors. And patch me into the announcement speakers while you're at it."

Soundwave looked to the security video-feed as it showed footage of numerous bots lingering in their respective cells. He lifted the lid to a large red button on the control panel.

"COMENCING OPERATION: PRISONER RELEASE."

He pressed the release button.

---

The cells to all the doors flung open, shocking those inside. One gentle bot, one who'd been incarcerated for a more mild infraction, looked around at the chaos in confusion.

"What?" he stammered, "Why-?"

"Hear me, prisoners..."

The mechs all looked up to the speakers as Starscream's voice boomed over them.

---

The two Combaticons, Blast Off and Vortex, looked up to see Scrapper and Mixmaster outside their opened cell, brandishing tools to remove their inhibitor spikes.

"...This is Starscream, second in command of the Decepticons and the mech to whom you owe your freedom..."

---

The gentle prisoner looked about at the other bots, fearful of how eagerly they seemed to eat up this information.

"...You all currently have inhibitor spikes installed into the roof of your mouths." Starscream continued, "In case anyone is too stupid to remember, DO NOT transform while you have it. Its telescoping blade will expand, drilling straight into your vital brain components and rendering you offline..."

---

The elevator door opened on the security floor level. Blast Off and Vortex warily eyed Soundwave as he boarded the lift and joined their descent.

"...Don't try removing your own, that'll set it off as well. We have access to tools and personnel that'll show you how to safely remove it from your frame. Once your spike is removed, head to the upper floors and start cutting out the walls on the north, I repeat, the NORTH side of the building. We want to get you out, give you freedom, but we'll need your cooperation in order to succeed..."

---

Guards ran out onto their respective floors, quickly realizing there was no way they could contain all the prisoners. The speaker went silent, leaving the numerous bots to stare at each other in shock before hearing it turn back on again.

"...Oh yes, one more thing: If you see any guards wandering about, don't hesitate to dispatch them. Don't want them calling in help now, do we?"

The guard bots stared in shock at first, unclear of what was happening before the prisoners, realizing the opportunity, fell upon them and tore them to shreds. The gentle bot could only look on in horror.

---

Starscream looked up in surprise wen he saw the elevator door open and Soundwave step out with Blast Off and Vortex.

"The pit-?! You're supposed to be managing the security controls!"

"RAVAGE: WILL HANDLE IT."

"Then get up there and help with the inhibitor removal!"

"COMMAND: CANNOT BE FOLLOWED."

"Excuse me?!"

"SOUNDWAVE: MUST REJOIN MEGATRON."

Starscream's jaw dropped.

"Are you fragging kidding me right now?!?"

"NEGATIVE."

"That was always the plan." Dirge interjected, "We gotta' escort the Combaticons to the Senate, after Skywarp sneaks us out anyway."

"Obviously," sneered Starscream, "But why does Soundwave need to be there?!"

"MEGATRON: WISHED IT."

"Does Megatron WISH to be an absolute pain in my aft every chance he gets?!"

"..."

"Riveting as this is," Blast Off spoke up, "We gonna blow this joint or what?"

Starscream groaned in frustration, dragging his servos down over his faceplate.

"Fine." he hissed, "But those scraplets of yours better stay behind and finish the job. Got it?"

Soundwave, though disgruntled, opened his chest-plate.

"RUMBLE, FRENZY: EJECT."

The cassettebots promptly obeyed, shifting into their root-modes as they landed.

"DECEND TO LOWER SUPPORT LEVEL. PREPARE OPERATION: DEMOLISH SOUTH FOUNDATION."

The two gave a devious grin to each other before and dove into the elevator shaft, transforming their arms into massive pillars and using them to control their descent. Starscream went to Hook, still fiddling with the panel, and pulled him away.

"Hey, I'm not finished-"

"Finish after you lower in the explosives."

+-+-+

Stars exploded across Otto's vision with every with every blow that railed against his jaw.

"The trick to telling lies, Otto," Dieter's voice persisted. "Is that they first must be believable. You'll find I am not as gullible as a six year old child."

Otto couldn't answer, his brain rattled too busy seeing stars. A burst of water against his face and up his nose put a quick end to that. Dieter grabbed a fistful of hair, yanking Otto's head back to face him, the bulb burning its harsh, garish light from behind.

"The next time you open your mouth, I ought to hear a different, better answer. I'll ask as many times as it takes: who are you working with?"

"Everything Max told you was the truth!" Otto choked, spitting out blood, "My son isn't a liar!"

"No." Dieter muttered quietly, "But you are."

A soldier came in, carrying a large leather case. Dieter took it, placing it on a spare table at the far corner of the room, clicking the latches and raising the lid.

Otto didn't need to see inside to know its contents.

He scoured his thoughts, desperate for something, ANY useful information to give.

"A U-boat can only fire a torpedo from the front end of the vessel; within a 135-degree cone...!"

The seemingly random proclamation gave Dieter pause.

"...A target must rest within 500 yards of that range for any hope of a shot to hit."

"What are you talking about?" 

"The last radio communication the Americans got, they saw Wilhelm's U-boat dive and were moving in to track and destroy it...They would've descended, hid, two hundred--three hundred meters deep, ja?...yet we're supposed to believe they fired a killing shot off at that depth...?"

Dieter stared, unsure of what Otto was implying; or perhaps, unwilling to accept what he suspected he was trying to say.

Otto, pleadingly, made it clear as day.

"...It wasn't your brother's ship...that sunk the Yeager."

In a moment of suffocating silence, Dieter's eyes widened, bearing an expression as though he'd just been slapped and spit on. He walked up slowly to Otto, no tools in hand, just the eyes piercing into Otto's skull, barely holding back his unspeakable furor. 

Dieter slapped Otto's face with a rage so fierce, it sent Otto and the chair he was tied in sprawling to the floor. Otto spat and sputtered out a trickle of blood as Dieter pressed a boot to his neck.

"You disgust me..."

Otto strained his eyes, looking up at the blackened silhouette towering over him, outlined by the sickly lighting.

"...A thousand years of noble history--arts, sciences, an empire of prosperity. The best blood, the strongest flesh, GIFTED to all your weak-willed generation! And what did you, what did all of you do with it...?" 

He crouched over Otto, words dripping with venom.

"...You surrendered!"

"We'd...lost..." came the pained reply.

In one rage-filled motion, Dieter yanked Otto and his chair upright.

"We were CHEATED!"  Dieter thundered, "When the rest of those 'fine' democracies forced their 'fair' peace dictates upon us, taking our investments, our colonies, shackling us to pay off THEIR debts, we we not cheated?! When they crippled our military, stripped us of standing armies, of weapons, deprived us any meaningful self-defense, were we not cheated?! 

---

Alexia reached the roof of the Ministry only to be horrified at the complete absence of Starscream.

As if to make matters worse, she heard the air raid sirens kick on with the sound of the bombers drawing near.

"...A million cold, starving Germans, imprisoned for a whole year after the war's end! And, when finally released, when they returned to what SHOULD'VE been their home on our eastern borderlands, only to find their families, their homes, all they'd possessed had been torn away, stripped of their nationality, forced to wander, to be scattered to the four winds, were THEY not CHEATED...?!"

The soldiers following her would arrive soon. Alexia knew this yet still had the sheets and plane clutched in her hands. Desperate, she scoured the edges of the building for someplace to drop her cargo.

Between some trees, she saw what looked to be a soft landing of some sort. Without time to really think about it, she dropped the plane which fortunately landed within the cart unscathed. The soldiers burst through the door just as she'd let go.

"...800,000 German children, DEAD in the years following, whose lives might've been saved if only for a handful of milk, a mouthful of bread, and yet when they robbed us of one million heads of cows, when the Russians swallowed up our ore deposits, our wheat fields--the RUSSIANS! Whom we'd beaten back! Who were LOSING to US until we were TOLD to forfeit our victory! Did you rage at that injustice?! Reject the hypocrisy of your Kaiser?! NO! You just TOOK it! Rolled over with a whimper and TOOK it...!"

The soldiers scanned the area and spotted Alexia in an instant. Unsure of what to do, she circled away from them, trying to make a mad dash for the roof entrance on the other side of the building. They opened fire and she ducked below the roof structures in the feeble hope of throwing them off.

---

"...And we became a castrated dog, stripped of its teeth, to be whipped and kicked at leisure. The great German empire, the smartest, most dignified, most hard-working people, reduced to nothing more than a joke...Well..."

Dieter drew close to Otto's ear.

"...nobody's laughing now, are they?"

Pulling back, Dieter returned to the case, removing a dental extraction forceps.

Otto lifted his eyes, blood sprinkled in his hair as he shook his head weakly.

"What did they do...?" he coughed, "To make you this cruel?"

"If we are cruel," Dieter snapped the forceps repeatedly, as if it were a pair of metal jaws, "then we have been taught...by masters."

+-+-+

 Near the inner city, Jazz and Prowl chatted outside a cafe of sorts, taking a break, enjoying an energizing cup of LOX, Jazz snacking on a couple of wheel-nuts to boot.

"Nah, nothin' like that," Jazz muttered between bites, "She's a sweet gal, but I hardly know her. We just met up for the gigs then split."

"Well, They sound like unserious bots to me." muttered Prowl dryly.

"It's called "having fun". You should try it some-."

The sound of jet-engines gave the two a jump as three seekers, escorting a shuttle and rotorwing-frame, zoomed by overhead.

"Holy-!" Jazz gave a whistle, "Flybys almost gave me a spark-attack!"

Prowl narrowed his optics.

"This airspace wasn't cleared for seeker travel."

"Eh," shrugged Jazz, "Probably in a rush. Innocent enough mistake."

Prowl watched as the air-frames shrunk in the distance, unsatisfied.

"I should call it in."

"Prowl. You're allowed to enjoy a break. It ain't even your department!"

"It should still report it to the-"

"Look," Jazz chastised sharply, "If it's THAT big a deal, air control can handle it. It's not. Your. JOB. So CHILL."

Prowl frowned, turning back to his frigid cup. He barely took notice as a disgruntled Ratchet approached the cafe's order window.

"Cup of LOX." he grumbled, "Give it two shots of NOS."

"Certainly," an aggravatingly chipper voice replied as the attendant prepared the drink.

"Woah!" Jazz jolted, getting a good look at Ratchet, "Someone needs a tune-up!"

Ratchet, ignoring the comment, simply waited until the prepped beverage was handed to him through the slot. It was true though, any mech could see he was in dire need of a good stasis nap. The attendant scooted the drink out from the order window, frigid vapor rising from the cup.

"Have a super cycle!" the chipper voice beamed.

"Don't tell me what to do." Rachet scowled, grabbing the cup.

"Seriously tho' Doc, you okay? You look like a wreck."

"Well, between medical work and obligations at the university, you'd think being summoned as a witness would be reason enough to exempt from work shifts, but nooo."

Jazz frowned, "Sorry to hear that."

"As if that wasn't bad enough, they're having me pull double shifts again. Can't even find time to squeeze a stasis nap in."

Jazz offered his wheel-nut in sympathy. Rachet waved it off in refusal as he sipped his LOX.

"No thank you. I don't need my carburetor acting up."

"Why not get First Aid to help out?" Prowl suggested, not really paying attention; his focus still absorbed by the illegal flyby.

"He's busy helping Perceptor get Red Alert in shape; apparently Perceptor's psychiatry efforts weren't exactly effective, he's starting to think there might be something physically wrong with him. Honestly, whatever those "clinic" doctors did for him's made it ten times worse. He's more paranoid than-"

Prowl shifted into his alt-mode and drove in the direction he saw the seekers heading towards.

"Oh, come on!" Jazz called after him, "We were on a break!" 

Prowl zoomed on the highway, taking the higher roads where there was less traffic.

"Officer Prowl here, I've got a 10-54. last spotted heading southward in sector 66. Requesting 10-29, over. "

There was no answer.

"I repeat, this is Officer Prowl, I've got three seekers, a shuttle, and a rotor-wing that just passed through unregistered airspace. Requesting registration chec-"

Prowl screeched to a halt on the side of the road, smoothly shifting back into root-mode, he dashed over to the curb, something catching his notice. He was currently situated on a highway bridge that overlooked a good chunk of the area. 

Below, outside one of the larger clinics, he saw several bots wrench open an unobserved back service door and enter. Without his vantage point on the bridge, Prowl would've never noticed the break-in. He pressed a digit to his com-piece. But what interested him most what the positive identification of one Knockout, an medic with a revoked license who'd been on the run ever since he'd continued practicing illegally.

"10-22, I've spotted a 459 on the eastside clinic. Positive identification of fugitive, may need backup. Do you copy?"

Prowl waited for an answer, but the static on the other end implied his com-piece was being jammed.

"Do you copy?!"

No such luck. 

"Scrud!" Prowl swore, jumping back into alt-mode as he made his way towards the clinic.

+-+-+

The bus transporting the children turned, making its was through the Brandenburg Gate and driving West past the dark forested area. The ominous, spindling limbs of the trees seemed to close in around the road just as the children inside the bus closed in around Max. 

It's a fine line one must tread when judging the actions of a child. Like any human being, they must be held accountable for the wrong they do, but before they reach a certain maturity, they are merely imitators. By nature, the youth learn by watching and imitating the actions of those around them. It is only with time they gain a deeper understanding of why one should or shouldn't commit a given action.

And because children don't fully understand such consequences until they've matured, when it comes to imitating cruelty, children can be very, very cruel.

"Leave me alone!" Max looked to the driver, "Sir! Sir, help!"

But the driver paid his plea little mind. As far as he was concerned, this interaction was a necessary part of the young Aryan's development.

"Sink or swim, Junge." was his only reply.

"Calling for outside help?" And older boy laughed, dragging him back, "I guess that's expected from the son of coward!" 

"No, no!" Max shook his head, on the brink of tears.

"Look, he's crying!" 

"No, Stop! I'm not-I'm-!"

"He is! He's crying! He is the son of a coward!"

"Let's see how loud a coward's son screams, Ja!"

The other children watched and joined in on the laughter and teasing. The older boys dragged him to the bus floor, Max squirming and screaming helplessly.

"No! Let me go! Let me go!"

Max tried to wriggle free, but one of the boys put his knees on his tiny wrists, crushing them under his weight. Though it wasn't enough to injure Max, it hurt terribly, and finding himself unable to move only frightened him more.

"Get off!" he screamed, "Please, it hurts! It hurts!"

"It hurts! It hurts!" mocked the boys pinning him down. A canteen of water was passed back and another older boy popped off the lid. With his free hand he grabbed Max's hair, pinning his head down and back.

"Flood tanks!" he shouted, imitating a U-boat captain, "All men to bow! Dive, dive, dive!"

As he gave the "dive" command, he began pouring the water over Max's face, specifically aiming for his nose and mouth. Max sputtered and coughed and gagged, the experience felt as though he were drowning.

"Help! Helfen!" he screamed in genuine fear for his life, "Vatti! Mutti!"

"Vatti! Mutti!" echoed the children mockingly, soon turning it into a song-like chant as the driver made his way around the Victory Column.

Suddenly the bus jolted to a hard stop, sending some of the children stumbling towards the front. Even the driver was startled, for he had not stepped on the brakes. Looking at his foot, he tried pressing gas, causing the bus to go forward slightly, onto to be sharply stopped again. Suddenly the whole bus tilted forward slight, as if the back had been elevated higher, already bewildered, the passengers struggled to get to their feet as they felt the bus being quickly and forcibly dragged backwards. 

There was a slam against the ground as the back wheels landed back on the pavement. The movement rocked everyone in the bus, but they hadn't a moment to recover when the front lifted up and the whole bus tilted again, causing the children to tumble back. The driver was frantically trying to get out, but the movement had snagged his pantleg on a segment of metal under the wheel and he couldn't move from his seat.

The children looked out the windows to see two massive glowing red eyes, peering through back and them. They screamed with terror.

Starscream tilted the bus to get a better view of the children inside. His optics illuminated the interior with red, but it didn't picking out the right sparkling any easier. Starscream tilted the bus a different way, sending the kids tumbling about inside as he tried to get a better look. 

Finally, fed up with the problem, he growled, "Stupid squishy scraplets all look the fragging same!"

Grabbing the front of the bus, as if he were putting it into a headlock, Starscream wrestled with the bus roof, peeling it off as though he were prying open an oyster. The metal groaned beneath his power, and the children were struck with horror as the roof was rolled back, like the lid on a tin of mackerel.

Starscream looked through the opening at the screaming children, all trying to climb over each other in the vain attempt to hide. Realizing it would be difficult to check the sparklings if they were pilled atop one another, he dropped the bus back on the wheels, jostling everyone, before rolling it over onto its side until the children spilled out through the gap in the roof onto the street. Ignoring the trapped driver, Starscream shoved the bus away, sending sparks flying all around and into the driver's face until the bus slammed head-first into one of the nearby trees, killing the driver on impact.

Starscream looked over the children, trying to identify something unique about their faces. With a human perspective, Max would've been plucked from the crowd in an instant, but to his Cybertronian optic, all the organic sparklings looked so alike, golden helm fibers, blue optics, there was no way to tell them apart; especially not when their faceplates were scrunched up with all the shrieking and sniveling they were doing. 

The children scrambled back and forth for a way out, some trying to flee into the woods. Starscream merely shoved them back into place with a single digit, careful not to exert too much force as he'd done with former victims. He checked and checked, but the with children's bawling becoming intolerable and his frustration growing, Starscream stood, allowing his shoulder cannon to emerge from his arm.

"SHUT UP! BEFORE I BLAST YOU ALL INTO RED STAINS ON THE PAVEMENT!"

The children went dead quiet, still trembling in terror.

"Now then," the seeker snarled, pointing his gun at the children, "Which one of you gelatinous scraplets goes by the designation Maximilian von Schmidt?"

There was only a moment of hesitation before the children all pointed to Max in unison, who was trembling the most out of everyone.

Starscream retracted his cannon and lowered his hand to the ground in front of him.

"Let's go. I don't have all night."

Max, stunned and confused for a second, widened his eyes in recognition and realization. He dashed towards the titan, leaping into his servo as Starscream lifted him up and carried him through the woods back towards the Ministry, leaving the rest of the children behind in a stupefied, traumatized manner.

"You're Starscream, right? " Max asked excitedly, "My Vatti told me about you! I recognize you from that moving picture I saw!"

"Moving picture?"

"My plane; you hid something inside, right? It played a movie of you and this other metal giant-"

"My recorder!" perked Starscream, his wings hiking up, "Where is it?!"

"I hid it in the ventilation duct in the room they were keeping me in. My Vatti's still in there!"

The wail of sirens filled the air.

The two looked up, seeing searchlights deploy as the roar of British Lancaster's began thundered overhead. Starscream scowled at the inconvenience.

"Show me when we get there..."

He opened his cockpit and tossed Max inside.

"...In the meantime, stay put and don't touch anything!"

+-+-+

The voting session had long ended, and the time had come at last for Sentinel Prime read the results.

He smiled wide.

"Everyone, I'm pleased to say you have all come through. The new regulations...have passed!"

A cheer rang up from the auditorium, the Senators all clapping their servos with glee. Sentinel raised his own servo, calming them down.

"With this new regulations," he continued, "The safety of Iacon, nay, the whole of Cybertron will be assured-"

"You think so, Sentinel?"

Startled by the unexpected voice, the whole Senate turned to the gallery area.

Megatron stepped forward from the shadows. 

"Is that what you told Shockwave when you had him abducted and torn open?"

"Megatron? How-?"

"What about all the other bots you blackmailed, and blamed, and trampled over to maintain your affluent corruption? Anything you'd like to say to them...?"

Some of the Senators turned to leave, but were stopped when Soundwave, the conehead seekers, Combaticons, and numerous more Decepticons all emerged from hiding, encircling the bewildered Senators and forcing them to stay.

"...Because I doubt they'd care to listen by now." 

"Security!" one began screaming, "Security!"

Indifferent to their cries, Soundwave headed over to Reflector, who jumped into his camera-alt mode. Hooking his communication module into one of the ports, he opened a wireless signal of the video feed.

---

At the Cyber Nation Network tower, Octane, pedes kicked up on the control panel and playing with a metal slinky he found, was alerted to Soundwave's signal. The image of Reflector's video feed popped up on the screen, ready to be broadcasted.

Octane grinned, connecting the feed to the broadcasting signal.

---

All across Iacon, display screens, having only showing silly little videos as bots waited for the news to be restored, suddenly switched to footage from inside the Senate. Audiences everywhere were startled to see the sudden change, more so when that change was to something so different than what they'd been expecting. 

"Megatron, think about this a klik." Sentinel pleaded onscreen, trying to talk his way out of the situation, "You're only doing this because you haven't given any thought to the consequences-"

"Consequences, Sentinel, require the risk of losing something..." Megatron growled, sauntering closer.

Arcee, Hot Rod, and Springer, hanging out at the bar Arcee'd performed at, stared in shock at the events playing out onscreen.

"The pit-?" Hot Rod breathed.

___

Elsewhere Ratchet, trying to enjoying his cup of LOX as a brief respite of the daily grind, found themselves staring in shock as the nearby display show Megatron, the famous gladiator, standing before Sentinel Prime and the other Senators, all taken hostage.

"...But I have nothing to lose. You want to know why...?"

---

Even the Iaconian prison had display screens, each lighting up with the feed.

Starscream, completely blind-sided by this development, stared in confusion.

"What...What?!"

The Senators stood back in shock as the building swarmed with Decepticons, armed to the denta and burning for energon. They grabbed the Senators, pinning their servos behind their backs and forcing them into a kneeling position in the center of the room.

Megatron leaned in close to Sentinel. 

"...Because you TOOK it from me."

---

Prowl cautiously entered the clinic's back entrance, blaster at the ready as moved in, stepping over the slaughtered medical staff splayed on the floor.

"...You threw me into that Primus-forsaken pit from the moment I emerged. You TOOK my future, my potential, my right to dream. But you couldn't even be satisfied with that..."

He'd never been granted permission to enter any of the clinics past the waiting room area, confidentiality and government regulation prohibited it. As an officer, he'd been given access to many restricted areas as per his duty and knew how unglamorous the hidden areas of some operations could be, but this easily took the oilcake. 

He wasn't sure where to look first, it was impossible to tell where the invading bots had gone; they'd certainly left a mess every which way. 

"...You couldn't afford to have any deviation of thought. Not even from the high-castes..." 

"Dispatch, for the love of Allspark, come in!"

The static on the other end persisted. Prowl grit his denta in frustration, it seemed his wireless communication was still useless.

"...So you went after them too. Setting up your sham "clinics" under the pretext of medical assistance, and experimented on them..."

Moving in further, his attention was drawn to a database room, where a computer screen had been left on, still powered on and running. Hoping to find some phone or communication line, he carefully stepped over the lifeless frames that leaked energon everywhere. His focus drawn to the computer, he froze when he saw what was on screen.

"...Scrambling processors with your shadow play on a whim, as if the Cybertronians were nothing more than play-puppets for you to abuse at your leisure..."

He looked closer. His optics hadn't deceived him.

"...And you kept going, taking more and more..." 

Onscreen was detailed medical files documenting Shockwave's admission to the clinic, his operating schedule and the procedure they'd used. Not only that but it showed an approval spark signature from none other than Sentinel Prime.

"...until you took even the good Senator Shockwave from us..."

Prowl was dumbfounded. Sentinel had stated they'd been searching for Shockwave. Maybe this was before-?

No. The date made it clear, this was after Shockwave had disappeared.

"...But that's all you know how to do, isn't it...?" 

His investigative protocol kicking in, Prowl began searching through the other files. Sure enough there were detailed accounts of numerous bots who'd been experimented on, undergone unauthorized operations and even shadowplay.

Prowl felt a certain horror kick in. He typed in the name "Red Alert".

His friend's name popped up. He too had been implanted with a form of proto-shadowplay "reconditioning".

"...That's all any of you high-castes know how to do. You take, and you take, and you TAKE-from me, from them, from US..."

Realizing he'd stumbled onto a massive bust, Prowl pulled out a data store and slipped it into the computer, typing in a protocol to backup all the information it could carry. While this was going on, he located a landline connection and made a call.

"...So now-"

"Dispatch? Dispatch, come in!"

"Prowl?!" came a voice on the other line, "Prowl, is that you?!"

"Oh, thank Primus, listen! I've been trying to contact for a while but my com-link's being jammed, I'm using a landline connection."

"Everyone's jammed! The station's been a slag-show with that prison call and we can't contact any of our officers out in the field! Someone's jamming the com-links!"

"Wait, call?" Prowl asked, "What call?"

"One of the incarcerated bots called from Iacon prison, said it--here, just listen."

Prowl listened as the tail-end of a recording was played over the phone.

"The Decepticons are in the prison! They've released all the inmates and killed the security guards! I think they're planning on some kind of mass breakout! A lot of bots are gonna get killed if they're not stopped! Send help before...oh, oh Primus please no-I-I was...no-! NO PLEAES-GUGHKA!!"

The message cut out.

"Primus..." Prowl breathed.

"Get your aft over there ASAP! We need every able-bodied mech keeping this can of rust-worms from spreading!"

"I can't do that, I've got a bad situation at eastside clinic! I'm lookin' at multiple shooting victims, possibly some kind of possible hostage situation! I need backup immediately!"

"Backup!?" shrieked the voice, "What kind of backup do you think we've got?! We're strapped as is!"

"I don't care if you send a meter-maid with a scooter alt-mode! Just get me-!"

A blaster shot exploded the landline unit, sending Prowl stumbling back. He ducked behind the control panel, returning fire when he could get the chance. The data disk was still plugged into the computer, and it was far too valuable to leave behind. 

"Glory to Megatron!" belted Lugnut, "Destruction to all who stand in his way!"'

Away from the confrontation, the Insecticons worked tirelessly, chewing their way through the metal barrier sealing off the high-security sector where Shockwave being held. Though they were making progress, the agonizingly slow speed was making Knockout, Blitzwing, and Astrotrain shift with apprehension as they overheard Lugnut's fight in the distance.

"Come on, come on, Hurry it up!" barked Knockout, "At the rate you're going, we'll be the ones in need of rescue!"

___

Sentinel fell silent, his mind scrambling for some rebuttal, something to save himself.

Megatron continued.

"Shall I tell you an interesting story?"

"Wh-...what-?"

"There was a miner. A simple miner who'd accepted his role without question; fully prepared to live out the entirety of his life in those dark tunnels, giving neither his circumstance or position a second thought. Then one day, he met someone..."

___

"...A wholly remarkable femme, who showed him dreams and hopes of what could be. She transformed him, not in frame, but in spark, into someone who felt called to change..."

Starscream watched with laser focus, absolutely baffled why he was seeing this, why anyone could see this all this happening on national television.

"Is he stupid?" raged the seeker, "Is he actually that STUPID?!"

"...And, as if to reflect this change, a truth about his nature was revealed to him. He discovered a second alt-mode, a secret third form that could mass-shift into a very...unique mechanism..."

Starscream's optics widened in shock.

---

High on the top floors of the prison, freed bots were cutting out large sections of the north wall, exposing the interior to the sweeping winds that embraced the prison's exterior. Others were busy getting their inhibitor spikes safely removed by one of the five present Constructicons.

"...But to his dismay, he couldn't move, couldn't fight, he couldn't even operate the single apparatus which gave that form purpose. What a cruel joke, he thought, that Primus would grant him a form of such wasted potential...But..."

"Call Starscream," Scrapper ordered, "I don't like how long Hook's taking to get up here."

Just then, a particularly dangerous prisoner, one who had been under high-security watch, entered, hauling a large cache of weapons confiscated from the prison warden's sector and dragging the butchered corpse of the gentle bot who'd been so disturbed by the breakout.

"...The final gift his tutor bestowed was the realization of his potential, of his TRUE power. A power that had to be drawn out by ANOTHER..."

The other bots stared in shock at the morbid sight.

"Deadlock,"  exclaimed one of the prisoners, "What the Pit-?!"

"He squeaked."

Everyone froze, their secret operation had been blown. It was only a matter of time before the authorities came to stop them. 

"...At first, he resented it. It frustrated him to know how deeply he'd have to rely on others to utilize such an ability..."

"Rev your engines," Deadlock advised, cocking a gun in each servo, "It's about to get messy."

---

An entourage of varied emotions flickered across Megatron's faceplate as he continued his story.

"...But as he observed the injustice which festered around him, the helplessness of those lower-castes, it suddenly became very clear to him. They didn't draw the power out of him. It was the complete opposite...Their despair, their desires...to dream, to change...with only words, they could awaken. But through his alt-mode...they could TAKE..."

Megatron raised his servos out in a broad gesture of indifference. 

"...So you see Sentinel, when I understood that, there was no longer a reason to worry. I had no cause for shame...."

Sentinel's optics widened in horrified realization. 

"No..." he breathed.

"...For so long as even a fragment of this corrupted system remains, to stamp upon the autonomy of even one bot..."

"Megatron, please-!"

The gladiator jumped high into the air, flipped backwards as his form folded in on itself, compressing, growing smaller and smaller, mass-shifting into a form none aside from Soundwave had seen before. 

Even in his gun form, Megatron's voice rang out loud and clear; snugly clasped within Soundwave's servo as he promptly leveled his leader at Sentinel's helm. 

"...I can always rely on someone..."

"Mercy, I beg you!"

"...to pull the trigger."

"Megatron!" Sentinel shrieked, "MERC-!"

Soundwave squeezed his index digit.

---

Citizens watched, frames trembling, minds reeling as the image of Senators' smoldering frames collapse to the ground burned into their core memories. Their gaping wounds sparking sickeningly, smoke pouring from flung open mouths as the light dissipated from their optics, the vibrancy of life was sucked from their frames, leaving them as gray and ashen as the smoldering remains of a scrap heap.

No one moved, no one blinked,

Bots wondered, prayed, that they were stuck some awful nightmare.

Then suddenly, the camera feed changed, instead of Megatron, it showed footage of miners being crushed, burned to death, tossed aside like garbage. It showed the gladiator fights, brutal, unjust, the losers dragged off and cannibalized by the more savage Cybertronian creatures used in the games. The horrors of the clinic, operating on innocent mechs, dismantling their frames, tampering with their processors, all the horrors that could be shown drawn from the shadows of society and put on display for all to see.

At last the feed switched back to Megatron, who turned, and addressed the viewers.

---

"Is this what a world of justice and peace looks like?! Where low-castes grovel in the dirt for the right to fuel?! Where mechs disappear without a trace and no one bats an optic?! Where those who resist the corruption of the system are hunted down and subjected to empurata and shadow-play?! If this is what peace looks like, then by Primus, I choose WAR!"

Megatron pointed towards the camera lenses so viciously, Reflector nearly jumped out of his alt-mode, forcing himself to remember that Megatron wasn't speaking at him, but through him.

"This is not a warning. This is not a threat. This is a PROMISE. You elites, you feeders of corruption, had your chance, far too many chances to mend the damage you've done! Your age has ENDED!"

And a new, glorious one shall rise in its place, free of Primes! Free of castes! Freed from the elites that would have us in shackles, they shall fall and we will RISE!"

"DEATH TO OUR ENEMIES! DEATH TO THOSE WHO STAND IN OUR WAY. BUT FOLLOW ME, AND YOU WILL MARCH WITH YOUR BROTHERS TO A FUTURE WHERE YOU WILL NEVER AGAIN BE DECIEVED!"

Megatron pumped his fist in the air, extending his proton cannon.

"DECEPTICONS FOREVER!

"ALL HAIL MEGATRON!" cried the Decepticons in unison, pumping their fists in the air in unison. "HAIL! HAIL! HAIL!"

---

Starscream watched, stunned, terrified, but above all else, enraged by the arrogant stupidity of what he had just witnessed and the immediate danger it had put them all in.

"You spawn of a GLITCH!"

An explosion hit the front entrance of  prison, causing everyone on the first floor to duck in shock.

Below, Rumble and Frenzy were thrown off their pedes, dust bursting from the walls.

+-+-+

Alexia carefully moved around the structures on the roof, careful to avoid being seen by the two soldiers. She knew it couldn't be kept up, they knew she was there, and there was two of them, circling like a pair of hunting dogs. 

She was so close to the exit, if only she could find the chance.

The air raid sirens caught all three of their attentions. Looking upwards, they could hear the murmur of planes approaching.

Realizing her chance had come, Alexia risked making a break for the door. 

"Stoppen!" she heard a soldier cry, but terrified as she was, she had made her choice. She could only run now.

She heard fire open up, speeding her on towards the door. It was so close and they were a far enough distance that maybe she could get to the ground floor before they-

A searing pain drilled into her thigh as a bullet lodged itself firmly within her muscle. She cried out in pain and collapsed, half-thinking she was dead.

The wouldn't wasn't fatal, but it had done its job, even as she tried to get up in spite of the pain, the soldiers were upon her. 

She heard the cocking of one of their guns.

"Nein!" the other stopped, "she needs to be questioned."

They grabbed her by the golden hair, dragging her to her feet. Alexia cried out in surprised pain from her scalp as she tried to stand, only to have the pressure of her muscle cause the bullet pain to explode, making her crumple to the ground. 

The soldiers, annoyed yanked her up, but realizing she wasn't going to comply, resorted to dragging her towards the door.

"No!" Alexia screamed, flailing madly , "No no no!"

The two stopped to get a better grasp of the woman. One soldiers, sick of her resistance slapped her hard across the face.

The other however, had caught sight of something, something that struck him to terror, he stared up, stupefied petrified.

"Hey, help me out here!" the other soldier urged.

The first continued staring.

"Are you deaf! Help me-!"

The second soldier realized what his comrade had seen and too was struck to a terrified silence as a massive shadow drew over them.

Below, the horses drawing the carriage in which Alexia had thrown the bundle were pawing in panic, sensing the monster nearby, but it wasn't until they heard the howling death screams and felt the bodies of two soldiers abruptly slam down on top of them that they panicked, yanking the wagon forward at full speed and running blindly into the night, dragging their unknown quarry with them.

___

The air raid sirens could be heard from inside the bleak room where Otto remained strapped to the chair, beaten and bloodied. Two men additional came in, seeing the torture session in progress.

"Sir," one urged, "The sirens-"

"We have time." Dieter interjected roughly, turning as he pulled out his knife, "Just enough, I think, to count to ten."

He drew close to Otto, gently pressing the knife against his cheek. The light from the overhead bult reflecting into Otto's terrified, sweat-soaked face.

"If you ever want to work on another engine again, you better drop this Geist schtick and give me some real answers."

"I already have!" Otto pleaded, "What more can I give you?"

Dieter gave a unapologetically malicious smile.

The loudest, most gut-wrenching screams of torture Otto was capable of filled the room, echoing through the hallways and through the closed window as he felt the searing pain of the blade sawing through the base of his left pinky finger. Dieter looked over his victim, giving Otto a moment to wallow in his newfound terror and pain. His prisoner's cries turned to a garbled whimper, groaning in horror at losing even so small a limb.

"Word of advice: if you're going to tell lies, you should at least consider is whether or not they are believable." Dieter picked up the pinky, "Who are you working with?"

"It's the truth...!" Otto garbled out, "It's the truth, I swea-!"

Once more his pleas were drowned by ear-piercing screams as he felt the agonizing amputation of his left ring finger. Blood began pooling around the front left chair leg.

"Otto, Otto, Otto." Dieter sighed, raising the two detached fingers inches from their former owner's nose, "How many fingers is it going to take before you realize I'm not playing around?"'

The windowed wall exploded inward, sending dirt and debris flying in their direction. Another slam tore the opening wider as a giant metal hand squeezed in and tore out more of the wall, completely exposing the room to the outside courtyard. Dieter lifted his eyes only to stumble back, his knees wobbling, unable to support him as he collapsed back, staring up at the monstrous shadow looming over the opening.

Otto, turned over and still tied to the chair, could only hear the other soldiers firing before a simultaneous slam and crunch cut it short. One man screamed, growing faint as, apparently, he'd fallen five stories down. 

"Otto!"

Otto strained his neck over just enough to catch a glimpse of Alexia, clutched within Starscream's left servo.

"Alexia!"

It was obvious Starscream was handling her with as much care and consideration as an angry toddler would have for a fine China doll.

Starscream, staring down at the fragile creature Dieter, allowed his arm gun to emerge and slowly leveled it, relishing the petrifaction with which Dieter stared at him.

Dieter was so dumbfounded, so awestruck, so benumbed, as though he'd witnessed the face of an angel, that he was rendered utterly immobile. His mind raced back to the explanations Max had given: a sentient robot capable of impossible transformations, armed with unfathomable power, a monstrous titan from the stars. Something that belonged in story-books and science fiction novels stared at him, ready to obliterate him in an instant. Even as the sound of bombs falling on Berlin grew closer, it was all irrelevant in the face of this reality-shattering encounter.

An encounter that had been so sudden, so startling, that his mind had lost all sense of self-preservation. He simply stared, unable to flee, unable to cry out, unable to utter any coherent phrase or sentence save for one single, impulsive, honest word:

"...Magnificent."

Starscream froze, his expression unchanging, but the word had struck him, straight to his ego. He withdrew his servo, allowing the gun to retract before reaching in and grabbing the still-tied Otto, chair and all, and turning to leave.

Dieter, realizing what just happened, jumped to his feet and ran to the hole, staring out as the lumbering titan clumsily climbed out from the courtyard and headed west.

Blown away by the insanity of the moment, Dieter could only stare at first. Then a noise came from his throat, small and wavering. It grew, slowly becoming louder and louder until it could be recognized as the sound of laughter. A laughter that began as a soft chuckling, then exploded into hysterical cackling.

It wasn't the laugh of a madman. Dieter had been taken off-guard, certainly, but having grasped the reality of the situation, he never felt more coherent and focused in all his life. Upon regaining his sense, his immediate thought hadn't turned to fright or denial, but the realization that this creature, which had just dropped in, practically gift-wrapped, was the greatest piece of military technology the world had ever seen.

And it was on their turf.

Soldiers, having heard the explosion, ran into the room. They saw Dieter standing near the gaping hole, and beyond him, the titan speaking to the humans in his hands.

"Mein Gott!" one exclaimed, "What is that thing?!"

"If we hurry," Dieter declared, eyes honing in like a hawk on Starscream,"Our victory."

He turned and dashed down the hallway, followed close by the men.

---

"Wait!" shrieked Alexia to Starscream, groaning in pain, shaken up as if she were in the hands of King Kong, "We can't leave without Max!"

"Mutti!" came a muffled cry from within the cockpit. 

Both Otto and Alexia looked up and to their shock and relief saw their boy safe within Starscream's chassis.

"MAX!" They both cried in relief.

"Go!" Otto shouted to Starscream, "Get us out of here!"

"Not until I've got my recorder!" retorted the mech, "Where is it?"

"I..." Alexia shuddered, "I threw it off the roof!"

Starscream thrust Alexia towards his face. She wailed at the pain the sudden movement caused in her thigh.

"You WHAT?!"

"I had to! I was being followed, I couldn't afford to have them catch me with it!  It's in the back of a wagon!"

"Wagon?" Otto started, "The one we saw-?!"

"The very same!" Alexia nodded, "The horses bolted from the noise! I saw them running down the street!"

Starscream squinted at her.

"The frag's a horse?!"

---

In the artillery room of a nearby building, a phone rang. A soldier picked it up and after the briefest conversation, dashed down to the resting area where other soldiers were getting suited up.

"Load up the engines! Get the Tigers encircling Berlin's center, immediately!"

The soldiers all looked at him in stupefaction.

"You want us to what?!"

"Those were the orders, now MOVE!"

+-+-+

The Insecticons finally chewed through the metal, allowing the metal blockage to fall to the ground with a groan. They shifted back into their root-modes as Blitzwing, Astrotrain and Knockout ventured in. A few straggling doctors remaining, they came forward with their servos raised.

Blitzwing shot them all; they hadn't come for prisoners.

"23...21...19..." Knockout counted aloud, traipsing briskly down the hall of numbered operating rooms, "17...15...here it is!"

Knockout burst into the room, finally coming upon Shockwave. He froze, jaw dropping at what he saw.

Before the others could enter the room and see, Knockout had covered the Senator with a tarp, strapping him securely to the gurney as he was rolled out.

"I got him! Let's go!"

"You sure that's him?"

"Of course I'm sure, you triple-formed fool!"

"But he's all covered up!" 

"As he should be..." Knockout grimaced

"I mean, shouldn't we check?" Blitzwing urged, "Just to be-?"

"If we don't get him out of here fast!" snapped the medic, "I don't know how much of "Shockwave" there'll be left to save!"

The other bots didn't argue, and dashed after him.

---

Prowl crouched behind the desks, pinned down by Lugnut's unrelenting barrage of firepower. He couldn't even peek over the edge without a blaster-shot threatening to take off a door-wing.

He looked around, searching for anything that might help, a weapon, and exit, an opportunity of any kind. Eventually looking towards the ceiling, he noticed a series of fat coolant lines running across, probably channeling CO2 gas for preventing overheating.

Shooting it, the pipe burst open, allowing freezing vapor to burst between him and Lugnut, creating a veil of frigid cover. Taking opportunity of the moment, Prowl leapt up, pulled the data disk from its port, and charged towards the doorway where the shooter stood.

Lugnut fired blindly into the area, his cyclops optic searching through the haze. He switched to heat-vision, disappointed when the curtain of cold obscured any sign of the pesty officer. Suddenly, the blue of the cold split to expose a red heat signature bursting through as Prowl leapt from the gas and punched him straight in the optic.

The force was enough to send Lugnut staggering back, but not enough to fall. The momentum sent Prowl tumbling off the giant mech and rolling across the floor. He quickly allowed himself to roll into his alt-mode, which swerved a hard half-donut before gunning it towards Lugnut. 

Lugnut turned, his stance wide as he saw Prowl zooming towards him. He reached down to grab the vehicle, but Prowl hit the brakes and turned hard, swerving a half-donut around Lugnut and get behind him. He transformed partially, only allowing a servo to come out and grab onto Lugnut's leg, using the momentum to swing his vehicle body around and into the other leg, tripping Lugnut and sending him sprawling on the ground, dropping the blaster.

Quickly transforming into his root-mode, he snatched up the blaster and aimed it at Lugnut's helm.

"Where are your friends?!" Prowl barked, "I know you're not the only one in here!"

"You dare stand in the way of the glorious Decepticons!?" Lugnut growled back, seemingly unbothered by the gun aimed point-blank at his optic.

"Decepticons?" Prowl balked, "Megatron's Senate-...the prison call-?! This was all a coordinated-?!" 

Lugnut lunged forward, grabbing the barrel of the blaster and crushing it with his massive claw-servo.  Prowl was forced to back off, tossing the blaster aside the instant he realized how useless it'd become.

"I've blasted my helm apart for the glorious Megatron!" Lugnut proclaimed proudly, charging for Prowl, "You think I'd fear any weapon you'd point at me?!"

---

Ironhide and a feisty blue femme named Chromia had been in the middle of a drive-in date when the broadcast aired. Rushing back the way they came, Ironhide jumped back into root-mode when he caught sight of a familiar medic amidst the panicking crowds.

"Ratchet!" he called, catching the bot's attention, "What the blasted scrapheap's going on?!"

"Isn't it obvious?!" shouted Ratchet.

---

At the Cyber News Networks tower, enforcer bots bashed doors in, swarming inside as they covered each floor of the room. They rose, higher and higher, getting closer to the broadcast room where the original footage had been sent out. 

Behind the closed door of the broadcast room, aside from the deceased mechs still lying around, was a trip-wire, right behind the door, just waiting for someone to come in and set it off.

---

"...Enforcers are trying to keep everyone calm," Ratchet continued, "But I don't even think they know-!"

A massive explosion sent the already distressed populace into further panic as the Cyber News Network Tower, having secretly been rigged with explosives, was blown from its supports, toppling over and crushing several buildings and bots underneath. 

As everyone was overwhelmed by the horrific devastation, two flier-frames went unnoticed as they headed towards the Senate; the purple one laughing so hard, he couldn't fly straight.

"Oh, whew!" Octane gasped, "Get's 'em every time!"

Ratchet, Ironhide, and Chromia looked over the devastation, feeling completely helpless amidst so much chaos.

"Primus, the bar!" Chromia exclaimed. "My gals said they were going out there!"

Grabbing Chromia's servo, Ironhide dragged her forward, jumping into his alt-mode.

"Ain't nothin' we can do just sittin' here!"

Chromia didn't need to be told twice as both she and Ratchet followed suit.

---

At the Senate, the Decepticons were busy blockading the exits, making sure entry would be as difficult as possible. Octane and Sixshot managed to land and enter in time.

"Excellent work." Megatron acknowledged, "Go help blockade the exits. We want to hold off them off as long as possible until the others return with Shockwave."

"But..." Octane questioned tilting his head towards the Combaticons, "But can't they, you know-?"

"Not without Devastator." Megatron growled. 

Octane, having no interest in provoking Megatron, went off to help with the work. An army of enforcer flight-frames screamed by, making a b-line for the prison tower, which was already swarming with mechs firing at the building with heavy fire-power.

"Why haven't they blown the bridge?!" one flight-frame asked.

 Soundwave's sensitive com-link was still open as he enforcer fliers continued their conversation.

"The grounders don't want to destroy their only way in unless absolutely necessary!"

Concerned, Soundwave scoured the room for any open exits, which was sparse considering the Decepticons were boarding up and blocking all exits. Finding one still open, Soundwave rushed up the stairs, exiting and looking out in the distance to see the vicious assault happening on the prison tower.

"Soundwave!" cried Octane, "Get in here! We gotta' barricade the place before their reinforcements get in!"

"There's massive openings in the northside wall!" another message came in to Soundwave's helm, "The whole upper quadrant is completely exposed!"

"Ground control to air support!" another voice came in, "Target anyone who tries leaving the structure! Nobody escapes that prison!"

Soundwave felt his spark palpitate with worry.

"SOUDWAVE?!" Octane yelled.

+-+-+

Bombs fell on Berlin without pause. It impossible to know which streets or buildings would be lit up with flames. The stables were in flames as the horses ran out, uncontained by the blown open paddock. 

The herd of horses ran in a panic through the streets of Berlin, terrorized by the falling bombs as flocks of Lancaster bombers unloaded their deadly cargo onto the city. The two horses pulling the wagon ran up and merged with the herd.

Two men drove down the road, having been caught in the middle of the open when the air raid struck. They were blockaded by the horse herd that moved to North. 

"The hell is this?!" the driver exclaimed.

"The stables must've been blown open!" the passenger suggested, "We won't get through those beasts!"

The driver made a hard left, only for a massive metallic foot to be smack dab in his way. He swerved, trying to avoid it, but in doing so crashed into the second foot, killing him on impact.

Starscream looked down in annoyance at the car that had nearly sent him sprawling to the ground. He saw the passenger jump from the passenger seat and run off into the night. He snarled in annoyance.

"You're lucky the signal's clear again," he growled at Alexia, "Otherwise I'd've chucked you by now!"

Starscream impulsively squeezed his servo around Alexia which, unfortunately, put pressure on her thigh wound. She yelped in pain. 

"For Gott's sake!" begged Otto, "Set her down inside your cockpit! She's in agony!"

Starscream snorted in annoyance, but complied, throwing Alexia in with Max.

"Mutti!"

"Max!" Alexia sobbed, clutching him, "Oh Max!"

Starscream groaned at the emotional nonsense playing out inside of him as he looked over the horses. They were all crowding in on each other, bucking, kicking, panicking. The signal was definitely coming from amongst them, but Starscream, having never seen such creatures in his life, and, already frustrated, presumed one of them had actually confiscated the recorder. In his mind, if an organic like a human could take it, why not these things?

"You'd better start looking, human!"

Frustrated, Starscream set Otto down and began sifting more aggressively through the herd. He brushed them aside, parting the herd as a man might push apart a cluster of chicks. Horses collapse, toppled over each other, scrambling to their feet trying to escape the creature. 

He was so preoccupied with the search, he paid no heed to the handful of soldiers that ran in, covertly taking strategic positions around the mech with their Panzerschrecks: precise, anti-tank rocket launchers. It wasn't the largest weapon, but it was the most portable, and would work all the same. After all, with plenty of ammunition and portable radios to coordinate their attacks, they only need to keep the thing incapacitated until reinforcements arrived. 

Dieter, amongst the men, grabbed the radio, addressing the other teams in hiding. "Wait for our fire! Then keep it down!"

Eventually Starscream found himself just picking up the horses and looking them over, the creatures squealing in terror. He languidly tossed them aside, the poor beasts slamming to the ground, some jumping up and running off, others shrieking in pain, unable to even stand.

"What are you doing?!" screamed Otto, having almost been crushed by one.

"You said one of these creatures ran off with my recorder!"

Otto's mouth dropped. He grabbed his head in stupefied frustration. 

"Starscream you Schwachkopf! The horses wouldn't HAVE it! It's in a wagon DRAWN by them!"

"Well how was I supposed to know?!" 

Inside the cockpit, Max could see the horse-drawn wagon in the distance, at the furthest end of the herd.

"Hey! Hey, I see it!" Max banged on the cockpit glass, trying to get Starscream's attention.

"Max, don't!" urged Alexia, but Starscream had already looked down, opening his chassis up.

"What'd you want!?" 

"The wagon!" Max cried leaning out of the opening, "I can see it! It's over-!"

A rocket slammed Starscream directly in the face sending him sprawling backwards. Max, leaning forward out of the cockpit, had fallen forward, fortunately landing on the softer body of a horse, which he clung to dearly as it bolted away from the mech.

"Max!" Otto shrieked, but unable to follow as the panicking horses blocked his path.

Starscream slammed to the ground on his back, Alexia flung against the seat, yelping in pain as pressure burst against her gun wound. The cockpit slammed shut and secured itself, Starscream's frame instinctively locking it for protection upon feeling the attack.

Starscream tried to sit up, but before he had time to react, another rocket struck him directly in the helm again. His spark began to palpitate, the repeated strikes feeling an awful lot like punches to him.

Otto, trying not to get slammed by any of the shrapnel flying around, could only duck for cover.

"ALEXIA!"

He praying to God Starscream's chassis was strong enough to withstand the firepower.

Now panicked, Starscream raised his servo, his blaster emerging from his arm as he began firing wildly in all directions. But this panic was his undoing, for Dieter redirected the next shot towards the outstretched limb and, with one well placed rocket, struck the connection point between servo and rocket, ripping it clean off Strarscream's frame. Wailing in surprised pain, Starscream clutched his damaged arm, a certain hysteria setting in as he now felt more vulnerable than ever. 

It was only the explosion of a well placed bomb from the Lancaster that shook up the soldiers enough to halt their attack. Debris sprayed everywhere, obscuring their vision enough for Starscream to hobble down the road; Alexia still trapped in his chasses. Otto, seeing him leave, could only try and make his way after the two.

Feeling he'd gotten out of sight, Starscream collapsed against the wall of a building, trying to take a moment to calm the dangerously rapid palpitations of his spark. He paid no head to Alexia pounding against his chassis, calling desperately for Otto and Max.

Then, a sound hit his audials.

A sound like the creaking of grinding chains mixed with the roaring growl of a heavily armored frame. It was a sound he knew very well. Painfully well.

He looked up and saw a shadow emerging. The shadow of a mighty, impenetrable vehicle that sported a large, long cannon at the front. A shadow coming at him.

Starscream's optics widened in fear. In his mind, the strikes to his face, the mutilating disarmament of his cannon, and the intense feelings of fear clouding his senses, it all correlated too well with the sessions he and a certain, terrifying mech would have. 

"Starscream."

As the Tiger tank approached, the ghost of Megatron transforming out of his tank alt-mode played out before him. He could hear his footsteps, feel his raging presence. Like so many times before, he was there to punish, no, torture him.

"STARSCREAM!"

"M-Megatron...!"

Starscream backed away from the tank, terrified, scrambling away down another road. But he'd not gone far before another figure emerged and turned to face him. Another tank. Another Megatron.

"Ah...Ah...!" he stammered, his frame beginning to tremble with memories of being beaten, mutilated. The wings on his back seemed to lock in a lowered position, he was so terrified he couldn't even consider transforming. It's not as though it had ever saved him from that monster.

Crawling away, Starscream stumbled away from the two tanks closing in only to run into a third one, which leveled it's guns toward him.

"No!" Starscream pleaded, holding his servos out, "Megatron, please-!

An artillery shell screamed past his chassis, exploding against the building behind him. Starscream let out a petrified cry of terror as he clutched his helm protectively, dropping to his knees as his pedes began trembling far to much for him to stand up. 

"No! Get away!" He grabbed one of the running horses and pathetically threw it against the tank, "Stay away!"

The men inside the tank jumped at the horse that slammed against their vehicle, but the beast quickly slid off and they continued the chase.

"In pursuit of target!" they reported in their radio. " It seemed to be protecting the headlike structure. We will attempt to target next."

"Nein!" screamed Dieter on the other end, "Aim for the neck! The head's too valuable!"

"Understood," replied the tank member, revving the tank in pursuit. 

Starscream scrambled away from the tank. Dashing as far as he could on trembling legs. He managed to climb a wall too think for even the tank to bust through. The men in the tank radioed their comrades.

"It's headed for the Marschallbrücke!"

+-+-+

Ratchet, Ironhide, and Chromia leapt out from their alt-modes, dashing upon the blaze that engulfed the remains of the bar they'd gone to. there were already firefighting bots trying to battle the flames.

Stand back!" the firefighting-frame named Inferno instructed, "The heat from this fire'll put your frames at risk of warping!"

"But survivors!" Chromia pleaded, "Were there any survivors?!"

"Everybody we got out's over there."

Inferno pointed over to a collection of bots. Chromia, spotting her "gals", dashed over, checking to see if everyone was alright.

"Well that's some relief." Ironhide quipped, "Knowin' they're okay at least."

"Get your servos off me!"

Ratchet and Ironhide looked over to see the young Hot Rod struggling against the bots trying to put out the fire. 

"Stand back!" they ordered, "It's too dangerous, we can't let you in there!"

"Hot Rod, listen to them!" his friend Springer urged, "You'll only get yourself killed!"

"But Arcee!" he cried, "Arcee's still in there!"

Ironhide and Ratchet's optics widened, looking over the damaged building. Ratchet's optics narrowed.

"Listen buck,  I get it. I really do." Ironhide came up to the impulsive young bot, "But these fella's are professionals! They'll find her long before you could!"

"I can't just do nothing while my friend burns!" Hot Rod yelled, clearly distressed beyond measure. 

"Please calm down!" Inferno urged, "We can't let you-HEY!"

Ironhide looked up to see Ratchet in his alt-mode rush inside the building. Much too fast for anyone to stop him.

"Hey, stop! You can't go in there!"

"Ratchet!"

---

"Megatron!" the one of the Decepticons barring the doors called. There was firepower on the other side, the enforcers trying to force their way in. "We've got to escape!"

"No!" Megatron commanded, "We wait for Shockwave!"

"They might've failed! If we don't get out of here, they'll tear us apart!"

Onslaught stepped forward.

"Megatron we can-"

"NO, not yet!" glancing around he noticed his communications officer missing. "Soundwave? Soundwave!" he grew panicked, "Where's Soundwave?!" 

"He took off!" Octane shouted, "Last I saw he was headed straight for the prison!"

A terrified look of concern etched on Megatron's faceplate.

---

Deadlock and the other prisoners, fired madly through the hole, managing to hit a smattering of enforcer bots, but not enough to save their situation. One of the flight frames fired on the building, the rocket screaming through the opening and slamming straight into the elevator shaft, completely destroying it and the pulley system that operated the lift.

---

Far below on the security floor, Ravage winced as he heard the elevator shriek past his floor, plummeting to its destruction far below. Realizing he had no further use in that area given the elevator was destroyed and they'd been found out, he slipped into one of the thin air ducts that dropped straight down and made his way to aid his brothers on the sub-level.

---

On the ground floor, the seekers ducked, taking cover from the barrage being fired their way.

"Thundercracker!" shrieked Starscream "Blow the endo-structures! NOW"

"But-!" hesitated Thundercracker, "Rumble and Frenzy-!"

"In a few kliks, we're ALL gonna be offlined regardless, so JUST DO IT!" 

Thundercracker braced himself and pressed the detonator button.

Nothing happened.

He pressed it again.

Still no explosion.

"What are you waiting for?!" Skywarp screamed over the gunfire, "Blow the damn thing!"

"I'm-I'm pressing it! It's not doing anything!"

Another shell caused everyone to duck for cover again. Starscream crawled over and snatched the detonator from Thundercracker's servos. Pressing it multiple times, he realized with horror it wasn't working. He cracked open the shell, scanning the wiring inside, but everything looked to be in working order.

"Why isn't it working?!"

"You programmed the blasted thing!" Thundercrakcer protested, "You tell me!"

A realization suddenly dawned on Starscream.

"No." he breathed, "No, no, no, NO!" 

"What? What's wrong?!" called Skywarp.

"Stupid! Stupid! Why didn't I think of it before?!"

"What?! What did you do?!"