I appreciate the comment.

I'll admit that the pacing my be a bit slow, but that was kind of deliberate.

 

oh the pacing's fine really, like taking a nap on a boat while the wind gently guides it to shore; relaxing and interesting at the same time

 

That's a nice comparison. I'm not spoiling anything by saying the second half of the overall story (for I've written well in advance of what I've posted) could be likened to a bunch of gun-toting bad guys rappelling down from a helicopter and onto that very boat and shooting up everything.

 

And here's another chapter:

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

Lone Gunman

It was the early hours of the morning when Knock Out finally woke up. His back ached, as the bench he had rested upon had been far from comfortable. Given the fact that there was only one in the hangar, he assumed that it was likely this particular spot had been used by Ratchet. It was probably no surprise that the Autobot medic had no problem sleeping on something that hard.

Sunlight streamed in through the windows up near the ceiling. Knock Out climbed off of the bench and found himself alone in the hangar. Ultra Magnus was probably elsewhere on the base doing whatever it was he did in his spare time. Bumblebee was gone and the former Decepticon had no idea where he could have went. Probably off visiting his human friends, he thought. That thought made Knock Out realise that he had no real friends here. He could hardly call Ultra Magnus a 'friend'. He was certain that the Autobot Commander still did not trust him completely. That was understandable, even if it had been nine years since Knock Out's defection.

His stay on Earth had so far been, as far as he could tell, a waste of time. His talents had been wasted here and the most interesting thing he had done so far was browse the internet. At least with that, he had been able to catch up on some of the things he had missed during his absence, most prominently the human horror movies he had developed a liking for.

The 'negotiation' with Cyclonus had been a fairly awkward and ultimately fruitless endeavour. He would make it a point to nag Ultra Magnus to be allowed to return to Cybertron. If he got on the Autobot Commander's nerves enough, he might be allowed to leave. Earth had its charms, certainly, but one could hardly enjoy the planet when they were stuck on a military base. That was also something he would have to ask Ultra Magnus about. Perhaps he would allow him the opportunity to go for a drive, actually see the sights? And here Knock Out had been expecting to enjoy the change of scenery from Cybertron. After all, Wheeljack had been able to go off an do his own thing. It seemed typical that if he did the same he would probably get in more trouble for it.

What's Magnus going to do, anyway? Give me a stern talking to? He made his decision then: he would be going for a drive.

He strolled across the hangar floor, making his way for the large double doors. They were partially slid open, giving him a large enough gap to fit through. Outside, there were some soldiers on patrol and a jet fighter had started to shift into position at the far end of the runway ahead. Its engines whined loudly while a human waved at the pilot, directing him into the proper position. None of the soldiers here paid much attention to Knock Out, they had seen Cybertronians before after all. The Decepticon could easily imagine what would happen if he strolled around like this in a public place. The thought of causing a panic with his sheer presence was an amusing one, the sort of thing he would have expected to get a chance to do back in his Decepticon days. Looking back on that now, he was glad he had made the choice to change sides when he did. Things had gone downhill very quickly for the Decepticons after that. Knock Out could vividly remember stumbling across Starscream's dismembered corpse a short while after Optimus Prime's sacrifice. Part of him had been almost saddened by such a loss, whereas the rest of him had been almost pleased to finally be rid of that snivelling weasel. They had not even bothered to bury him and Knock Out had instead taken it upon himself to dispose of the Decepticon Lieutenant's remains. Throwing them into a trash compactor had seemed a fitting end for Starscream.

Knock Out started along the hangar, catching a glimpse of Bumblebee as he disappeared around the corner ahead. Knock Out followed, leaning around the corner and watching as the scout strolled between the buildings. He found himself curious as to where the young Autobot was headed, so he followed him at a distance. Bumblebee kept between the buildings, sticking to the narrow lanes that ran between the hangars. No humans milled about here. Bumblebee finally made his way to one of the side-gates of the compound. There, he transformed and drove up to the gate. Knock Out watched him from the shadow of one of the squat buildings across the road from the gate. The soldiers standing guard allowed him through and Bumblebee started speeding down the road beyond, heading out into the desert.

Knock Out followed and made sure to switch off his comms. He had no desire to have Ultra Magnus interrupting his drive. He transformed and approached the gate. One of the soldiers gave him a once over, referring to a poster on the wall of the guardhouse where the vehicle modes of each of them were displayed in photographic form. The guard waved him through, with another opening the gate. Knock Out made his way through, glimpsing Bumblebee speeding along far in the distance. Out here, the rays of the sun beared down relentlessly, reflecting off of the tarmac and heating up his underside slightly more so than he was comfortable with.

The drive lasted for about half an hour. He kept Bumblebee at the edge of his scanners, amused to find the good little Autobot disobeying orders by leaving the base like this. Ultra Magnus would probably give both of them a 'stern talking to' when they got back.

Knock Out was surprised when, along the remote desert highway, Bumblebee suddenly turned off-road. Either side of the highway was nothing but desert and dry, scattered vegetation. Knock Out slowed down, keeping track of the scout as he sped across the sand, kicking up a thick plume of it in his wake. He disappeared over some small hills and Knock Out, his curiosity once again piqued, started to follow after him.

Where could he be going? Knock Out would not have normally wasted his time following around this particular Autobot, but something about the situation had struck him as peculiar. Driving off-road did not make for an especially smooth ride and he found himself being knocked about as his wheels crossed numerous slight dips and rocks on the ground beneath. His wheels had some difficulty gaining traction on the sandy hill ahead, something he knew should not have come as a surprise as sports cars were not exactly equipped for off-road driving. It took him some effort to get over, kicking up a massive stream of sand behind him as he went. Beyond was a small, dry lakebed and Bumblebee, who stood close to the centre of it in full robot form. He had his back turned and was kneeling down, his hands digging through the dirt.

Knock Out stopped at the edge of the lake-bed and emerged from vehicle mode, flexing his arms as he did so. He watched Bumblebee curiously, the Autobot seemingly oblivious to his arrival. What on Earth was he looking for?

"Bumblebee," Knock Out called. "What are you doing out here? Looking for buried treasure?"

Bumblebee stopped digging. From the small hole he had dug, he retrieved a long, chrome metal case that caught the sunlight noticeably. Knock Out started walking towards him, intent on seeing what exactly it was that Bumblebee had dug up. Bumblebee had apparently been well aware of it being out here.

"Buried treasure? Huh, I guess you could call it that," Bumblebee replied. His voice sounded different then, at least for the first two words of the sentence. Then it shifted audibly into Bumblebee's usual voice, as if he had momentarily lost control of his voice-box. The yellow warrior put both hands to the case and pulled it open. Knock Out could not see what was within from behind him and so continued to walk ahead before he stopped several metres behind the Autobot. He watched as Bumblebee pulled something out of it, long and metal.

"What's that?" Knock Out asked.

"See for yourself," Bumblebee answered. He swivelled around quickly then, revealing the large rifle he had gripped in his hands. It was a Cybertronian design, with a long barrel that glowed with a deep blue light. He had the rifle to his shoulder and one finger on the trigger. Knock Out was startled by the sight, as well as confused, though this confusion quickly gave way to fear when he saw what Bumblebee was about to do.

"Wait..." Was this some sort of bizarre payback for his past? Knock Out had no idea, nor did he get an opportunity to ask. Bumblebee fired and a large, swirling bolt of blue energy shot out of the weapon's barrel. It left a swirling vapour trail behind it, one that dissipated quickly as the bolt travelled at lightning speed. The shot connected with Knock Out's chest, hitting him close to the left shoulder. Burning pain shot through him and the concussive force of the blast was enough to knock him backwards. Fire and smoke plumed out of the impact area and his entire left arm burned incredibly. He became aware of the stench of melted metal and glanced towards his arm. Much of the metal plating there had warped, revealing the far more sensitive protoform underneath. The red car door that had been at his forearm had been reduced to a mess of distorted, silver slag that dribbled off of his arm, smoke wafting from it. A hole had been blown in his chest and his free-hand wandered over to it. He became aware that a few very sensitive internal parts had become exposed.

He also realised, with a mix of horror and confusion, that he was quickly losing his strength. The world swayed around him and Bumblebee, his unexpected murderer, had stepped into view above. He looked down at Knock Out impassively, his large blue optics without any hint of emotion.

Am I dying? It certainly felt that way. Bumblebee started speaking into his comms. For some reason Knock Out could not hear him or anything else for that matter. Darkness appeared at the edges of his vision, slowly creeping forth until Bumblebee and the sky behind him had vanished. The darkness swallowed him up then, providing welcome relief from the pain that had been wracking his body.

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

The nature of the meeting was hasty at best. The bureaucrats wanted to get the matter of the Treaty out of the way, especially in light of the situation involving Cyclonus. Agent Fowler stood upon a helicopter landing pad with Ultra Magnus standing a short distance to his right. The Autobot Commander had his hands clasped behind his back, looking stoic as he so often did. Fowler had changed into a clean suit, albeit a duplicate of the one he had worn yesterday during the 'negotiation' with Cyclonus. About twenty soldiers stood nearby, all standing to attention with their rifles slung over their shoulders. This meeting with the Commander-in-Chief would be a brief one, as he had another meeting with some UN diplomats halfway across the country later this evening. The Autobot-Human Alliance Treaty was a formality, a secretive one at that. The general population certainly had no idea that the government was in cahoots with a bunch of alien robots. Fowler had often thought about how lucky he was, to have been given this job. Thinking about that now, standing out here in the unrelenting heat of the Nevada desert, only made his imminent retirement all the more irksome. Granted, he was certainly getting a bit old for this sort of work. He did not always have to put himself in harm's way, not so much since the war with the Decepticons had ended (in most regards), but his superiors had made it clear they wanted someone new running Unit-E. That, and General Williamson did not like him much.

On the matter of the General, he was supposed to be here. Robert Williamson was not someone who was normally late. He was apparently going through an unpleasant divorce, but that did not seem like something that would stop him from coming here for this particular meeting. It was not often that the President himself paid a visit to a place like this. Although, in the case of the Autobots, a secure military base in the middle of nowhere was the best place to meet them. No prying eyes out here.

"Where's Bumblebee?" Fowler asked. He glanced over to Ultra Magnus, who gave a slight frown in response.

"He should be here," Ultra Magnus said. "Regardless, it's not a problem. I hear your President always wanted to meet me. One Commander-in-Chief to another."

"Yeah, but I think it'd look good if Bumblebee was here," Fowler said. "I mean, he's the one who killed Megatron. Temporarily, anyway." Fowler used one sleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow, only to leave a rather noticeable wet patch upon the sleeve in question. Grey suits could be like that, as any stains or marks were far more noticeable upon the lighter colour than on your typical black or navy-blue suit jacket. "There's that, he's a cuter face for the whole thing." Ultra Magnus narrowed his optics into a scowl. "No offence, Magnus. I figure if we ever went public with this stuff, Bumblebee's face would probably end up the one going on the PR material. Cutesy big eyes go down well with the kids."

The quick chop-chop of helicopter blades could be heard. In the distance, coming in high over the hills beyond the base's perimeter, a trio of helicopters appeared. One was green in colour, with the Presidential seal on its sides. It was a large transport helicopter and likely came with luxuries most helicopters lacked. The other two were smaller blue helicopters, carrying most of the secret service escort.

Ultra Magnus turned around, looking back down the railway. His optics lit up.
"Bumblebee's coming," he said. Fowler followed his gaze and watched as the yellow Autobot in question strode into view upon the railway. He saw that the Autobot was carrying something, long and silver, but at this distance Fowler could not properly make out what it was.

The escort helicopters began to descend, landing upon the empty ground either side of the helipad. Men in black suits and sunglasses emerged from each, their jackets billowing in the breeze, the bulletproof vests they wore underneath fairly obvious. As for the Presidential helicopter, it began to descend upon the helipad. Fowler watched it expectantly, his heart pounding in his chest. It was an honour to meet the current President in person. He glanced over to Ultra Magnus, who was still watching Bumblebee.

"Magnus," Fowler said. "Eyes forward. The boss is about to land."

Ultra Magnus did not turn around. He continued to watch Bumblebee, who in turn continued to stroll closer to the helipad. Fowler once again followed his gaze and watched, with some confusion, as Bumblebee raised the rather large rifle he had been carrying. Around them, sand whipped around them as the helicopter's spinning blades sent forth a gusting, circular breeze.

"Bumblebee," Ultra Magnus shouted. Bumblebee replied by shooting at him, the large blue bolt of energy striking the ground only metres ahead of where the Autobot Commander had been standing.

Fowler was dimly aware of things turning chaotic all around as the concussive force of the blast picked him up and threw him a few feet into the air. He landed painfully on the tarmac by the helipad, the back of his grey suit scorched thoroughly. Coming to rest on his back, he heard several rifles open fire all at once and men shouting. The helicopter above was the next thing to get blasted, the shot connecting with its front. Time seemed to slow down as he watched, though that may have been partly a result of the bump he had received to his head from the fall. The windshield of the helicopter quite literally melted from the heat of the shot, raining down pieces of searing hot glass that cooled almost immediately upon falling from above. The shot connected with the inside of the helicopter and the entire vehicle erupted into flames from within, fire blasting out of every window, showering even more glass down. The back end was the first thing to disconnect, torn away as the fuel tank detonated. Flames blossomed forth and a thunderous crack sounded out. The chopper blades went flying off of the rest of the frame and the flaming hulk that had been the President's helicopter came crashing down unceremoniously upon the helipad, puking smoke and flame that ate away at the paint and sent the stink of burning fuel wafting throughout the area.

The soldiers nearby reacted quickly and Fowler, realising exactly what had happened, rolled onto his side and crawled for cover underneath the helipad. People were shouting and screaming around him, rifles were firing and he glanced Ultra Magnus lying on the tarmac ahead. He was slowly rising to his feet. Another shot from Bumblebee connected with the ground between the soldiers scattered nearby. Most of them went flying, some of them suddenly missing body parts. The explosion itself flared blue, sending up a rain of dirt and chunks of blacktop. Bumblebee fired the rifle again, placing a blast into one of the parked helicopters, one that was some distance behind Fowler. The whole thing exploded violently, knocking aside a few of the secret service men who had been near it. Fowler put a hand to his aching head, finding that it came back sticky with his blood.

The whole ordeal was over quickly. Bumblebee transformed, dumping the powerful rifle across both the driver and passenger seats in the process. He turned around and floored it, speeding down the runway while just about every soldier on the base started taking shots at him. An alarm began to sound and response crews began to emerge, with fire trucks and an ambulance speeding into view from another section of the base.

Ultra Magnus was on his feet, but swayed uncertainly upon them. His optics went searching for Bumblebee, but the young Autobot had disappeared around a corner, presumably barging through one of the gates. Fowler scrambled towards him. Ultra Magnus began to transform, taking his form as a large blue flatbed truck.

"Wait up!" Fowler shouted. He would be damned if he let the Autobot get away with what had just happened. A glance back at the helicopter wreckage was confirmation enough that no one had survived the explosion. Whatever Bumblebee's motives for this shockingly violent attack, he was going to be one of those who would bring him to justice.

The driver's side door opened and Fowler climbed inside before pulling it shut.

"I...I can't explain what happened," Ultra Magnus said, his voice emanating from the radio on the dashboard. He sounded understandably dumbfounded. "Bumblebee...You known him as well as I do. He'd never--" Fowler, his heart pounding and his head throbbing, felt a sudden and uncontrollable burst of anger. He slammed the dashboard angrily.

"Damn it, Magnus," Fowler barked. "Stop wasting time and go after Bee!"

Ultra Magnus complied, flooring the accelerator, sending the truck speeding down the runway. Fowler doubted speeding away from the scene of the crime would look good, but he sure as hell would not stay back. He would likely get dragged into some complicated and near continuous barrage of questions and answers from all manner of authorities as they looked into the incident. How would this fly on the six o'clock news? A thought came into his head then, one he was not too sure on.

Disclosure. That was the only option now. Would they seriously cover this one up? Something this massive could not be easily brushed under the carpet. And why should it? This secrecy business was getting old, Fowler thought. Right now it felt like it had overstayed its welcome completely.

Ultra Magnus went speeding through a previously wrecked gate. On the display under the radio, Fowler watched as a map of the region appeared. He assumed that they were the green arrow on the map, whereas the yellow Autobot emblem represented Bumblebee. The young Autobot was far ahead of them, roaring down the desert highways at reckless speed. And then suddenly, his signal vanished off of the map.

"I've lost him," Ultra Magnus said. The frustration was clear in his voice. Fowler figured things would have been too easy if they had been able to simply track Bumblebee. Things are never easy.

"Just keep going," Fowler said. He sat back in the seat, glancing at himself in the rear view mirror. There was a sizeable cut on his forehead and his face was covered with sweat and dirt. He reached into a pocket in his trousers and pulled out a handkerchief, using it to mop up the blood that had dribbled from the cut.

"I may be able to..."

"Just keep going." Fowler repeated, his tone harsh. Too harsh, he figured, but he was not exactly in a positive state of mind right now. His heart was still pounding, hardly a good thing for a man of his age and of his weight. "Just find him, Magnus. That's all I ask."

"I refuse to believe that Bumblebee could be capable of this," Ultra Magnus said.

"That doesn't matter right now. We find him and we can get to the bottom of this." Fowler had no idea what to think. None of the Autobots had been violent like this. What Bumblebee had done was more akin to something he would expect from a Decepticon. Decepticon brainwashing? Fowler thought. Was Cyclonus behind this? Anything was possible. Until they could get some actual answers, it would all be just speculation.

Fowler closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His back was hurting too now.

"I'm getting too old for this shit," he muttered.

 

Precautionary Measures

Deadeye had spent much of the previous night watching television. It was not a new thing for him and he found that the plethora of channels that the cable and satellite connection provided offered him something worth watching at any time of the day. Still, he did slip into a recharge state in the very early hours of the morning, sometime after his conversation with Wheeljack. He was brought out of it by the sound of a male voice erupting from the base's PA system.

"Deadeye, please report to Building Nine. I repeat, Deadeye please report to Building Nine."

Deadeye slipped off of his bench and noticed that the television was still on. He had left it going all night. He switched it off before making his way outside, stepping into the warm morning air with the desert sun beaming down from high above. He crossed the compound, passing by some soldiers and personnel who were milling about on their daily business. Building Nine was the place where he spent most of his day hanging out when not being dragged along on any exercises with the troops here, or when not on actual missions. It was also where Jack Darby had his office. He approached the large double doors and pulled one of them open, walking into the relatively cool interior of the building. At the far end was where a larger television set and games console system was set-up, intended for his personal use. Colonel Carver was waiting there patiently, accompanied by Captain Van Cleef. Deadeye noticed Carver's serious expression and assumed, somewhat correctly, that an urgent matter had come up. He had grown accustomed to reading the Colonel, a man who managed a usually stoic exterior with only slight expression visible. Still, judging from the way Carver looked now, whatever had happened must have made for a very grave situation.

Carver watched the Autobot approach.

"Good morning, Deadeye," he said, looking up at him as Deadeye stopped a few metres ahead.

"Colonel." Deadeye glanced over to Captain Van Cleef, who had a somewhat more derisive look on his face. "You look like you woke up on the wrong side of bed, Captain."

Van Cleef frowned at him. He went to say something, likely an insult, but Carver spoke before he could. Sometimes Deadeye got the impression that Van Cleef did not like him, something he could not entirely understand as from what he could recall, he had done nothing 'bad' to the human and as such could see no reason why he would draw such blatant dislike from him.

"There is a situation, Deadeye," Carver said. "A grave one at that."

Carver's tone was certainly a grim one. In fact, Deadeye had never seen him looking quite this serious. Whatever had happened, it must have been a game-changer.

"What's going on?" Deadeye asked.

"About forty-five minutes ago, there was an incident at the Groom Lake Facility. Specifically, Unit-E headquarters."

Deadeye was certainly curious to hear what, so he said nothing and instead listened carefully.

"The President and a few of his staff arrived there with the intention of formalising a renewal of the Human-Autobot Alliance Treaty, as well as meet the Autobot leader, Ultra Magnus. However, his helicopter was shot down close to landing and the President, and everyone on board the helicopter, were killed." Carver spoke each word carefully. Deadeye knew the importance of the 'President', so the fact that he had apparently died was a worrisome one. He realised then that he might not get much opportunity from here on to watch the many movies he had recorded off of television in the past few days.

"Was it Decepticons?" Deadeye asked. They were the most obvious perpetrators. However, Carver shook his head in response.

"No," Carver said. "It was an Autobot. Bumblebee, to be more precise. He shot down the President's helicopter and killed those on board, as well as killed and wounded several soldiers and other personnel on the ground."

The yellow one? Deadeye frowned. He could not really believe that an Autobot had been responsible for such an act, certainly not one he had heard so many good things about. Still, he had never actually met the Autobot in question, so he guessed anything was possible. He had no connection to Bumblebee, so why should he be surprised either way about what had happened?

"We will soon have surveillance footage of the whole incident," Carver continued. "I can send it to you if you wish, once it is in our possession. However, in response to this hostile act, the Taskforce and the rest of the military for that matter have been placed on high alert. We have no idea where Bumblebee has fled to, but I am sending out all available personnel to aid in the search. As for how this will be disclosed to the public..." He trailed off and then shook his head. After a pause while he considered what to add, he finally spoke again. "It is a delicate situation, one made even more so by your affiliation with us. Thing is, I'm not one to waste an asset like you. There is an alien outlaw on the loose, Deadeye. One of your own kind. And there are others, including one who spent the night here on the base."

"Wheeljack." Deadeye could see where this was going. Carver was a military leader, he had the security of his nation to worry about. That would mean making some tough decisions, the sort that might antagonise the wrong people, or place innocents in danger. Deadeye did not envy him for his job at all.

"The details of this attack will be disclosed to the public within the day," Carver continued. "Meanwhile, we need to bring in every Autobot we can find, and Decepticon for that matter. I need you to go and bring in Wheeljack. Both he and Agent Darby left the compound only a short time ago, but we have tracked them to a highway leading to Jasper. If you move now, you can intercept them."

"What do you mean 'bring in'?" Deadeye found the Colonel's choice of words odd. However, it soon hit him just what the Colonel's meaning really was.

"You want me to arrest him?" Deadeye shook his head. "I can't do that. I've no authority over him. Or any other Autobot. I don't think he'd take too kindly to being detained here."

"It is a precautionary measure," Carver replied. "Until we know more about this attack and the reasons behind it, every Autobot is a potential threat to this nation's security. Save for you, Deadeye. You are the only Cybertronian on this Earth whom we can trust." He sounded genuine. Deadeye would have felt flattered in any other situation. Here, it just sounded unsettling.

"You will have backup," Carver said. "Captain Van Cleef and about a dozen operatives with the appropriate equipment will follow you. If you need any more help, we can provide it. If Wheeljack is a genuine Autobot and ally to humanity, he will give himself up for questioning. If he resists--"

"He'll resist, all right," Deadeye interjected. His brief encounter with Wheeljack last night had told him everything he needed to know about that Autobot. Headstrong, confident, snarky and the very sort who would not willingly give themselves up for 'questioning', if only on principle. Pride was something Deadeye was all too familiar with.

"And that is why I'm sending you, with backup," Carver countered. "You will subdue him if necessary and bring him to the detainment area."

Deadeye could see that this would be a tricky thing to pull off. It was unlikely that Wheeljack was aware of what had happened at Unit-E headquarters. He probably would have left to rendezvous with the other Autobots otherwise, whether he was guilty of being part of the assassination or not. Deadeye wondered how news of all this would go down on Cybertron. Something told him some Autobots would not be too happy with the fact that a bunch of humans intended to detain their own. Carver was indeed correct about it being a 'delicate' situation.

"Are you sure about this, Colonel?" Deadeye asked. "This whole thing could blow up."

"It already has, as far as I'm concerned," Carver answered. His voice took on a sterner edge. He adjusted the collar of his jacket with one gloved hand and narrowed his eyes in the Autobot's direction. "The Autobots, or at the very least, one of them, launched an attack that killed our nation's leader and several others. This is an act of war, Deadeye. Conflicts have erupted over less. So, I feel that it is best we get to the bottom of the matter as soon as possible. If Wheeljack is innocent of any hand in these events, so be it. We simply need to interrogate him, detain him to ensure that he can have no more part in what I believe is a terrorist conspiracy. For all we know, the Autobots could be planning an even larger scale attack." His voice took on a gradually more serious tone. "I like to think that Wheeljack is innocent, but in a situation like this we cannot take any chances."

"You really think..."

"I don't know what to think, Deadeye," Carver said. He gave a dismissive wave of one hand. "Right now we're working on speculation, nothing more. What happened today was an attack against not only this nation, but against the people of Earth. We must respond by taking any avenue we can in order to uncover the truth behind what really happened. If that means detaining innocent Autobots, then that's exactly what we'll do."

"I didn't come to Earth to be your policeman," Deadeye replied. He did not like where this was going, but he knew that deep down, he really would have no problem going along with it. Why should he? He was an Autobot in-name-only. Wheeljack he had only just met, whereas Bumblebee he had only heard word of through second-hand channels prior to coming to Earth. For all he knew, these Autobots were as capable and willing of launching an attack against Earth as the Decepticons were. Deadeye simply did not look forward to confronting Wheeljack.

"You should go and load up," Carver said. "You are likely correct in your assumption that Wheeljack will not come quietly."

"And once we have him?"

"Then we track down and detain every Autobot and Decepticon we find," Carver replied. He spoke bluntly, as if it were the usual business they conducted. "As of now, they are all potential threats to Earth."

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

Wheeljack found the long drive a bit dull, though he did have Jack for company so there was at least someone he could talk to. They had been travelling down a desert highway for about twenty minutes now, headed back to Jasper. Jack wanted to renew his plans of spending some quality time with his live-in girlfriend. As for Wheeljack, he had nothing better to do but tag along. He was content with this, as it was a welcome break from the work he was given on Cybertron.

As for his current location, these deserts all looked the same to him. Wheeljack had his navigation systems to tell him where to go, as well as Jack who gave him directions where appropriate. Jasper was still a fair drive away, smack-bang in the middle of the Nevada desert. Wheeljack was surprised anyone would even want to live out there.

Agent Darby had been resting comfortably in the passenger seat within Wheeljack's vehicle mode. He had not said much during the drive and seemed tired more than anything else. Wheeljack kept the chatter to a minimum, feeling the strain a bit himself. His talks with Skystreaker and Deadeye had been somewhat illuminating as to the current state of affairs. Skystreaker, a deserter and try-hard seductress; and Deadeye, an Autobot even more into the 'lone soldier' routine than Wheeljack was. There was a rival to be seen in Deadeye, he realised.

"Hey, Wheeljack," Jack said abruptly, interrupting the Autobot's train of thought. "There should be a gas station over those hills. I want to pick up some snacks."

"Snacks, huh?" Wheeljack shifted gears, putting himself well over any legal speeds. Then again, these highways were not exactly traffic-packed, so driving along well over the speed limit was not something many people would notice. He would have to be careful as he neared Jasper, as having a run-in with any traffic police would certainly make for an awkward situation. "Shame you can't buy me any."

"I would, if they sold energon...or whatever else you guys eat," Jack said.

Wheeljack travelled around a bend and over a set of rocky hills before coming down onto a mostly flat vista covered with dry desert vegetation. There was indeed a gas station up ahead, with the town of Jasper just visible on the horizon.

The gas station looked like a ramshackle affair and Wheeljack came to a halt outside of it, catching the gaze of one elderly bearded man in overalls who had been changing a tire on a truck by the station's main building. The building itself was constructed mainly out of wood, the paint peeling off in places, while the metal shelter under which the pumps were located was in serious need of repair, as much of its supports were rusted. Even so, the almost literally 'rustic' appearance carried a certain degree of charm. Wheeljack opened the passenger side door of his vehicle mode and Jack climbed out. He walked for the front door of the station's main building, the old man by the truck watching him carefully.

"Ain't you gonna fill her up, son?" The old man asked as he walked by. Jack stopped and looked over to him, momentarily baffled as to what the old man meant. It occurred to him then that he was referring to his 'car', the flashy white sports car with the red and green decals currently parked by the pumps.

"I don't need to," Jack replied, with a slight and knowing smirk. "It's one of those, ah, new fuel economical cars. Runs on hydrogen fuel cells." Of course, this was a lie but the old man would certainly not know any better. "I'm just here to get something to eat. You got cold drinks inside?"

"Yeah," the old man replied. He grabbed a rag off of the back of his truck and started wiping the grease off of his hands. A gentle breeze wafted through the area, kicking up some sand as it went. "There's cola, beer, whiskey, you name it."

Wheeljack watched as Jack continued inside, the door of the station's building squeaking loudly on its hinges. He disappeared from view, leaving Wheeljack with nothing to do but wait. This was something he was probably not the best at, but hopefully this particular wait would not be a long one.

From somewhere further down the highway, he could hear the growl of multiple vehicle engines. On the highway, off to his right, he watched as a trio of black SUVs came speeding by, followed by a strangely familiar blue and silver muscle car. Wheeljack would not have thought much more of them, were it not for the fact that these four vehicles slowed down and began to park themselves around the gas station.

Now who are these guys? He realised that he recognized the model of SUV. They were the same matte black Escalades that he had seen in the parking lot at the Taskforce compound. Of course, their arrival simply begged a more pertinent question: What was the Taskforce doing here? Had they been following him?

The doors on the Escalades opened and armed Taskforce operatives in black combat gear emerged. Wheeljack recognized Captain Van Cleef among them. As for Deadeye, he remained in his vehicle mode for now, sitting somewhat further back, likely watching the situation unfold with a careful eye.

"Wheeljack," Van Cleef called. He motioned to the operatives to move forward. One hand pointed to the old man working at the truck. He had watched the vehicles roll up with some bemusement and was all the more startled when armed men came storming out of them. "Take care of the witnesses."

Two of the operatives jogged by Wheeljack and set upon the old man somewhat forcefully, pushing him to the ground while one of them pulled a plastic cable-tie out of a pouch on his uniform. He tied the old man's hands behind his back, ignoring his vocal complaints.

"What the hell are you doing?" He demanded, seconds before his head was pushed into the dirt. "Jesus Christ, what the hell is this? You can't do this. I'm an American citizen!"

Jack emerged from the gas station building then, a plastic bag at one hand packed with a few items. He had a chocolate-coated ice cream in the other and had taken a bite into it as he had walked outside, only to stop midway when he saw the armed men scattering across the gas station. Three more armed operatives raced past him and went into the building, quickly dragging out the middle-aged man who had been working behind the counter. They forced him onto his knees as well, before tying his hands behind his back. All of this happened fairly quickly and Jack, slowly chewing on his ice cream, could only stand and watch with some amazement.

Wheejack became aware of the fact that about half a dozen Taskforce operatives had surrounded him, keeping their distance but with their weapons raised. Another one had set up a large metal rifle, likely some kind of anti-armour weapon. It was set on a bipod on the hood of one of the SUVs some distance off to his right. The Autobot Wrecker knew then that these people had come here for him. The two gas station workers, both of whom were on their knees outside the front of the main building, had simply had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Wheeljack, show yourself," Van Cleef said. He stood about fifteen metres off to Wheeljack's right, flanked by two armed operatives. Both had their rifles pointed at the Autobot. "And don't try making a run for it, china. You'll get plenty of holes in you before you clear this petrol station."

There was likely a good explanation as to why the Taskforce were pointing guns at him again. At least, he hoped there was. He did not take too kindly to people waving guns in his direction, human or otherwise.

He transformed, standing upright in his biped form. He heard the old man yell in shock at the sight of him, only for one of the operatives to nudge him with the butt-end of his rifle, a sign to him that he should be quiet.

Jack walked over while Wheeljack regarded the potentially hostile humans. He got the impression that they would start shooting as soon as they saw his hands go for his blades. He did have both his on-board cannons, but activating them would probably get a similar response. So he stood where he was, keeping his hands to his sides, surveying the threats presented to him.

"What's the problem, Captain?" He asked, eyeing Van Cleef carefully. Judging from the way the Captain was looking at him, he got the very strong feeling that Van Cleef did not like him at all. Whatever dislike he had for the Cybertronians had been something he had kept very well hidden prior to now, where the piercing look in his eyes was enough of a giveaway of his true feelings for the species. "I thought we went over this last night. I ain't a threat to you."

"That's not a chance we're willing to take, big guy," Van Cleef said. His gaze went to Jack, who walked over and stopped a short distance to Wheeljack's left. "You should tell your friend here to stand down. He might listen to you. And if he does, we can avoid an 'incident'." He spoke this last word with a smirk. It was apparent he was hoping there would be an 'incident'.

"What's this about?" Jack asked.

"Your good friend Bumblebee went ahead and blew up the big chief himself," Van Cleef answered.

"Who?"

"The President and about twenty-three other people."

Wheeljack frowned. The Bumblebee he knew would not do something like that. Jack felt the same way, judging from the disbelieving look that appeared on his face. As for his ice cream, he still held onto it at the stick by one hand. It had already begun to go soft in the desert heat.

"That's ridiculous," Jack said. "He would never do that."

"Well, he did. And it's on surveillance footage as well, if you want to see for yourself." Van Cleef nodded towards Wheeljack. "Your friend needs to come with us, Colonel's orders."

"And what orders would those be?"

"The detainment of all Autobots and Decepticons," Van Cleef said. "There's been an attack on this very nation's security. Word's going to get out about what did it. So it's the Taskforce's job to make sure this sort of thing never happens again." He pointed at Wheeljack, glaring at him harshly. "You're about to make the six o'clock news, china."

"I'm flattered," Wheeljack deadpanned. "But I think you've got the wrong guy. I didn't kill your President, and I don't think 'Bee would've either."

Van Cleef looked over to Jack. The young man appeared to be understandably surprised and confused. This whole situation was too much in too little a time.

"Again, Darby, tell your friend to come quietly," the Captain said. "He might listen to you."

Jack shifted his gaze up to meet with Wheeljack's. The Autobot Wrecker noticed the uncertainty in his eyes.

"You know me, kid," he said. "I don't 'come quietly'." He smirked at his own remark.

Jack returned his attention back to the Captain.

"He's done nothing wrong." Jack regained his composure, a defiant tone seeping into his voice. "You can't just take him in. That will cause a diplomatic incident."

"What his friend did was far more than a 'diplomatic incident'," Van Cleef replied, disgust in his tone. "It was an attack, not just against this country, but against humanity as a whole. And I swore an oath to protect our species, no matter what had to be done to ensure that security. Taking in Wheeljack for questioning is a 'precautionary measure'. You didn't take that oath, did you, Darby? Instead, you would choose him over your own flesh and blood brethren. And that, lighty, is just plain fucking insulting."

He glanced behind him, giving a short wave to Deadeye. The Autobot responded by transforming out of his vehicle mode. He strode towards Wheeljack, a remorseful look on his face.

"You're with these guys, huh?" Wheeljack asked. "Can't say I'm surprised. They give you cable and everything."

"Come with me," Deadeye said. He held out one hand, more of a gesture than anything else. Even he knew Wheeljack was not the kind of Autobot to hold hands with anyone. "Get this over with."

"You really think 'Bee did what this guy is saying he did?" Wheeljack remained unfazed. He nodded towards Van Cleef, who was watching the pair carefully.

"They showed me some of the surveillance footage on the way here," Deadeye replied. "It's true. It really happened."

"You sure about that?" Wheeljack could tell that Deadeye was being serious. Even so, Wheeljack needed to see it to believe it. And even then, there were possibilities, he realised, that maybe things were not all they seemed.

"Until we are, you need to come with us."

"I'm not going to do that," Wheeljack said. Giving himself up to a bunch of humans, especially this lot, struck him as a very bad idea. "They'd probably take me apart. That is what they did to all those Decepticons you helped them kill, right?"

Deadeye's optics went down and his demeanour shifted noticeably.

"I knew it." Wheeljack nodded. Things were starting to come together, at least in his mind. "This whole thing with Bumblebee is just an excuse. An excuse to take me in and turn me into some kind of messed up science experiment."

"You're just being paranoid..." Deadeye began, his tone a lot less confident than it had been previously. Wheeljack interrupted him, his frustration boiling over and falling into his voice.

"I have every right to be paranoid," he spat. "Nine years I've been gone and things have become so damn different. I can't stand it. And to see one of our own, you, siding with these humans?" He clenched his jaw, bringing his anger a bit more under control. Losing his cool was not something that happened to him often. Granted, it had become a bit more frequent in recent times. It was likely a result of the change of lifestyle, from fighting a war to rebuilding a city. I am one very messed up Autobot.

"I've had enough of this bloody talking," Van Cleef shouted. He motioned to his operatives and they readied their weapons. Across the desert, a matte black helicopter had appeared in view, flying in low, the chop-chop of its blades gradually increasing in volume as it neared. Wheeljack saw it and the very obvious guns mounted on its sides. Grappling guns, he soon realised, each manned by an operative, one at either side. Specialised hardware for specialised work.

Wheeljack's hands went to his swords then as he saw the operatives ready their weapons. He pulled both free, holding them at the ready. His combat-plate slid in place over his mouth, leaving only his optics visible. They regarded the scene around him with hostility, his combat instincts and training kicking in immediately. The blades of both of his swords caught the harsh sunlight upon them, glinting brightly.

"And here I was thinking I'd have a good day," Wheeljack said.

Both Deadeye's hands went to his pistols. He drew them with amazing speed but he was not fast enough to let off a shot. Wheeljack swung one of his swords, causing Deadeye to dodge in the opposite direction, the blade swinging by his arm. His other hand he adjusted with surprising alacrity, squeezing off a shot from the pistol he held there. Wheeljack side-stepped, the shot catching him in the side, putting a painful hole through his armour and into the far more sensitive protoform underneath.

He had suffered worse. Jack, meanwhile, had started running for cover, going as far as to drop his bag of groceries and his partially eaten ice cream. Every Taskforce operative around Wheeljack opened fire, hammering him with bullets, most of which pinged off of him harmlessly. Some struck him in lesser-armoured areas, stinging but leaving no lasting damage. Wheeljack took a step back, brushing against the metal shelter over the gas pumps. Deadeye was several metres ahead of him, both pistols raised. He started shooting and Wheeljack dived, somersaulting as he hit the ground. Some of the shots struck near him, kicking up small puffs of dirt. One of them hit a gas pump and fuel began to pour out at a staggering rate, soaking the dirt around it.

The operative with the Anti-Material Cannon fired off a shot. Van Cleef had run for cover behind one of the SUVs, where most of his operatives were. The Anti-Material round grazed Wheeljack at the shoulder before it continued on its way, colliding with the front of the gas station's main building. At least half of the front of the building exploded as a result, sending forth a cloud of smoke and dust, with a quick burst of flame at its centre. Fragments of scorched wood and searing metal rained down all over the area.

The operatives who had been standing guard by the two gas station workers began to run for cover, leaving the employees out in the open. Bullets filled the air throughout the gas station, most of them concentrated upon Wheeljack, who had moved back onto his feet despite the withering fire. Another shot from the operative with the Anti-Material Cannon was let loose, this one hitting him near the left shoulder. There was a sudden and immense stab of pain all through his torso as flame erupted from the impact point. He stumbled under the concussive force, aware that a hole the size of his fist had been punched into his chest. The round had detonated within, shearing a sizeable chunk of armour off of his body. His grip on the sword in his left hand had gone slack and the blade went flying out of his reach, becoming embedded in the dirt nearby.

"You can't do this!" Jack shouted from somewhere nearby, presumably directing the statement at the Taskforce. Wheeljack barely paid the human any attention and shook himself out of the somewhat dazed state he had been left in. The shooting had become more sporadic now, as if the Taskforce had assumed he had gone down. It was not over yet. He glanced over to where Deadeye was standing, seeing that the Autobot had both pistols aimed at him.

I'm gonna shove those pistols of his up his aft if he keeps this shit up. Wheeljack climbed back onto his feet, sheathing the one blade he still carried.

"Continue firing!" Van Cleef shouted. The other operatives resumed shooting, some stopping to reload their weapons. Wheeljack put one arm in front of his face in an attempt to withstand the hail of gunfire. He watched as Jack raced over to one of the operatives and harshly punched him in the jaw, knocking him backwards. Immediately two others were on him, taking him down to the ground where they proceeded to beat him with their weapons.

"Get off of him!" Wheeljack was no longer in the mood to play it cool. He shifted his right arm into its cannon form and fired a shot. It found its home in one of the parked Escalades, causing it to erupt into a large fireball that knocked three of the operatives over. The smoking wreck toppled, landing on one of the operatives, the crunch that followed indicating that it had crushed his legs. Wheeljack saw Van Cleef, his face filled with rage as he regarded the carnage that had fallen upon his men. Wheeljack took aim at him but a shot from Deadeye found its mark in his right arm, putting a hole through it and the cannon. He turned around to face the Autobot, anger flaring up within him. He started to charge for him, vaguely aware that the operative with the Anti-Material Cannon had taken another shot at him.

This one hit one of the gas pumps. Instead of simply putting a hole in it, the whole thing blew apart. A massive plume of flame erupted out of the ground, followed by a concussive wave that knocked Wheeljack and Deadeye over. The shelter over the gas pumps was lifted off of its moorings and sent flying, with the second gas pump following suit after the first. Another plume of smoke and flame blossomed forth, followed by a deafening boom that echoed throughout the desert. Van Cleef hit the dirt behind an SUV as all its windows shattered from the force of the explosion. Burning fuel rained down upon the parking area, splattering onto some of the SUVs. Wheeljack received an unhealthy dose of burning fuel across his back, the pain enough to cause him to roll over in an effort to smother it. One operative became shrouded in stray fire, something that was quickly followed by his screams as the burning fuel began to cook his flesh.

Wheeljack rolled onto his back amongst the smoke and fire, only to find himself looking straight up at Deadeye. The Autobot had a gun pointed squarely in his face. Wheeljack ached all over and he found that his left arm, with the hole put into his shoulder there, was not working as well as it normally would.

"Come quietly," Deadeye said. There was a look of fear in his eyes. Wheeljack did not know whether it was fear of him, or fear of what the Taskforce would do to him after this incident.

 

Crackdown

Wheeljack's left arm was not working as well as it normally did. The hole blown into his chest ached considerably, energon trickling out of it at an alarming rate. When the Taskforce people had taken him down, Deadeye had stuck some kind of prod to his stomach, punching a small device into the exposed protoform there. This had apparently rendered him unable to transform, since try as he might, he could not muster the control to do so.

He had been chained up rather tightly upon the back of a flatbed truck before the Taskforce operatives had covered him over with a tarpaulin. Lying on his back like this, his life in the hands of a bunch of humans who clearly did not like him, was demeaning. He had been in tougher scrapes, he was sure of it. Yet for the life of him, he could not work his way out of this one. They had him down and he was unable to get up. He could not see anything beyond the blue tarpaulin that covered him, save for the feel of the truck underneath moving along at a fairly gradual pace. The heat of the sun worked its way through the plastic, warming him. The flatbed truck was not the most comfortable ride, bumping along unsteadily.

He was still confused as to what could have possibly happened to turn the Taskforce against him so suddenly. Bumblebee had killed the nation's leader, yet not even Wheeljack could imagine the Autobot doing that. Of all the Autobots he knew, Bumblebee was the one least likely to pull a stunt of that kind. Something was not right here, beyond the fact that the Taskforce was taking him back to their base as if he were no more than a shipment of white goods. He could hear the other cars, the matte black SUVs that the Taskforce favoured so greatly, travelling ahead of and behind the truck. A convoy that would have certainly turned heads in any populated area, but out in the Nevada desert there was not really much of a population to begin with.

Eventually the truck slowed down. Wheeljack had been lying still, held firmly in place by the many chains that bound him. He felt weak and realised that his strength had been fading ever since the shootout at the gas station. The shot he had taken to the left shoulder, by whatever advanced anti-armour gun the Taskforce had at its disposal, had been bleeding blue energon fluid the entire time. It had started pooling underneath him, resulting in a sticky sensation against the bed of the truck. The Taskforce were apparently unconcerned with his wellbeing and were unlikely to care much if he fell out of consciousness. An inactive Autobot would be a lot easier to detain than one that could stand up and cause trouble.

The truck stopped, its engine still running. Wheeljack made a guess that they had arrived at the Taskforce compound. He heard a gate slide open up ahead, the SUVs in front of the truck driving on through. Once they were going, the truck was shifted back into gear and followed them. It was about another minute before the truck finally came to a halt and the driver killed the engine. When this happened, Wheeljack did not have to wait long for the tarpaulin to come off of him. He found himself looking up at the blue sky above, the heat of the sun warming his chassis a great deal. And then he heard a set of heavy footsteps and a shadow fell over him. He tilted his head slightly, catching a glimpse of the Autobot who stood nearby. Immediately, his mood soured even more than it already was.

"Deadeye," he croaked. Deadeye looked down at him with indifference. There may have been a hint of remorse in the Autobot's optics, that or it was simply the way the sunlight reflected off of them. "When I get out..."

"You'll kill me?" Deadeye inquired, narrowing his optics. "That might not be for the best. You already made things worse for yourself after what happened at the gas station." He reached down to Wheeljack's chains, unhooking those that had kept him firmly held down on the truck. Somewhat roughly and apparently with little care for how Wheeljack felt, Deadeye dragged him off of the truck's rear, allowing him to thump against the warm tarmac before he began dragging him towards the large building ahead. Wheeljack, his arms chained together in front of him, recognized the building as the one where the detainment area was located. There were Taskforce soldiers milling about, a few standing guard at the front of the building. Wheeljack caught a glimpse of Captain Van Cleef, who stood nearby and watched with an unmistakably pleased smile as Wheeljack was dragged across the asphalt.

Wheeljack's back was scraped considerably, the finish ruined, by the time he was taken inside the detainment building. Deadeye put one arm under one of his and hoisted him up onto his feet, his gaze going to the gaping wound at his left shoulder.

"You feeling all right?" He asked. There was a hint of actual concern in his voice, although Wheeljack was hardly in the mood to reply appropriately.

"What do you care?" He spat. Deadeye said nothing and walked him up to the doorway that lead into the detainment areas. The beams of glowing energy barring the way were still up. This was quickly rectified when Deadeye waved to a guard standing at the other side of the room. The guard nodded and reached for a lever on the wall that he pulled down, cutting the power to the beams. As soon as they were gone, Wheeljack found himself pushed inside where he stumbled and fell face-first onto the floor.

His wrists still chained together and his body feeling weak, he found it abnormally hard to stand back up onto his feet. The guard outside shifted the lever back and the beams reappeared in the doorway, barring Wheeljack from leaving. The Autobot Wrecker rolled onto his back, glancing towards the door where Deadeye was watching him. Wheeljack noticed the trail of energon fluid he had left in his wake. There was a great deal streaked down his torso, all flowing from the hole near his left shoulder.

I've had worse. He watched as Deadeye walked out of view, leaving the newly captive Autobot to his own devices. However, Wheeljack saw that he was not alone. Skystreaker had stepped into view to his right and she had one hand opened towards him. He was not normally one to accept help, certainly not from a Decepticon, but this time around he figured his pride had already been wounded enough already that a little help from a potential enemy would hardly make a difference. He held his hands up, both bound together at the wrists. Skystreaker took them both and hefted him up, her other arm going around to his back to help ease him onto his feet.

"What did it take for you to get thrown into here?" She sounded amused. Wheeljack frowned.

"Let me think," he said. "I'm still a little uncertain of it myself. It might have something to do with the fact I blew up a gas station."

"You blew up a what?"

"It was the human's fault, really," Wheeljack added. "They should know better than to start shooting near a whole lot of flammable liquid." He regarded the Decepticon female with a wry smile. She was standing surprisingly close to him and the look in her optics seemed to indicate some level of actual concern for his wellbeing. However, she also wore a smirk, as she no doubt found his current predicament an amusing one.

"And what compelled you to blow up a 'gas station'?" Skystreaker crossed her arms.

"One of my friends apparently blew up their President," Wheeljack said. His disbelief in the matter was clear in his tone. "And then the Taskforce guys tried to bring me in."

"They succeeded."

"Yeah, well, let's just say that a few of them might need to have extended stays in hospital." Wheeljack had not directly harmed anyone during the shootout, from what he could recall. Fire-fights were often chaotic. Trying to keep track of where one's every single shot went was more trouble that it was worth. He could not help it if the humans were as fragile and squishy as they were. "Look, Skyreeker.."

"Skystreaker." She scowled at him.

"All right, Skystreaker. There's some bad shit going down and I want to get out of here."

"Yeah, well, good luck with that," Skystreaker said. "What do you think I've been doing in here? I've examined every inch of this cell. It's all reinforced steel and concrete. And we have no weapons. And our T-cogs have been disabled. These Taskforce guys have all the right equipment to shut us right down."

Wheeljack felt something build up in his throat as he went to speak. He coughed then and a globule of blue energon fluid flew out of his mouth. He leaned against the nearest wall and continued to bring up life fluid, finding himself in the midst of a fit that only made him feel weaker. He was surprised when Skystreaker came up to him and put a hand to his good shoulder, holding him against the wall somewhat forcefully.

"You need to be patched up," Skystreaker said. She examined his wound carefully while Wheeljack, recovering from the coughing, looked at her with scepticism. He did not even know this Decepticon, yet she actually seemed concerned for him. Either that, or she figured her chances of escape were far greater if the two of them worked together. That was the likely possibility. No Decepticon, certainly not one he knew, would go out of his (or her) way to help him unless there was something in it for them.

"And what? You some kind of doctor?" Wheeljack very much doubted this.

"I had some medical training," Skystreaker replied. "Enough to tell you that you need to get patched up and soon. Otherwise, if you keep losing energon like that, you'll go into stasis lock."

Wheeljack regarded her with a cautious look. She sounded serious, sure, but could he trust her? He had a hard enough time trusting Knock Out, even though that particular Decepticon had been loyal to the Autobot cause for nine years. Skystreaker was some Decepticon he had only just met, one who was plotting escape as much as he was. Still, he found himself actually wanting her help. He had nothing to lose.

"And how are you going to help me?" He asked her.

"I haven't got any medical equipment on me, obviously," Skystreaker answered. "But Deadeye may. I could appeal to him, or you could."

"I don't think he likes me." Wheeljack put a hand to the gaping wound near his shoulder. Skystreaker did not have difficulty tearing the chains off of his wrists.

"You were taken alive for a reason," Skystreaker said. "I don't think the Taskforce will want you bleeding to death. Same reason they took me alive."
"And what was that?"

She shrugged. Wheeljack did the Cybertronian equivalent of a sigh.

"Maybe they want to dissect us?" Skystreaker suggested, half-jokingly. Wheeljack shook his head, a movement that sent some pain through his shoulder. He felt as if he were aching all over. He put one hand to his mouth, finding a trickle of energon fluid dribbling out. That shot he had taken from the human anti-material cannon had messed him up pretty good.

Skystreaker walked up to the glowing beams of energy over the doorway. She looked to the guard standing by the power controls.

"Hey you," she called. He looked over to her, one brow slightly raised. "Yeah, you. The fleshling. That prisoner you just dragged in here? He's going to die soon if he doesn't get actual medical attention. Get Deadeye in here."

"Move back from the door," the guard replied. He pointed his rifle towards her, more as a gesture than anything else. He knew full well that standard firearms did little against Cybertronians.

"Get Deadeye in here," Skystreaker said. "Tell him to bring in the Cybertronian medical equipment he's likely got stashed away someplace."

The guard walked over to a phone set onto the wall and picked it up, punching in about three numbers in order to reach someone else located on the compound. Skystreaker watched him as he spoke quietly into it. After a moment, he put it back on the wall and returned to his post by the power lever.

Wheeljack had slumped against the wall in the meantime. He wondered if Deadeye would actually come by. That seemed unlikely, although he supposed that Skystreaker had a point: they had taken him in alive, presumably so they could question him. Him dying, or at the very least going into stasis lock, would not be all too convenient for them. Naturally, this was all just speculation on his part. Maybe they did want to dissect him. That was hardly the end he thought he would get.

Deadeye did come back a short time later, much to the surprise of both Wheeljack and Skystreaker. He stood on the opposite side of the energy beams, eyeing Skystreaker carefully. In one hand he held a small device, Cybertronian in design, with a long needle-like attachment on the end.

"I was going to bring this around anyway," Deadeye said abruptly. He knelt down and slid it across the floor, sending it underneath the lowest beam of energy. Skystreaker picked it up in one hand, testing the trigger. The needle glowed, a small inch-long beam extending from its end. "That should be enough to stop the bleeding."

"You're such a nice guy," Wheeljack croaked from the other end of the cell. He did not mean it.

"I guess even life-threatening injuries don't stop you from being snarky," Skystreaker said. Deadeye watched them both from the other side of the beams, his arms crossed across his chest as Skystreaker knelt down by Wheeljack and tended to the hole near his left shoulder.

"I'll be waiting here until you're done," Deadeye said. "I'll need that thing back."

Wheeljack ignored him, focusing his attention onto Skystreaker. She had placed the device to his wound and activated it. A burning, stinging pain filled his chest then as the energy the device emitted set every pain receptor in his torso alight. Still, it did cauterise and seal up the leaks that had been caused by the round he had taken. It was slow-going and would only provide the most rudimentary relief, as he still had the gaping hole in his chest and he had no idea what other internal damage might have been caused.

"You're not doing this for me, are you?" He watched Skystreaker carefully.

"And who would I be doing it for?" She asked him.

"Yourself. So I can help you escape." He winced then, when the device struck a particularly sensitive part within the hole.

Skystreaker gave a short laugh. Whether it was in response to his remark or to his obvious discomfort, Wheeljack could not be certain.

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

It was partly his fault, Jack realised, that he had been beaten up. He had been expecting as much as soon as he had attempted to stop the Taskforce operatives from shooting at Wheeljack, a futile gesture at best as he had been vastly outnumbered, but it had been preferable over standing back and letting them hurt, and potentially kill, the Autobot Wrecker.

Jack had found himself in Colonel Carver's office. It was a fairly large one at that, located in the larger administration building near the middle of the compound. He had been escorted there by two armed guards, bringing him inside where Carver was seated at his desk, mulling over an open wooden case. Jack had numerous bruises on his body as well as a cut on his forehead, though that had clotted over by this point. Much of him simply ached dully. If anything, his opinion on the Taskforce had been changed irrevocably. Getting beaten could do that to someone's worldview.

Carver had been in the process of cleaning the guns in that case. His sidearm of choice was a chrome silver Wildey pistol, with a six inch barrel, chambered for the powerful .475 Wildey magnum round. It was impracticably large for a side-arm, yet that did not appear to deter the Colonel from carrying it with him. He placed this pistol into the case next to a much smaller, pocket-sized .22 pistol that was no bigger than his fist.

"Agent Darby," Carver stated, his tone level. His office was neat, almost spartan. There was a display case to Jack's left, containing yet another gun. Inside was an old flintlock musket, along with a few photos of Carver standing with various important looking people. At the back wall, by the window where the blinds were drawn, was an American flag on a short, brass pole. And to Jack's right was an LCD screen set into the wall, presumably connected to the laptop computer the Colonel had at his desk. Only some light seeped in through the closed blinds, casting the whole room in a fairly subdued glow, a look compounded by the typical grey paintjob on the walls.

Carver motioned to the two guards who had brought Jack in. Both turned around and strode out of the room, the door swinging shut behind them. Carver then eyed Jack curiously.

"I was told about what happened," he said carefully. Jack remained standing, despite the pain he felt in his lower back. As appealing as sitting down would have been for him in his current state, he did not feel like giving the Colonel even that small satisfaction. "Captain Van Cleef can be a bit overzealous in his methods, but he gets things done. That's why I hired him in the first place. Some of these ex-South African Special Forces people can be a bit unpredictable."

"Is it normal for the Taskforce to shoot up a gas station?" Jack asked.

"A shootout is a chaotic thing," Carver said. "It would have been better had Wheeljack given himself up voluntarily."

"You should have known better."

"We only want him for questioning, really," Carver replied. "And to detain him, and the other Autobots, until the current situation can be resolved."

Jack frowned. Carver was making it sound all very ordinary, as if things like this happened all the time. Jack had been in this line of work long enough to know that this sort of event was far from common.

"And what is that situation?" Jack asked. "You send your people out to get him, you blow up a gas station, you beat me into the dirt...What kind of situation is it, Colonel, when you can so quickly turn against those who have been helping us for so long?"

Carver narrowed his eyes then. He sat back in his chair, a sceptical look crossing his weathered features.

"The Autobots have not helped us for nearly a decade," Carver said. "They brought their war to our planet and they left as soon as it was over. Of course, they left a token presence behind, but it should be clear to even you, regardless of how well you like some of the Autobots, that humanity is very much on its own. There are things out there, amongst the stars, that could bring our civilization to its knees with ease. That's why this Taskforce was created. We cannot rely on the Autobots to help us anymore. They have their own problems. And they've caused a few for us."

"I was told that the President..."

"The President was killed, as were several others," Carver interrupted. "Your Autobot friend, Bumblebee, did it. I even have the surveillance footage on my computer, if you don't believe me." With one hand, he tapped a few keys at his laptop. The LCD screen at the wall changed then, going from the typical blue 'stand-by' screen to a freeze-frame from a surveillance camera. Jack recognized the scene as being near one of the helipads near the Unit-E hangar. There was a helicopter descending and he saw Agent Fowler amongst the people waiting there. Ultra Magnus was there also, standing with his hands behind his back. Carver resumed the playback and Jack watched as a blue bolt of energy shot from somewhere off-screen, striking the ground near Ultra Magnus. The explosion knocked the large Autobot aside with ease.

The view switched to that from another security camera, this one further up the runway. There was Bumblebee all right, his back partly turned to the camera, a large Cybertronian rifle raised to his shoulder. He fired another shot, blowing the President's helicopter out of the air. Carver paused the playback then, letting the images properly register within Jack's mind.

"Some Autobot friend you have," Carver commented. Jack shook his head. This was not something Bumblebee would do, nor any of the other Autobots for that matter.

"It can't be him," Jack said. He turned to the Colonel. The gravity of the situation was beginning to sink in. "The Decepticons could have brainwashed him. Or it could even be a Decepticon..."

"Unfortunately, we have no way of knowing what exactly happened until we can detain Bumblebee. As a precautionary measure, we'll be bringing in the other Autobots as well." Carver paused for a moment then, his expression as stone-set as it usually was. "It doesn't matter if it was really Bumblebee or not. There has been attack, Darby. An attack not just against this nation, but on humanity as a whole. This is the sort of thing the Taskforce was created to combat. The fact that this happened puts doubt on our efforts as a whole. How do you think the public will react?"

Jack raised an eyebrow when he heard this question.

"The public? You're going to tell them?"

"This has to be disclosed," Carver said. "We can't exactly keep this a secret." He checked the watch he wore at his left wrist. "We have about an hour before the news is broken. The general population will be told of an alien attack against our leadership, followed by a number of press conferences from people in the government and military, myself among them, that will clarify details and provide background to what has happened."

Jack could hardly believe it. They were going to make the Autobots out to be the bad guys, this much became clear to him. Autobots and Decepticons would be painted as the villains, regardless of the truth behind what they had done for or against humanity.

"Shouldn't you wait until you know more?" Jack asked.

"Wait? This is hardly something we can 'wait' on." Carver shook his head. "The public deserves to know what happened, especially when this situation concerns the entire species. This could be the beginning of a far greater threat, an invasion even. Why else would they target our leadership?"

"To incite the sort of thing you're advocating now," Jack replied. He was sure of it, he could not ascertain why, but this whole situation was about to spiral out of control and the public would be placed in greater jeopardy than ever before. "Disclosure. Vilification of the Autobots. All this time I thought you knew the difference between the two sides, Colonel. You even have an Autobot working for you. Now you'll go out and tell the public that the very same Autobots who have been helping us all this time are the ones trying to attack us?"

"I'll tell the public the truth," Carver said. There was a slight edge to his voice, as if Jack's questioning nature had struck a nerve. "Humanity is on its own in this fight, Darby. The Autobots cannot be trusted and there are still many Decepticons at large. It's the dawn of a new era, Darby. The age of Cybertronian and human cooperation is over, as far as I'm concerned. And I think it's for the best."

"How can you say that?" Jack spat, far more forcefully than he had intended. Carver hardly looked fazed. He raised one eyebrow slightly in a curious manner, as he regarded the younger man standing across the desk from him.

"Humanity must be strong enough to stand on its own," Carver replied. "The Autobots can no longer help us. Even without what's happening now, they have problems of their own. Problems they threaten to drag to us without proper boundaries. They dragged the Decepticon problem to us, didn't they?"

"It would have happened regardless. Earth and Cybertron have always been linked."

"And maybe it's time we put restrictions on those 'links'?" Carver rose out of his chair then. He closed the gun case on the desk with one hand. "Do you really want to be beholden to them, Darby? As far as I'm concerned, they betrayed us."

"It can't have been Bumblebee..."

"Unless you can somehow prove that within the next hour, then it's going to be made pretty clear to the public that it was Bumblebee." Carver stated this bluntly; he was not one to dress up his words. He did not care that it would be an Autobot that would be vilified to the public and this only made Jack angrier. It appeared that he had misplaced his trust in the Taskforce. "I don't make the rules. I follow them. And the media, it's a fickle thing."

"The Autobots are our only means of defence against the Decepticons," Jack said. "If Cyclonus were to attack us..."

"We don't need the Autobots, Darby. We may have use for Deadeye's services, but what you see here, on this compound, is only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to what the Taskforce can do. Fourteen Decepticons confirmed killed since this organization's inception. And Deadeye only assisted for some of those." He paused briefly, considering what next to add. "Our capabilities are far greater." He took up the gun case before tucking it under one arm. He eyed Jack with a stern expression, wary of what the younger man might do in response to all that had happened.

"What will you do with Wheeljack?" Jack asked.

"Wheeljack?" Carver gave a quick shrug. "He'll be detained indefinitely."

"That's all?"

"That's all."

Jack did not believe him. There was a brief silence between the two of them, an awkward one at that, though Carver looked unconcerned. He gestured towards the door of the office.

"You can go now, Darby. Go home, get some rest. I'll be in contact."

Jack scowled at him a moment before he turned around and left the office. Carver followed him out into the corridor, closing the door behind him. He noticed Jack's curious glance.

"I have to go somewhere myself," he said. "To meet with some associates. As I said, I'll be in contact with you later. We can properly discuss matters then, maybe after you've cleaned yourself up and cooled down." With that, Carver turned around and started down the corridor, leaving Jack to go his own way.

Once the Colonel was out of sight, Jack pulled out his cell-phone and dialled Fowler's number. If there was one man he could trust right now, it would be William Fowler. He would no doubt be interested to hear what Colonel Carver had just told Jack. Disclosing such things was most likely a breach of the agreement he had made when he had first started working for the Taskforce, but he had stopped caring about that as soon as they had started shooting at Wheeljack.

Fowler took a moment to answer his phone.

"Hello?" He sounded weary. Jack had seen him in the surveillance footage, so he had been on the scene when Bumblebee had blown up the President's helicopter. He was most certainly feeling the effects of that event a great deal.

"It's Jack."

"Jack? What's going on?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing," Jack said. He leaned back against the wall behind him, keeping an eye out for any potential eavesdroppers. As far as he could tell, there was no one in this particular stretch of corridor who might overhear him. There was a surveillance camera at the far end. Thankfully, the cameras had no audio and as such anyone viewing the feed would not be able to hear the conversation.

"I'm with Magnus. We've been searching for Bumblebee since..."

"I know what happened," Jack interrupted. "I just thought you deserved to know what Colonel Carver's been planning. He just had Wheeljack imprisoned."

"What?" Fowler sounded understandably startled by this piece of information. "You mean, he's got some kind of Autobot prison?"

"The Taskforce has all it needs to keep an Autobot under control," Jack replied. "You'd be surprised what they have here."

"You said you know what Carver's going to do?"

"Tell the public that an Autobot killed the President. To him, they're hardly any better than the Decepticons."

"That's crazy."

"I thought the same thing."

His heart was pounding in his chest. He had already been beaten into the dirt once, if the Taskforce caught him telling Fowler about all of this he might end up in a federal prison. However, he would be damned if he just let the Taskforce hunt down the Autobots and 'detain' them. Bumblebee had not been the one to commit the crimes, there was no way in hell that Bumblebee would have done such a thing unless he had been under outside influence. Either that, or it had not been Bumblebee at all.

"They'll be coming after Ultra Magnus," Jack said. "You'll need to get somewhere out of their reach. If he gets captured, along with Knock Out, then it's doubtful we'll ever be able to get to the bottom of what really happened."

"Knock Out's been missing for over an hour," Fowler said. "Do you think the Taskforce got him, too?"

Jack would have shaken his head, were it not for the fact that he was speaking over a phone.

"He's still out there somewhere," he replied. "Maybe the ones behind this got him. Maybe Cyclonus got him, I don't know."

"What about Wheeljack?"

"I'll try and help him out. He's locked up on the compound here, but I think I might be able to help him."

"You sure about this, Jack? You're putting yourself right in the firing line."

"I need to know the truth," Jack said. "And I know you feel the same. If that means going against the Taskforce, then that's what we'll do. They've already lost my trust and I know for a fact that you never trusted them to begin with."

"Damn right."

"Stay with Magnus, find Bumblebee. You find him and I think you'll find the truth as well." His mind was made, then. They would get to the bottom of what had really happened, regardless of who it pitted them against.

"Don't do anything stupid, Jack."

"I could say the same thing to you."

There was a chuckle on the other end of the line.

"And to think, I was only a week away from retirement."

 

Tradition and Faith

"There is a story, in the Book of Nova Prime, that tells of that Prime's travels during his self-imposed exile, prior to his ascendency to a higher plane." Star Saber clutched either side of the pulpit, surveying the audience of attentive Decepticons before him. The hall was fairly large, situated on one of the cruiser's lower levels. There must have been about one hundred Decepticons here of varying shapes and sizes, most of them soldiers, some weary, some scarred. The lights set into the ceiling above cast the whole room in a dry white glow. He could see that his flock was growing. This was a good sign.

"He came across a Cybertronian, somewhat like himself, who had attempted to create a living on a world far from Cybertron. Here, there was very little life and very few resources, but this individual was convinced of the existence of riches that lay below the surface of the world. He was driven by greed, mainly, and intended to create a booming energon mine that would ensure his wealth, and the wealth of ensuing generations. Nova Prime spoke to this Cybertronian and discovered that, despite his desire for greed, despite the failed attempts to uncover energon and despite his perseverance, that this mech had no faith. He blamed Primus for all his misfortunes, he had forsaken him many cycles before and continued existing as a selfish, hateful individual who despised Primus and all he stood for. Nova Prime attempted to save this mech, to make him see the error of his ways, and to explain to him that the spite he carried for our God was likely a mutual one, for by forsaking Primus, Primus turned a blind-eye to him in return. Yet, the mech was stubborn, incredibly so."

Star Saber's voice carried clearly throughout the hall. There was very little other noise, save for the subdued hum of the ship's engines. His stentorian tones ensured that all attention was focused on him.

"Nova Prime was unable to shake this mech's unbridled hatred of Primus. He continued on his vain quest for wealth upon a mostly dead world. And Nova Prime could do little else but watch, knowing full well that he was losing a perfectly good mech through no fault of his own. He wanted to save him, but the one he wished to save did not want to be saved. And that is a problem that faces us now, that faces our species today. The lack of faith, and the often blatant hatred of our God. To become so far removed from our traditional beliefs, allowing the moral decay to set in. And this mech, on this dead world, died not too long after, a shell of a Cybertronian, starved of energon while all Nova Prime could do is watch. Was he beyond saving? Or was he simply so far past the point of no return that not even Nova Prime could allow him to see the error of his ways?

"In the end, Nova buried him before moving on in his travels. Not too long after, some passing pilgrims erected a monument and inevitably struck an energon vein. That world, Praxus VI, became one of Cybertron's main off-world sources of energon. As you can see, faith won out again in the end. I wish for you all to gleam, from this story, that it is vital that one does not ever lose their faith and, above all, never falls into spite against God. Primus is a benevolent one, but even he can turn a blind-eye to those who fall into hatred against him. And, in a sense, Primus has turned a blind eye to our species as a whole. When the moral foundation that the Covenant of Primus' teachings fell away from underneath our civilisation, it did not take long for the degeneracy to set in. For our once great society to fall into decadence. People no longer followed our God, some even hated him. 'Atheism' of the most extreme variety. A decision made by many to abandon what had held our society together for so long. And then the war came, and from that we ended up the way we are now: scattered and few in number, without a moral foundation to guide us. The Autobots think they can rebuild Cybertron, yet they neglect Primus. They will simply start the cycle anew. I intend to prevent that." He paused for a moment then, allowing his words to sink into the minds of those in his congregation. "It was predicted, in the Book of Nova Prime, that there would be a reckoning. Those who did not believe, and those who refused to believe, would be purged. A new golden age for our race would begin, founded upon the original principles laid out through the teachings in both the Covenant of Primus and the Book of Nova Prime. Cybertronians would be a strong species again, the superior species with our faith as our sword and shield. Those who chose heresy would be damned. In a sense, our civilisation was much like the mech in the story I told. Without faith, spiteful of Primus, driven by selfish desires such as greed. Beyond saving, no matter how many opportunities it was given to repent. What the Autobots are doing on Cybertron now is doomed to failure. Unless we can show them the true way."

The door at the far end of the hall opened. Cyclonus stepped in, straight-faced. There was some hint of disdain visible within his optics. He had made his dislike of Star Saber's growing following amongst his forces clear on numerous occasions in the past. Cyclonus stopped at the far end of the central aisle between the rows of benches occupied by those in the congregation. He watched Star Saber carefully but said nothing.

"The reckoning will come. The atheists will be purged." He narrowed his optics then, fixing his gaze on Cyclonus. "Even the General here will have to make a decision, eventually."

"Star Saber, these soldiers must return to their postings," Cyclonus called from across the hall. Heads turned to him and there were some quiet mutterings among those seated. "I think you've filled their heads with enough nonsense for one day."

Star Saber said nothing. Some of the soldiers were rising to their feet before they started shuffling out of the hall. Cyclonus worked his way through the throng, though most stepped aside from him. Star Saber watched the Decepticon General work his way up to the pulpit before stepping onto the stage so that he was on the same level as Star Saber.

"General Cyclonus," Star Saber said. He deactivated the holographic data-pad laid out in front of him. "You wish to speak to me, I gather?"

"I would like to know why you are torturing the Autobot prisoner," Cyclonus said. "What do you hope to achieve?"

Star Saber gave the matter a brief thought. Behind Cyclonus, most of the congregation had filed out. Only about ten remained, among them Vortex, one of the Combaticons and one who had been especially receptive to Star Saber's preaching.

"Do you garner some sick enjoyment from it?" Cyclonus asked. His tone was an incisive one. For a Decepticon, Star Saber found Cyclonus strangely 'soft'. He lacked the hard edge that someone like Megatron had carried. Then again, playing second-fiddle to Megatron had likely put a sizeable crimp in Cyclonus' self-esteem after all these years. "I want him in good condition."

"He will be in better condition, once we are done with him," Star Saber said. "Someone like that, one of these loyal Autobots who follow Optimus Prime, they cannot be steered to our way of thinking very easily. One must break them first. Trying to talk it into them is simply a waste of time."

"I suppose you wish to do the same to the other one we picked up?" Cyclonus asked this as more of a rhetorical question, if his mocking tone was anything to go by.

Star Saber raised an optic ridge in curiosity.

"Who might that be?" He asked.

"Knock Out, the medic. He is currently being kept inside the detainment area."

"The Decepticon turncoat," Star Saber mused aloud. "It is up to you, General. I have no use for him."

There was a pause. Cyclonus frowned, his contempt for the Autobot zealot clear in the way he scrunched up his face.

"The soldiers could use some entertainment," Cyclonus said. "But I want you to cease the torture on the yellow one."

Star Saber nodded slowly. If Cyclonus wanted to have his fun with the prisoners, he could. Star Saber would simply have to come away from this whole thing disappointed, if Bumblebee was unable to be 'convinced' of the righteousness of his cause.

"Any word concerning the Seal?" Star Saber inquired. "I believe we are close to fulfilling our end of the deal, after all."

"Soon, Star Saber," Cyclonus replied. A slight smile did creep across his mouth then. Star Saber had no real desire to share the spoils of this endeavour to Cyclonus, but for now he had no qualms about playing along. "Things will fall into place very soon. Be careful, Star Saber, for he that is proud, as you most certainly are, eats up himself."

"Your words confuse me sometimes, General."

"And that is coming from a preacher, of all things." Cyclonus scoffed. "Remember, Star Saber. I am the one in charge of the soldiers here, not you. I tolerate these sermons only because of my respect for you and because of your invaluable assistance to my cause. Step out of line, turn these soldiers against me and I will end you." He narrowed his optics, giving Star Saber a harsh gaze. Star Saber remained unfettered and returned the General's look with a completely stoic expression.

"Always good to hear you admitting to your own barbarism," Star Saber replied.

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

Bumblebee had been in and out of consciousness for a while now. His body was wracked with pain and he was sometimes only dimly aware that the Decepticon 'doctor' was working on him. Much of the plating on his arms and chest had been torn clean, revealing the more sensitive grey-black protoform underneath. Energon trickled out of the many gashes that marred his form and some of it had left unruly splatters all over the Decepticon doctor. Now Bumblebee was awake once again, very much aware of the pain that stung all over his chest and arms. However, he realised that the doctor was no longer slowly taking him apart. Instead, he was working at the stump of a right arm that Bumblebee had gained as a result of his run-in with Shadowstriker the night before. The Decepticon doctor was welding something there, the sudden shot of burning pain going up his arm an indication that he was mending, or at least manipulating, nerve endings there.

Bumblebee could only just move his head enough to get a proper glimpse of what the doctor was doing. He was startled to see a rather crude claw being attached, reminiscent of the one that Ultra Magnus had received after losing a hand to Predaking. Granted, the Autobot Commander had received an improved replacement since then, but Bumblebee could only guess as to why this Decepticon 'doctor' had suddenly decided to give him a new limb.

The doctor noticed the direction of his gaze and smiled.

"Well, young'un, new orders came through and it looks like you've been saved," he said, his mouth forming into a malevolent smile. "It's disappointing, almost, since I was sure I was close to breaking that ever-so steely resolve of yours." He let out a hearty chuckle.

"Too...bad..." Bumblebee croaked. It hurt for him to speak.

"Too bad for you, more like," the Decepticon doctor replied. He took a crude, bladed weapon from the table to his left and fitted it upon Bumblebee's new right hand. It fit perfectly, going over the claw-like appendage like a glove. Although he now had a weapon, the Autobot had no way to move enough to make proper use of it.

The doctor turned around and walked over to the bench nearby. From there, he picked up a large injector, removing the cover from it that in turn revealed the contents of the vial within. Bumblebee recognized the green liquid immediately and squirmed under the energon clasps that held him tightly upon the suspended rack. There was no getting away.

The doctor turned around and clutched the injector in one hand. He shifted his attention to Bumblebee's left arm and planted the tip of the razor sharp needle upon the less-armoured section at the joint. As much as Bumblebee would have liked to catch some sort of break, to at least process everything that had happened today, it appeared that his captors had other ideas.

"I understand that someone, it might have been your friend Ratchet, had perfected the synthetic energon formula enough for use on non-living things," the Decepticon doctor said. "I've made a few modifications of my own to the formula, just as a little side project. Such modifications have provided interesting results on some test subjects. Hopefully you'll make for one of those 'interesting' ones and not one who dies horribly after the first injection." He paused then, his optics meeting with Bumblebee's. "Don't look so worried. It may be highly addictive but I'll be here to give you all you want."

Bumblebee could feel his spark pounding in his chest. It was one thing to be tortured through de-plating and the tried-and-true method of having sensitive parts sliced, but to be subjected to unstable synthetic energon? That was not something routine repairs could fix up. Primus only knew what kind of effect this modified synthetic energon would have on his internals.

The Decepticon doctor slammed the injector home before Bumblebee could protest. The synthetic energon burned through him, seemingly boiling him from within. The pain was enough to make him scream, and he continued to do so even after the whole injection was through. The Autobot lost control of his body for a moment and began to convulse uncontrollably, his every joint going haywire while the doctor sat back and looked on with a grin on his face.

It was about a minute before Bumblebee's vision blurred and the pain subsided, as did his screaming. When his senses finally returned a few minutes later, he became aware that the Decepticon doctor was shooting another injection into him. This one, unlike the first, did not hurt at all.

Everything around him seemed to brighten considerably, as if a shadow had been lifted from his senses. He could ascertain every detail on the ceiling above, every imperfection in the metal, every scar and dent on the Decepticon doctor's weathered features. And above all, the feeling that yes, he really could do anything. A feeling compounded by the fury that had suddenly built within him, a fury that threatened to explode out of him at any second. He felt so strong, it was something he had difficulty making sense of. The fury started to build, so much so that he found it difficult to think about anything else. He wanted to be free, to grab that Decepticon doctor by the head so he could tear it clean off. So he started fighting against the energon ties that bound him, his frustration reaching incredible levels very quickly when he found that not even his enhanced strength could get him free from them.

"Save your energy," the doctor stated, a smile creeping onto his mouth. Bumblebee snarled at him in response. It was all he could muster, with his mind as clouded as it was.

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

Knock Out came to on a metal surface, the sky above him a startling blue colour. His entire left side burned painfully and a quick glance down at himself revealed that his injuries, those he had sustained from a rather unexpected attack from Bumblebee, had been crudely patched over. The hole that had been put in his chest had had a metal plate welded over it in what he saw to be seriously sloppy medical work. His left arm was a mess of solid metal slag and the whole thing felt numb. He could barely lift it, despite the joints within being in reasonable condition. It was the exterior that had taken the brunt of the damage, with sensitive protoform flesh exposed in places. If anything, his finish had been ruined. Far more than it ever had before.

He sat up, finding himself in the centre of a large, circular area. Seated on the sides, he saw, were about thirty Decepticons of varying shapes and sizes. They were all watching him with eager anticipation. Knock Out rose to his feet, his legs aching. He looked ahead and saw that he was actually on some kind of landing strip, reminiscent of the one that had been on the top of the Nemesis. There was even a set of large double doors ahead where airborne Decepticons would likely enter or depart from. It occurred to him then that he was on top of a similar Decepticon cruiser and it did not take long for him to realise that this was Cyclonus' cruiser. He was the only one on Earth who would have such a ship, after all.

Knock Out took a look around at the crowd seated at the sides of the mostly circular and apparently makeshift "arena". That was certainly the vibe he was getting from the place. He did not like it one bit. The fact that he could barely stand without ending up hunched over in pain only compounded the awkward and life-threatening situation he had found himself in. He could transform, maybe make a drive for it. Then what? He could drive straight off the edge of the airborne cruiser and fall to his death. For the first time ever, he was actually regretting selecting a ground vehicle for his alternate form. And even if he could turn into something useful for these circumstances, he realised that in his current state he could not transform at all. Something vital had been damaged and even trying to transform now only sent pain shooting through his entire body. All those Decepticons watching him, some of whom were laughing at his sorry state, only made matters worse. He had gone through a lot of embarrassments in the past at the hands of fellow Decepticons. Being here, in his state and as the centre of attention only brought back painful memories of his time serving Megatron.

He saw Cyclonus seated at the far end. He was flanked by Bumblebee and Vortex. As Knock Out watched, he saw Bumblebee start to change, the yellow plating falling off to reveal the far darker and very much Decepticon figure underneath. Shadowstriker had been posing as Bumblebee for Primus-only-knew how long. He had changed back right in view of Knock Out, the smile he wore indicating that it had been merely to spite him. Knock Out could at least feel content with the fact that he now knew why Bumblebee had blasted him down earlier. For starters, it had not been Bumblebee who had done it. Now, though, this only lead to the awkward question of where the real Bumblebee was located and if he was even still alive?

That question was answered in short order. The double doors at the other end opened and Knock Out turned around to see what his captors had in store for him. He was surprised to see Bumblebee step out onto the top of the cruiser. There was something 'off' about the yellow Autobot, Knock Out realised. The way he walked, the fact that much of his chest had been patched over with silver metal and the way his large optics glowed a brilliant green colour. That last thing caught Knock Out's attention right away, as he recognized that kind of glow and it only took him a moment to place it to the appropriate set of memories. Behind Bumblebee was a Decepticon armed with a shock pike who was using it to coax the Autobot along.

Synthetic energon. Knock Out saw the large, serrated blade fixed over Bumblebee's right hand. Things began to fall together then and Knock Out could suddenly feel his spark thumping wildly in his chest. He would be nothing more than entertainment to these Decepticons. That was why they had brought him up here and that was why they had sent Bumblebee onto him.

The Decepticon with the pike sent another shock into Bumblebee's back, pushing him further ahead. He stumbled, stopping several metres ahead of Knock Out. The bright sunlight gleamed across his yellow and silver plating. Streaks of dried energon coated his form, likely his own, gained from whatever torture his captors had put him through. Knock Out looked around frantically, trying to find some means of getting away. Naturally, there were none. The Decepticon spectators were watching the pair, intrigued to see what would happen next.

"Bumblebee," Knock Out said, watching the clearly disturbed Autobot worriedly. "Try and concentrate. Get your mind above the synthetic energon. Don't let it influence you."

Bumblebee glanced behind him, only to get shocked by the Decepticon with the pike once again. The Decepticon in question, a bulky silver one, gestured towards Knock Out. Bumblebee seemed to get the message, much to Knock Out's terror. Bumblebee began to advance towards him, an abnormally crazed look in his optics.

Knock Out started to back away. He tried to activate his on-board weapons, both his cannons and his saw blades, but none worked. His captors had likely stripped him of them before leaving him here. By now the Decepticons watching started to cheer, calling on Bumblebee to "tear him apart". Knock Out found himself backing up against one wall of the arena, only for Vortex to step down near him and shove him back towards Bumblebee.

The yellow Autobot snarled as he fell within proximity and Knock Out found himself set upon by his friend, although that word was likely not well-placed in this situation. Bumblebee was amazingly strong, likely spurred on by the synthetic energon that was coursing through him. He was also alarmingly hot to the touch, more so than Knock Out knew was safe. The synthetic energon would likely lead him into some kind of 'meltdown' and burn out vital systems. This, however, implied that Bumblebee's uncontrollable state would not be for very long. How long, exactly, Knock Out had no idea. He would simply have to survive until Bumblebee collapsed.

Most of the Decepticons were cheering excitedly now. Knock Out found himself on the floor, Bumblebee on top of him. The Autobot grabbed him by the neck with one hand while he plunged his bladed one forwards. Knock Out punched with his good arm, planting the blow in Bumblebee's face. It was hard enough to cause the Autobot's blade thrust to miss his head by about an inch, sending the sharp blade into the metal of the ship underneath. Knock Out lifted one knee and plunged it into Bumblebee's stomach, causing the Autobot to snarl angrily as he fell off of him. Knock Out scrambled onto his feet, even with his legs aching as much as they were.

Knock Out caught a glance of Cyclonus seated a short distance behind him. The General watched the proceedings with a completely straight face, one hand planted to his chin as if he were in deep contemplation. Compared to the ecstatic reactions of the other Decepticons, Cyclonus looked positively relaxed.

Bumblebee jumped back onto his feet and charged for Knock Out again. The former Decepticon doctor found himself grappling with the yellow Autobot, his one good arm grabbing hold of Bumblebee's right forearm, keeping the blade fixed to it only inches from his chest.

"Bumblebee, listen to me!" Knock Out yelled, only for Bumblebee to use his other arm to punch him across the face. The blow was strong enough to momentarily daze him, sending him reeling backwards with pain shooting across his jaw and down his neck. Bumblebee lunged for him again, pinning him to the floor while he sent the jagged blade into the crudely patched hole at Knock Out's chest.

Knock Out screamed as the blade hit home. Both his hands went to Bumblebee's bladed arm, holding it back from going any deeper. The crowd had gone wild in response, with shouts and cheers erupting from many of the Decepticon spectators. All the while, Cyclonus watched with indifference.

Bumblebee pulled the blade out, squirming free of Knock Out's grip. This reprieve lasted only a second before Bumblebee sent the blade down again, sticking it straight through Knock Out's lesser armoured stomach. Knock Out could only scream again, only to be silenced when Bumblebee used his free hand to backhand him across the face. He felt something welling up in his throat and he coughed, spitting up a thick stream of energon fluid whilst more poured from both wounds. Knock Out kicked with one leg, getting Bumblebee squarely in the stomach, knocking him backwards. Through doing so, he caused Bumblebee to drag the blade through him some more as it was pulled free, causing the gash to become even longer. Knock Out put both hands to his stomach area in a futile attempt to stem the energon flow. He was convinced his guts would fall out, judging from the sizeable gash that had been cut into him.

"Finish him!" Someone shouted from the crowd. It was one among many similar cries. Knock Out slowly rose to his feet, leaving a trail of blue energon fluid in his wake. He looked to Bumblebee and then to the crowd. He considered his options, what little there were. He had certainly not expected to go out in this way. Having someone whom he had trusted murder him was something he would have expected during his time serving Megatron, not the Autobots. Bumblebee was not himself and the synthetic energon would only make him more open to suggestion from the frenzied crowds.

Knock Out looked to Bumblebee as he closed in for the kill.

"Bumblebee, please," he croaked. "This isn't you." As he spoke, energon fluid trickled out of his mouth. He coughed again, bringing up a large blob of the stuff. "Focus on me, Bumblebee. Think past the synthetic energon. Don't let it influence you."

There was a noticeable falter in Bumblebee's steps. It lasted only a moment, but it was enough of an opportunity for Knock Out to seize upon. He lunged for the unstable Autobot, grabbing his right arm. From there, he mustered all the strength he could to tear the blade free. There was a sickening crunch and Bumblebee's entire right hand came off with it, sending forth spurts of green-tinged energon fluid that splattered all over Knock Out's face and chest. Bumblebee shouted and stumbled backwards, clutching the stump of a hand. Knock Out took the blade, trying to ease the overwhelming wave of regret that washed over him as energon fluid spurted out of the ragged stump that had been left at Bumblebee's right arm.

With his opponent quite literally disarmed, Knock Out found himself at a momentary loss on what to do. He sure would not kill Bumblebee, regardless of what the Autobot had done to him. On that note, he could feel his strength waning, his wounds gradually gaining the better of him. As a doctor, he knew that he needed some serious medical attention, but he got the impression that he would not be getting it anytime soon. The Decepticons around him continued to cheer, though some seemed stunned that the fight had turned around so suddenly. Bumblebee recovered quickly, likely a result of the synthetic energon coursing through him, and lunged for Knock Out. Even with one hand, he was still able to easily tackle the Decepticon doctor to the floor before laying into him with one powerful punch after another. The blade Knock Out clutched fell from his grip and slid out of reach. The world around him began to spin, the shouts of the spectators sounding far more distant than before. The pain that each blow brought began to recede, if only because he was becoming so dazed that it was as if his nerves had ceased functioning in places.

"No more," Cyclonus barked from his chair. "End this." One of the guards raced into the arena with a shock pike and struck Bumblebee with a prolonged burst, causing the Autobot to fall off of Knock Out where he started to convulse violently. Another guard rushed over and grabbed the Autobot while he was down, wrapping a set of energon cuffs across both his arms. Knock Out was only vaguely aware of all this, as he had become enamoured with the sight of the blue sky above and the way the clouds seemed to be spinning, but only for him.

"Lock them both up," Cyclonus ordered. He rose to his feet. Knock Out tilted his head to take a better look at him, noticing that there may have been the slightest hint of disgust showing in his red optics.

Knock Out did not get much more of a chance to examine the Decepticon General further as one of the Decepticons nearby came over and grabbed him, clutching him under both arms before dragging him back into the ship. As far as Knock Out could tell, this already terrible day was only just starting. He fell into unconsciousness as the guard dragged him inside the ship.

 

The Vault

"Welcome back, Colonel Carver." The guard at the main gate only had to glance at the man in the car in front of him. There was no need for a thorough check of the Colonel's credentials.

Colonel Carver was seated in the passenger seat of a matte black four door. The car had stopped at the main gate of a large industrial compound, one located only a short drive beyond the outskirts of Las Vegas. There were several others like it scattered around, but this one in particular was probably the largest. Comprised of a number of large metal and brick buildings, the facility carried a few unrevealing signs that indicated that it was part of United Advanced Computing Solutions, UACS for short, a United States-based computer technology firm. However, if one read between the lines on the company website, they would have discovered it to have been a sub-branch of the Defence Advanced Research Projects Agency, otherwise known as DARPA. It was not a well kept secret, anyone could look DARPA up on the Internet and get an idea of what the Agency did. As for this Las Vegas facility, it was the only one of its kind and the one that the Special Reaction Taskforce worked closely with regarding their anti-alien operations. It was unofficially named 'the Vault', partly because of its vast underground floors and partly because it was currently storing some very valuable technology.

It was nearing midday now. The sun was out and the sky was nearly cloudless, so the Nevada heat was completely unfiltered. The air conditioning within the Colonel's car had managed to keep the mostly grey interior relatively cool. Carver eyed the guard at the gate through the open window, noticing the look of worry on his face.

"I heard about what happened, sir," the guard said. "The President..."

"Don't worry too much about that," Carver replied. "Things will work out. You trust me on that."

With that, he flicked a switch and the window started back up. The driver put the vehicle back into gear and took them through the now open metal gate and into the compound. There was a parking lot nearby, though Carver being the VIP he was opted for the more direct approach. The driver took the car around the large central building and towards a smaller adjoining structure with a garage door. Carver pulled a remote from his jacket and pressed the appropriate button, causing the door to slide open. Once the clearance was high enough, the driver guided the car inside and brought it to a halt.

Carver emerged from the passenger's side door. The garage here was small and mostly devoid of any decoration, save for a bench by the wall and some rusted tools. Past that was a metal door, locked with a keypad. Carver approached it and pulled his ID card from one pocket in his jacket. He swiped it through the keypad and punched in his code, the green blinking light that appeared indicating his success. He pushed open the door and stepped into the grey carpeted corridor beyond. It took him into the main building before he came to a set of locked glass double doors. On the wall by the ceiling was a surveillance camera, its lens pointed in his direction. At the other side was a desk where a bored looking security guard sat. He had been reading a newspaper when Carver appeared on the other side of the doors. The Colonel sometimes found himself irked by the sheer amount of security this place had, with security checkpoints and cameras and keypad locks seemingly every ten metres or so. Still, it was understandable and completely necessary, given the sensitive nature of some of the things that were kept here.

The guard looked up, saw the Colonel and promptly keyed in a code at the panel by his desk. The glass doors slid open and the Colonel strode in, greeting the guard curtly before moving further into the building. Carver made his way past a few guards who moved about on patrol before coming to another set of double doors. These were not locked, so he was simply able to push them wide open in order to enter the large open room beyond.

With sterile white floors, grey walls and a high ceiling, Carver had entered one of the core rooms within the Vault complex. People in white lab-coats milled about in here, among them others in grey technician uniforms and a few armed guards here and there. At the far end of the room was a modest metal door where a pair of guards stood. This door lead into the sublevels of the facility where some of the more sensitive items were kept. Up here, most of the more civilian UACS work occurred. Carver brushed past some of the scientists and technicians, most of whom were hard at work at either the computers or some civilian technology. He came to the metal door and the guards there, recognizing him, only glanced over his ID card before one of them punched in the code to open the door for him. The sign on the door read 'LEVEL 3 SECURITY CLEARANCE ONLY'. Carver had long since got himself Level 4 clearance, ensuring he could go anywhere he wanted in this facility.

Another long grey corridor awaited him behind the metal door. He followed it down a slight incline before it took him to a window-lined corridor that looked down upon a vast underground chamber below. From here, he could see the whole room. There were a lot of scientists below, working at computers or examining the pieces of alien technology that were planted on benches and tables about the place. Carver took a left, passing a guard on patrol. At the corner was an elevator that he took down to the chamber. Upon exiting it at the lower floor, he was almost set upon by the broad-shouldered figure of General Williamson, who had two soldiers with him as escort.

Williamson was a large man with short grey hair and a thick moustache. He was in his blue General's uniform, complete with multitude of coloured ribbons upon its chest to show off every decoration he had ever gained. Compared to Carver's modest black uniform, Williamson's was positively vibrant. Apparently the General had been waiting here a while for him, if his annoyed tone was anything to go by.

"Colonel Carver, where the hell have you been?" Williamson barked. Carver walked past him, heading towards the centre of the chamber. It was a mostly white and grey room, almost sterile in appearance. Cables snaked across the ceilings and walls while powerful air conditioning units worked overtime to keep every computer down here at a cool temperature. Williamson started to follow the Colonel, forced to knock aside a scientist in the process.

"I heard about what happened at Groom Lake," Williamson said. Carver listened, but did not do much to make it obvious. "You didn't tell me the President would..."

"Sacrifices have to be made," Carver interrupted. He had stopped at another door, this one under guard as well. He turned to face the General, raising one eyebrow slightly. He had never thought very highly of the man, he found him to be an irritating busybody and a has-been all rolled into one slightly chubby package. It seemed that some officers like Williamson did not try and keep themselves in shape once they reached the higher ranks where they would be relegated to desk work. "It's the start of a new age, General. An age of miracles. A revolution is well on its way."

"Don't give me that 'making history' crap," Williamson spat, quite literally, as a fine shower of spittle fell across Carver's face. "The President and half of his closest staff are dead. That's not what I agreed to."

Carver used his ID card at the panel by the door before punching in his code. A green light came on and Carver pushed open the door. Beyond was another grey corridor, although this one had somewhat more subdued lighting.

"You agreed to work with me," Carver said. He stepped into the corridor, with Williamson following closely behind. "I came to you with an offer, you accepted. We even shook hands."

"You told me no one would die," Williamson said. "You sure as hell didn't tell me the goddamn President would wind up dead!" He raised his voice then, his face going a bright red in colour. Carver stopped halfway down the corridor and turned around, narrowing his eyes into a scrutinising gaze.

"He was in the way," Carver replied. "What is a revolution but to sweep away the old order and usher in the new?"

Williamson audibly scoffed. He had a look of disbelief on his face. Carver found this strangely amusing. Williamson had been keen on the whole thing when Carver had first approached him about it. Obviously this business with the President had changed his mind. Not that it mattered much anymore.

"People die all the time," Carver said. "And in this situation, sacrifices must be made. Innocents will die, I'm afraid to say, but it is unavoidable." He resumed walking, turning his back to the General as he made his way down the corridor. Eventually he came to a set of double doors where two soldiers were standing guard. They stepped aside to allow Carver entry. Williamson followed, his voice almost breathless, his exasperation clear.

"This is insane," he said. Carver pushed open the doors and entered the laboratory ahead. Williamson followed him inside.

"What kind of warped deal did you make with these aliens?" Williamson demanded.

Carver regarded the laboratory before him. It was fairly large, centred around a glass case where a silver semi-circular plate-like object was contained. There were about three scientists working in here and cables snaked across the floor towards the glass chamber.

"It was a mutual agreement, to ensure that Earth and Cybertron remain independent of each other," Carver said. "I told you we would bring in a new order. You may not agree with my methods, but that is besides the point. Things are moving so quickly now that even if we did not act, things would change around us irrevocably." He turned around, watching the General carefully. The older man looked like he was close to having some sort of fit if his reddened face and wide eyes were anything to go by.

"I got rid of Fowler for you," Williamson said. "You said you could turn Darby around, but from what I've heard you've gone and arrested the guy! I got you what you wanted, and it's obvious that you've gone and squandered it. Squandered it on bizarre operations like this one while you murder innocent people."

"This is what they want, General," Carver replied, pointing towards the shield-like object inside the glass container. His voice took on a more incisive tone as he continued to speak. "We're trying to find out what it is before we hand it over. Do you think I like working with the aliens? They're a means to an end, nothing more. And when that end comes, we'll kill them all. Pure and simple. Autobots, Decepticons, it doesn't matter what side they're on. They're all the same, they're all troublemakers, they all brought their conflicts to our world and they continue to do so even now, after their war's supposed to have ended. What I'm doing, General, is making the best of a very sorry situation and I do not need some trumped-up has-been such as yourself to question my methods, or my motives for that matter. You would do well to stand back and let me, my people here and in the Taskforce, deal with the situation."

"Trumped-up has-been?" Williamson sounded furious. "I'd rather be that than a murderer, Colonel. You've crossed a line very few ever cross, and for that I'll see to it you're finished. This whole thing has gone far beyond even your control, regardless of how confident you are and how well you think it's all going. The President is dead, the government is in turmoil and you still remain convinced that this is how you bring in a 'new order'? This nation will fall apart if you keep this up, Colonel." He did not even say goodbye. Instead, he turned around and stormed out of the room.

Carver knew better. Williamson would not blow the lid on this whole thing, as it would only implicate himself. He was just as likely to end up in a federal prison or being prepped for lethal injection as Carver was.

"Colonel Carver," one of the scientists said from behind him. He turned around to face the scientist, an Asian man in his thirties who had been working here since the beginning of the project. "I did not expect to see you today." If he had heard what had been spoken of between Carver and Williamson, he did not show it, or he simply knew better than to stick his nose into business that was not his own.

"Any progress?" Carver asked.

"The ancient Cybertronian on the back has been partially translated," the scientist said. The name-tag on his white lab-coat read 'CHUNG'. "There is a name. Nova Prime. We're not able to make sense of much else. It may take some more time."

"Keep it up," Carver replied. He walked over to a phone on the wall and picked it up, dialling in a familiar and often-called number. Dr. Chung returned to his work while Carver put the phone to his ear.

"Van Cleef, it's Carver. Listen carefully." Carver kept his voice low. "I have a very sensitive job for you. Get a team together. There's a problem going around and I need it taken care of. Yes, you know who. I expect results within the next twenty-four hours. And try to keep this one low-key." He hung up the phone then, feeling nothing. Why should he? He had spent months planning everything. Trying to play nice with a bunch of Decepticons had been the last thing he had wanted to do, but often one had to do things they did not like in order to get actual results. And, in the end, those same Decepticons would pay the price.

"Doctor Chung," Carver called, getting the scientist's attention. "You probably won't have much longer with that thing." He gestured towards the relic in the glass chamber. "So you better get working harder, understood? I want to find out just what is so important about this thing before our alien friends come knocking."

Chung nodded. He was a reliable sort, an American-born physicist who had worked on a number of sensitive projects. Carver had chosen him personally for this project, given his experience and expertise on such matters. Something Unit-E had neglected to realise, during its heyday, that the messes they and their Autobot friends made would be cleaned up. Decepticon remains had to be transported and disposed of in accordance to an agreement that had been made with Optimus Prime over a decade ago. However, some of those items had been "misplaced". Some had found their way to Colonel Carver, although back then the Taskforce had not existed. They had been something else, something far above top secret. A 'clean-up crew', so-to-speak. To say that Carver was 'pleased' with how far they had come since then was an understatement.

 

Escalation

"Are you feeling better?"

Wheeljack did not feel much better, but it was good to see that his wounds had been somewhat patched up. There was still a hole at his shoulder where he had been hit, but it was no longer leaking energon so freely. The pain was still enough to cause him to grit his metal teeth and he found his left arm was no longer quite so mobile. This would put a crimp into anything he had planned for the rest of the day, especially since he had no desire to remain in this cell. Humans keeping him captive? That was a first. And it would be the last time it happened, he would make sure of it.

He stood by the back wall of the cell and he returned Skystreaker's curious, if condescending, gaze. Behind her, the energy beams glowed brightly over the exits. Every other wall was reinforced with concrete and steel, far more than even Wheeljack was able to break through. His on-board cannons were gone, leaving him with only his hands and not even his swords. The Taskforce had been thorough when they had brought him in. They had known exactly how to put him out of commission and how to ensure that he was vulnerable.

"I'm feeling fine, thanks," Wheeljack replied.

"You don't sound very grateful." Skystreaker tilted her head slightly, raising an optic ridge as she did so. "Then again, you don't look like the type who'd be grateful for anything."

"Neither do you," Wheeljack said. Being stuck in a cell with this Decepticon for as long as he had was already sending him over the edge. She was always just such a smart-aft.

"Were you dropped on the head when you were a youngling?" Skystreaker asked. The question sounded sincere. "It would explain a lot of things."

"I can't even remember that far back," Wheeljack said. He stepped past her before coming to a stop at the doorway. With one hand, he tentatively touched one of the beams of energy. It burned him upon his touch, sending a stinging pain through his hand that caused him to snap the digit right back.

"Well, I didn't exactly have a good sparkling-hood either," Skystreaker said. Wheeljack became aware that she was watching him carefully, her gaze taking in the whole of his form. He turned around, shooting her a smile.

"You like what you see?" He asked.

"And you're a sleaze as well," Skystreaker added, disdain in her voice. "I should have guessed."

"Just curious, is all." Wheeljack looked around the mostly empty cell. It was practically a solid block set within the old warehouse-type building. The Taskforce took no chances with its alien prisoners, from the look of the place. Being locked up in this fashion was not a first for Wheeljack and he liked to think that no cell could contain him for long. That did not necessarily make it true. It was simply fanciful thinking on his part.

"I wouldn't want to give you a compliment," Skystreaker said. "It would probably get to your head. It's already big enough as it is."

"You don't exactly strike me as the 'modest' type, either," Wheeljack replied. He wracked his mind for something, anything that might give him the chance to escape. However, his train of thought was effectively derailed when a familiar voice sounded from the other side of the energy barrier, causing him to turn around.

"Hey, Wheeljack." Jack Darby stood on the other side of the energy beams, looking up at the Autobot Wrecker with a remorseful gaze. He had a cut on his forehead and his clothes and face were dirty. This was no doubt a result of the scuffle he had had with the Taskforce operatives over at the gas station.

"Hey, kid." Wheeljack looked down at him. It was apparent Jack thought himself responsible for what had happened. "Don't get so broken up over this. This ain't your fault."

"I could have done more to stop them," Jack said.

"Like what? Start shooting? I did that and look at what happened to me." He gestured with one hand to the crudely patched wound at his chest. "As much as I like the 'guns blazing' approach, I think we should at least try and be a bit more subtle next time."

"You? Subtle?" Jack shook his head. Even Wheeljack had not been entirely faithful with that statement.

"Yeah, you're right. I'm kidding myself." Wheeljack regarded the energy beams in front of him once more. There had to be some kind of flaw somewhere. These humans could not possibly be this advanced. It had only been nine of their years since he had last made any significant trip here. Not a lot had changed, certainly nothing blatant. The Taskforce and the technology it had at its disposal stuck out the most. He was already pondering the reasons as to why this might have been the case. Reverse-engineering Decepticon technology came to mind immediately. That was the most obvious possibility of them all.

"I talked with the Colonel earlier," Jack said. "He thinks you, and all the other Autobots for that matter are terrorists. No better than the Decepticons, apparently."

"Yeah, I did get the impression that guy had it in for us." Wheeljack leaned forwards slightly, doing his best to see around the energy beams and into the rest of the building. There was a table by the wall to the right where a bored looking guard stood on watch. Wheeljack's one remaining sword was laid across it. He recalled losing the other one at the gas station and became immediately annoyed at having done so. It had been a long time since he had misplaced either of his blades in any way.

"Jack, listen up," Wheeljack said, returning his gaze to the human. "I can't stay in here. I can't go along with whatever messed up plan that Colonel has for me. I need you to let me out."

"They'll probably shoot me for doing that," Jack said.

"Yeah, they probably would." Wheeljack did not want to see Jack hurt. This Taskforce had done enough damage to prove that it was not all it was cracked up to be, in regards to its true agenda. "Now that I think about it, I might be able to let myself out." He took a step back from the doorway while Jack watched him carefully, trying to work out what it was he had in mind. He would have some difficulty in that, for not even Wheeljack knew exactly what he was going to do.

"I suppose if I bust out of here," Wheeljack said, glancing down at Jack, "You'll tag along? Get yourself into even more trouble?"

Jack smiled, nodding slowly. He looked over to the guard by the table who was watching him, although it was hard to tell whether he could hear everything that was being said from over there.

"Probably," Jack replied.

"Good to hear."

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

It had not taken much for Ultra Magnus to pinpoint the source of Jack's phone call. Fowler had suggested they find him, as their search for Bumblebee had not gained any proper leads. Now they were driving up to the main gate of some kind of military compound, one Fowler had not even known existed. Way out here, the only thing for miles in any direction was desert.

Even with the air conditioning switched on within the driver's cabin of Ultra Magnus' vehicle form, Fowler found himself sweating a great deal. With the driver's side window open and his jacket off, Fowler consistently shifted about in his seat in his attempts to find some comfort. He was seated in a pool of his own ass sweat and his shirt, even with the tie loosened, clung to his skin awkwardly.

Ultra Magnus brought them to a halt at the main gate. An armed guard approached the driver's side window and Fowler, wiping the sweat from his brow with one sleeve, rolled down the window and peered out at the guard.

"Afternoon, sir," Fowler said, doing his best to sound friendly. "I'm Agent Fowler, with the DIA." He reached into a pocket in his trousers and pulled out his wallet. From there, he flashed his Defence Intelligence Agency ID. The guard eyed it carefully, a perplexed look crossing his face.

"We weren't expecting anyone from the DIA to arrive," the guard said. Another guard, this one standing in the small glass booth by the gate, had picked up a small metal device from the desk and appeared to be toying with it. A red light was flashing on the end and Fowler, catching a glimpse of it from the driver's cabin, realised quickly what it was.

"I'm looking for someone," he said, keeping his tone level. "An Agent Jack Darby. A friend of mine. He's supposed to be here."

"I'm not at liberty to say who's here and who isn't, Agent Fowler."

"Whatever security clearance I need, I probably have just by being with the DIA," Fowler said. "Now, you call your boss or whoever it is who runs this place and you tell him that Agent Fowler is here and that there's going to be hell to pay if the guards here, you among them, start screwing him around. I got friends in high places. I could have you transferred to Alaska." It had been a long time since Fowler had needed to lie so unashamedly. He was not terribly surprised when the guard put on an unconvinced look, eyebrows raised and mouth slightly curled.

"I'm sure you do, Agent Fowler," he said. "But you are right about one thing. I will call my superior. I'll be a moment." The guard turned around and started for the guard booth. Once there, he began speaking with the other guard, the one who had been fiddling with the scanner. Fowler waited in the driver's cabin, a warm breeze working its way inside through the open window.

"You thinking what I'm thinking, Magnus?" Fowler asked.

"What would that be?" Ultra Magnus' voice filtered through the speakers at the dashboard.

"That we're about to get into some serious shit."

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

Wheeljack had been distracted all this time by the negotiation, by catching up with old acquaintances and now most recently by his arrest and detainment by a pack of heavily armed humans. He had almost completely forgotten about the hold-out pistol he had found on Cybertron, the one he had stuffed under one section of his armour at his back. That was what such weapons were for; they were designed to be difficult to detect and small enough to properly conceal without the need for any transforming.

"Take a few steps back, Jack," Wheeljack said. The human obeyed, if somewhat cautiously, and started to put some distance between him and the doorway with its energy beams across it. Skystreaker took a step towards the Autobot Wrecker, a startled look on her face.

"What the hell are you going to do?" She asked.

Wheeljack hit the release on that one section of his armour and pulled the small pistol out from underneath. Slamming the armour plating back in place, he showed her the pistol and smiled broadly. Skystreaker glared at him with a mix of anger and amusement.

"You're kidding," she spat.

"Not at all."

Wheeljack pointed the pistol towards the doorway, shifting his aim towards the sides of it. He did this quickly, knowing full well that he was being watched through a surveillance camera. He was glad he had packed this little gun away when he had, otherwise his situation would have been far more dire.

He fired, the white beam lancing forth, shearing into the metal. One of the emitters was struck, exploding into a shower of sparks while the energy beam emanating from it shut off abruptly. He fired another shot, striking another of the emitters embedded in the walls. This one also exploded violently, causing a chain reaction that caused all of the others to erupt in sparks and smoke. Outside, the guards were immediately alerted by the noise and the one standing by the table began to rush forwards.

Jack stepped just out of his way, only to strike the guard in the side of the head as he came within reach. He went down abruptly, landing in a heap on the floor. The emitters destroyed, Wheeljack stepped out of the detainment area and went for the table where his one remaining sword was located. Skystreaker followed him, surveying the area ahead cautiously.

Wheeljack snatched up his sword, just as a trio of guards raced into the building. They had their weapons raised and were quick to start shooting. Jack dived behind a table as bullets zipped by, pinging off of the armoured Cybertronians. Skystreaker ducked against the hail of bullets whereas Wheeljack, with the pistol in one hand, sent a shot towards the trio. It struck the floor in front of one of them, knocking aside two of the three while the other stumbled under the shower of debris.

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

The sound of the gunshots and explosion were quite audible out where Fowler and Ultra Magnus were. As soon as the distant shootout started, someone somewhere raised an alarm. Fowler knew then that he had reached the point of no return. He could turn around a leave, an option he had no real desire to take, or he could head in and likely antagonise a black ops organization. It was obvious which option Ultra Magnus was going to take.

"That's probably Wheeljack," Ultra Magnus said, his voice filtering through the speakers on the dashboard. "We have to help him."

Fowler took a deep breath. He could sometimes feel his age, the way his muscles would ache, or his back would, or even how his joints would not move quite as smoothly as they once used to. And sometimes he worried about his heart, and his weight in turn, for he was not the most physically fit man around. He had been in the US Army Rangers when he had been younger, back then he had been the pinnacle of male fitness. Now, he was a chubby middle-aged man who had difficulty running even half the distance he had used to when he had been in the Rangers. To get dragged into something like this, at this point in his life, was likely going to take a significant toll on his health. Still, he was not a selfish man. There were Autobots who needed his help, even Jack likely needed his help, and he was not about to turn around and leave them in the hands of this questionable black ops group.

"Floor it," Fowler said.

"What?"

"Floor it." Fowler put both hands against the dashboard the steady himself. "We're going in."

Ultra Magnus complied by flooring his accelerator, sending himself roaring forwards and into the metal gate ahead. One of the guards dived out of the way, somersaulting as the massive blue truck came speeding past. It connected with the metal gate with a loud crash, tearing it off its moorings. The gate itself rolled off of the front of the truck, getting caught under the tires where it caused the entire vehicle to lurch violently. Fowler lost his grip on the dashboard and stumbled around in his seat. Ultra Magnus went speeding into the compound, wheels kicking up a thick cloud of dust. Behind him, the guards at the gate started shooting, submachine gun and assault rifle bullets pounding into the Autobot's rear. The window behind Fowler shattered, sending glass all over him. He ducked down, his heart pounding in his chest.

"They're shooting at us!" He shouted.

"Your grasp of the obvious is inspiring, Agent Fowler." Ultra Magnus' tone was dry. It was not often this Autobot ever showed any semblance of actual humour.

"Aren't you 'Bots supposed to have bulletproof windows?" Fowler shouted. Up ahead, he watched as Ultra Magnus came to a corner. Here, about half a dozen armed guards had taken positions, all of whom started shooting. Fowler threw himself across the passenger seat as the bullets came flying in, peppering the windshield with holes before the whole thing fell apart seconds later. Glass rained down upon him once again and Ultra Magnus, ever the expert driver, quickly changed gears and sent his entire truck form screeching around the bend.

Fowler had a pistol with him, a standard issue SIG P228 chambered for the .40 S&W round. It was in a holster within his jacket and, still lying sprawled across both seats within the driver's cabin, he considered pulling it out. However, surely returning fire would only make matters worse? He had no desire to kill any of these guys, especially since the situation was not as clear as he would have preferred it to be. Even so, his combat training told him to shoot back, as it seemed the sane thing to do.

The doors of one of the larger buildings ahead blew open then and Wheeljack, followed by a female Decepticon neither Fowler or Ultra Magnus had ever seen before, came running out. Fowler peered through the broken windshield and watched as the pair came under immediate fire from the guards who were dotted around the area. Wheeljack carried a pistol in one hand and a sword in the other. He did not hesitate to shoot back at the humans and Fowler watched as one of them was sent flying into the wall of a nearby building by the force of a shot from Wheeljack's gun.

Ultra Magnus slowed down then and the driver's side door opened. Fowler took it as his cue to get out. He jumped out of the moving vehicle, somersaulting clumsily. Ultra Magnus transformed then, coming to a halt in the middle of the open area in full biped form. He came under instant fire from the guards. One of them even took a shot at Fowler and the ageing Agent was spurred along into cover when the bullets started pounding into the ground near him. He dived behind a parked Jeep, its windshield shattering under the heavy fire. Yet more glass rained on him, getting all through his hair and under his clothing.

I'm going to need a shower after this, he thought absently. He remained prone behind the vehicle, looking straight ahead to one of the smaller buildings nearby. The door of it flung open and an armed guard in black combat gear came running out. He saw Fowler and went to raise his submachine gun. Fowler, with no other option, raised his pistol and fired off three shots, all of which caught the guard in the chest and sent him tumbling down the small flight of steps at the base of the door.

Now I'm really in the shit.

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

Wheeljack was surprised to see Ultra Magnus, but he was also somewhat grateful. It was a gratitude he would never really reveal to the Autobot Commander, of course.

"You've got great timing, chief," Wheeljack said. He crouched by one of the smaller buildings, the constant stream of bullets from the human guards stinging him in places. Most of them had fallen back, presumably to make way for the bigger guns. He had no desire to stay for them.

Ultra Magnus was out in the open and he was currently taking fire from a bunch of guards. Some of the bullets stung, but otherwise they did little against him other than scratch his finish. By now the entire compound was on high alert and the roar of engines could be heard, from both the vehicles racing towards them now and the helicopter that had taken to the air from a helipad at the far end of the compound.

Wheeljack stepped forwards, taking a shot at one pair of guards. The blast hit the small building behind them, causing the entire thing to explode into flame. Fragments of wood and metal rained down all around for some distance. The guards turned and ran, just as a pair of armoured Jeeps came speeding into view from another section of the compound. Both had large machine guns fitted to them, each manned by a soldier. Both started firing as soon as they came into view.

Wheeljack moved behind the smaller building as the withering hail of bullets hit home. Pieces of the structure were torn asunder by the stream of fire. Some of the rounds struck him in more sensitive places, hurting him despite his sturdy form. The small grey building he had ducked behind was riddled with holes within seconds, with the door being torn from its hinges where it ungracefully fell down a short set of steps and landed in the sand below.

"We can't stay here!" Skystreaker shouted. She was unarmed and had taken to crouching by the building they had escaped from. There was little significant cover for individuals of their stature.

Wheeljack paid her little notice as he watched as Jack stumbled behind a parked car, the human's eyes wide as some of the bullets zipping about struck the windows of the vehicle. He dived to the ground, effectively pinned, while the Taskforce operatives shooting at them did little to discern their targets. Autobot or human, it did not matter as long as the hostile elements were eliminated. At least the humans and Cybertronians had this much in common, Wheeljack glumly noted: they were both more than willing to kill their own.

Ultra Magnus had not packed any weapons for this trip to Earth. After all, he had assumed it would be a peaceful negotiation and the last thing he had expected was to be shot at by a bunch of humans. As a result, he could do little but take the fire as he worked his way down one of the side lines, keeping low as the two armoured Jeeps turned their attention towards him. Both resumed firing, sending a literal stream of rounds his way. The smaller structures near him were torn apart and visible marks were left on his armour as he ran, before he finally dived behind one of the larger and longer brick structures which provided somewhat more effective cover.

Wheeljack spotted Fowler across the way, crouched behind a Jeep. The human carried a pistol and that probably made him the most prepared member of the group. Nearby, a pair of guards had emerged, one of them wielding an Anti-Material Cannon. Wheeljack recognized the type of weapon right away, as it was the same sort that had left a rather sizeable hole in his chest. Fowler saw the two and was at such an angle as to be on their flank. Neither operative checked for the human hostile who had fallen into their midst.

Wheeljack glanced back at Skystreaker.

"Can you transform?" He asked her.

"I think so," she replied. "I haven't got any weapons, if that's what you're wondering."

"We're going to make a break for the exit," Wheeljack said. "Just be prepared. Follow us from up high, you'll be our eye in the sky." Wheeljack was interrupted by the thump-thump of two large calibre weapons, an oddly familiar sound. Two sizeable explosions erupted near him, powerful enough to knock him over.

As he recovered, his optics fell upon Deadeye who had stepped into view some distance behind him. Wheeljack raised his pistol and let off a shot, causing Deadeye to dive and then roll as the beam shot by him and struck the side of a brick building, blowing half of it away. Wheeljack rose to his feet, aware that the helicopter he had heard earlier was now hovering right in view. While Deadeye scrambled for cover, Wheeljack shifted his aim at the helicopter. The pilot must have seen his movement, since the rocket pods on the black helicopter let fly with a pair of missiles. Wheeljack stood his ground and sent a beam straight through the helicopter's windshield. The missiles connected with the ground in front of him, knocking him backwards. He fell against the mostly shot-up building he had been taking cover behind, although his weight was enough to bring it down completely, chunks of masonry falling all around him.

The helicopter exploded, its flaming hulk falling from the sky before it landed on the large grey-brick administration building. By now, the non-combat personnel were now evacuating. Somewhere else within the compound, Wheeljack realised, someone had given the call for reinforcements. There would likely be a whole army coming down on the place in short order.

Fowler stood up and started along the rows of smaller buildings. Most of the Taskforce soldiers had fallen back and the two setting up the large Anti-Material Cannon had failed to notice him. Fowler stepped into cover behind one of the buildings, only to almost literally walk into a guard. There was a brief moment's surprise on both of their faces before Fowler fired a shot a split-second before the guard did. The guard fell backwards, a hole through his chest, while the grip on his UMP-45 submachine gun tightened and the thing started firing wildly into the air as he hit the ground. Fowler turned to the two up ahead working the portable Anti-Material Cannon. Both turned around in response to the noise, one of them bringing the oversized rifle to bear. Fowler took aim and emptied the rest of his pistol's magazine in their direction. Both soldiers twitched and convulsed as they were struck by multiple rounds before they fell into heaps on the sandy ground underfoot. Up ahead, Fowler watched as the two machine-gun fitted Jeeps turned their weapons in his general direction.

"Goddamn it," he muttered. He turned and started running, jumping behind the nearest structure as the two mini-guns opened up. Bullets tore into the ground near him and ripped holes through the wooden and metal structure, all the while Fowler remained face-down on the ground, hands over his head as splinters of wood and sprinkles of dirt showered upon him.

Wheeljack stood up then, aware that Deadeye had moved out of view. He turned around and took a shot at one of the Jeeps, striking it in the side. The whole vehicle erupted into flame, its flaming shell rolling over, trailing black smoke. The other Jeep was caught in the explosion, becoming coated in flames. The gunner climbed out, alight and screaming, before he fell to the ground and began to roll around frantically.

Ultra Magnus emerged from around the hangar-like building ahead. He was promptly shot from behind, falling down with a smoking hole blown in his upper back. He groaned audibly as Deadeye stepped into view.

Wheeljack shifted his aim towards Deadeye but the Autobot responded with alarming speed, sending a shot his way that caused the pistol to explode in his grip, leaving a painful burn across his right hand. Wheeljack stumbled, his left hand still holding onto his sword. Skystreaker, who stood off to his left, rather suddenly transformed. She took the shape of a sleek and silver Cybertronian jet before hitting the afterburners. He was almost knocked over by the force of the powerful engines at such close proximity. Skystreaker went soaring high into the air, presumably in an effort to save her own backside.

Should have expected as much, Wheeljack thought.

Deadeye started to walk across the open area, clouds of smoke wafting around him. Wheeljack stood up, holding his sword defiantly. Deadeye did not appear to have any remorse on his face as he raised one of his pistols. He was more or less in with the Taskforce, regardless of what they did to his fellow Autobot.

"You're a real asshole, you know that?" Wheeljack spat. If Deadeye had any bearings of his own, he would turn against this Taskforce just as readily as Wheeljack had.

Deadeye looked as if he were about to reply when a loud thump resounded from nearby. There was an explosion at his arm and the pistol fell from his grasp. Deadeye was knocked backwards, landing on his backside, emitting a pained shout as he did so. A trail of grey smoke billowed from the newly created hole in his armour. Wheeljack, both surprised and somewhat amused, turned his head to the right to search for the source of the shot.

His optics fell upon Fowler, who had emerged from behind a concrete barrier holding an Anti-Material Cannon, presumably the one dropped by the two operatives he had dispatched only moments ago. The end of the barrel was smoking and Fowler, a man who normally looked tidy, was covered in dirt and glass while his white shirt and pants were torn up, dirtied and scorched in places.

"Stop wasting time, Wheeljack," Fowler called to the Autobot Wrecker. "Transform. We're getting out of here."

Ultra Magnus had gotten back on his feet, albeit slightly hunched over from his injury. He quickly transformed and Wheeljack did the same, taking the brief lull in the fighting to do so. The guards were likely waiting on reinforcements and were presumably in the process of locking down the entire compound. There were several spreading out along the gate nearby, set into the eastern perimeter. Even from here, Wheeljack could see that at least one of them carried a rocket launcher and another carried an Anti-Material Cannon.

That ain't going to help them, Wheeljack thought. He opened his doors and both Fowler and Jack climbed inside. Both sensibly fastened their seatbelts. Fowler laid the large Anti-Material Cannon across his lap, with the barrel pointing out the window, given its length.

Wheeljack floored the accelerator and started for the gate. Ultra Magnus followed a short distance behind. Fowler pulled his pistol, changing the magazine for a fresh one. The guards spread out up ahead started firing and bullets pounded into the windshield. Jack ducked underneath the dashboard as the entire thing shattered, showering him and Fowler with glass. Wheeljack felt a slight sting as the glass gave way. He pressed on nonetheless, even with the hail of bullets landing across his front. Fowler popped off a few shots from his pistol before he threw himself below the dashboard, bullets striking the headrest of his seat and blowing foam chunks out of it. Wheeljack went speeding past the guards, sending one of them diving out of the way. The Autobot went full throttle into the gate, tearing it off of its moorings upon impact which sent the entire thing scraping over the top of him. It clanked down his rear before landing on the asphalt behind, only to be promptly run over and deformed by Ultra Magnus who went speeding in his wake.

The pair of Autobots in their vehicle modes maintained their speeds as they left the blacktop and began along a dirt road. A plume of sand was kicked up in their wake and with each passing second they put more distance between them and the Taskforce compound. However, their enemies did not give up easily. Two armoured black all-terrain vehicles, sleek and fitted with machine guns from over the rear, appeared in view further behind, rushing off of a dirt road. "Rally Fighters", as they were known, made for agile movement and easy handling over uneven terrain. The gunners on each car did not waste any time opening fire. Bullets pinged the rear of Ultra Magnus, an utter hail of lead that sent sparks flying.

"They're going to be on our ass the whole way," Fowler said. He had maintained a cool head throughout, likely a result of his training in his time spent in the US Army Rangers. Wheeljack could certainly admire the human's steadfastness. As for Jack, he was doing his best to remain straight-faced, even if the situation was somewhat unlike anything he had found himself in before.

Both Wheeljack and Ultra Magnus turned off of the dirt-road, crossing a freeway and sending one passing semi-trailer swerving. Both Taskforce Rally Fighters remained close on their tails, mini-guns blazing.

"Where are we going?" Jack asked, his hands going for the dashboard in an attempt to steady himself. Wheeljack sent them bouncing over uneven desert plains, both occupants being lurched about in their seats, even with the seatbelts on.

Fowler suddenly hefted the long Anti-Material Cannon along in both hands as he leaned out of the window, setting the weapon on top of the vehicle while he leaned outside. "Hold my legs." He glanced over to Jack, who quickly did as he was told, grasping the older man's legs as to keep him from falling out.

Fowler picked up the heavy Anti-Material Cannon with both hands, holding it to his shoulder as he attempted to take aim at one of the pursuing vehicles. Ultra Magnus moved off to the side upon seeing the human take aim. Wheeljack did his best to keep the ride steady, but the desert terrain was far from even. Further ahead were some low hills, so crossing over those would likely only complicate matters.

Fowler fired a shot from the cannon, sending one of the armour-piercing rounds into the sand a few metres to the right of one of the pursuing Rally Fighters. There was an explosion of dirt and sand that rained down all over the vehicle. It swerved slightly but continued its pursuit, with the gunner shifting his aim in Wheeljack's direction. Ultra Magnus reacted then, transforming rapidly, his momentum carrying him forwards as he came to stand upon both feet. He turned to face the Rally Fighter, dragging a trail in the sand, before he dived forwards and swept one arm towards the all-terrain vehicle.

The whole thing was sent flying, the driver being launched through the windscreen. Ultra Magnus absorbed the impact with only a slight stumble, totalling the vehicle as it was sent flying, flipping end-over-end. The gunner fell out and landed harshly in the sand. He was still alive, albeit for about five seconds before the second Rally Fighter drove right over him, the driver with little time to react otherwise

The second Taskforce Rally Fighter shot past Ultra Magnus, its minigun blazing. Fowler shifted his aim with the Anti-Material Cannon, firing off another shot. This one hit the ground ahead of the vehicle, launching dirt and sand across the front of the vehicle. The Rally Fighter came roaring through it, bouncing over a slight rise. Ultra Magnus reverted to his vehicle mode and fell into pursuit.

Fowler adjusted his aim, attempting to take into account the movement of both his vehicle and his target. It was hard enough shooting from a moving vehicle, firing at another moving vehicle was another thing entirely. Taking a deep breath, he peered through the cannon's scope and exhaled. His finger fell upon the trigger and the weapon buckled backwards in his grip as it fired, the noise of the shot almost deafening. It echoed all throughout the desert plain, as did the sound of the ensuing explosion as the round went through the windshield of the Taskforce Rally Fighter. A plume of smoke and flame shot out of the car's middle, shearing it in half. One of the tires went flying high while the two halves went sliding some distance, smoke pluming out of both.

Wheeljack went over a sharp rock, causing his entire frame to lurch abruptly. Fowler felt himself almost fall out of the vehicle, his grip on the cannon failing, sending it clattering along the rocky desert floor. Jack clutched his legs tightly before he dragged the older man back inside.

"Nice shooting," Wheeljack commented.

There was an awkward silence then, one that lasted longer than the Autobot Wrecker was comfortable with. It was broken by the roar of a jet engine. Both Fowler and Jack looked up through the mostly broken windshield, watching the visibly Cybertronian jet shoot overhead.

"The bitch is back," Wheeljack said aloud. It seemed almost typical for Skystreaker to show up now, after the action was over. Still, it indicated that she at least needed their help and she likely realised that her chances of survival would be far better if she stuck with the Autobots. Skystreaker circled back around then, buzzing the two travelling Autobots.

"Where the hell are we going?" Jack asked. He sounded both frustrated and afraid, though he did a good job of hiding the latter. "We just shot up a military compound. That's not something we can just drive away from."

"Just keep driving, Wheeljack," Fowler said. He sat back in his seat, his heart still pounding in his chest. So much so that it kind of hurt. "Find us someplace we can lay low for a while." With that, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, presumably in an effort to get some rest. Jack crossed his arms, his expression a conflicted one, before he simply sat back and started gazing out of the window.

It was only about one o'clock in the afternoon. Today, Wheeljack realised, would be a very long day judging from the way things had been going.

 

Talk about shit hitting the fan

Great last chapter, if we don't see Star Saber preaching the Gospel in MTMTE, then I will be so disappointed

 

It was sort of my intention for things to escalate quickly, given the gradual pacing so far.

 

and you do it well !

 

The latest chapter:
-----------------------------------

Fugitives

Captain Van Cleef had seen a lot of things during his life, first in the South African military, and then its Special Forces and finally here and now in the Special Reaction Taskforce. He had not, however, seen a small group of hostiles completely and utterly ruin a heavily secured compound. That was a first, a first he would very much like to avoid happening again (though, granted, it would no longer be a "first" if it did happen again). He stood in the parking lot by the main gate while about half a dozen Taskforce operatives milled about, picking through the rubble. A trio of medical personnel rushed by, two of them carrying a stretcher between them. From what Van Cleef could see, the operative sprawled along it was suffering from some nasty looking burns.

Fires burned about the compound and the air stunk of scorched metal and burning fuel. Emergency response teams were working on putting out some of the flames, but there was simply too much damage for it to come under any significant control anytime soon. Van Cleef was remarkably calm given the circumstances. He had been tasked with keeping this place secure and so far he had failed, although he knew it was through no fault of his own. Had the Colonel supplied him with more troops and more vehicles they might have been able to contain the Cybertronian prisoners properly. That, and a certain Autobot should have done his job better as well.

Deadeye sat nearby, his backside parked on a stack of metal containers while he used some kind of small beam emitter to patch up his injuries. Namely, it was the gaping hole that had been blown into his right arm that was the focus of his concern. He had even lost a pistol in the engagement earlier, leaving him stuck with one of his regular slug-throwers and the old blaster he had confiscated from Skystreaker. Van Cleef found Deadeye's penchant for dual-wielding amusing. This Autobot's exposure to Earth popular culture had likely influenced his overall combat technique.

"What the hell happened, tin man?" Van Cleef asked. Deadeye glanced at him, his blue optics displaying only vague interest. He switched off the repair beam emitter and flexed his right arm, a pained wince crossing his face as his wound sent a sharp sting along the limb. "You're supposed to be better than this, aren't ya?"

"I was caught by surprise," Deadeye replied. He turned his head to look down at the Captain, his metal features showing a fairly flat expression. "Let me guess: You've never been caught by surprise before?"

"Shouldn't you be out there pursuing them?" Van Cleef asked. He gestured with one arm towards the wrecked main gate and the desert beyond it.

"The Autobots are hiding their signals," Deadeye stated matter-of-factly. "Standard procedure and there's very little I can do to track them. Unless you can get an energon detector within range then we'll never be able to find them."

"Then go out there and start searching," Van Cleef ordered. Deadeye raised an optic ridge, apparently amused at the Captain's orders. "Go on, you lousy heap of metal. Get out there and do your fucking job."

"There's not a whole lot of point," Deadeye said. "Your people have the energon detectors. Start deploying them. I've only got the one on me as it is."
Van Cleef sighed. He had not joined the Taskforce just so he could deal with a smug and uptight alien robot. With a dismissive shake of his head, he turned around and walked away, leaving the Autobot to his own devices. There was still plenty else that needed doing around here, much of it far more pressing than arguing with Deadeye.

His cell-phone began to ring and vibrate. Van Cleef stopped where he was and pulled it from his pocket. The display showed that it was Colonel Carver calling, an unsurprising development. The Captain accepted the call and placed the phone to his ear, awaiting the inevitable verbal barrage. Instead, he heard a rather reserved Carver on the other end of the line.

"I heard what happened," he said. "Tell me, Captain, what kind of setback are we facing?"

"It's not really much of a 'setback'," Van Cleef replied. He watched as a pair of soldiers walked by him, carrying the burnt out remains of a car's engines between them. "We have about fourteen dead and twenty-five wounded. The compound's a bladdy mess, of course. I'd say it's the property damage expenses we should be more worried about."

"How many Autobots were there?"

"The one we had detained and another that showed up with that fat agent, Fowler. And then there was the 'Con we brought in last night. The three of them got away, as did Fowler and Agent Darby." Van Cleef paused for a moment, pondering what to say next. There was a comment here he wanted to make, yet he could not be certain how well it would be received by the Colonel. Nonetheless, he continued: "I thought you said Darby wouldn't be a problem? That he'd be on our side? Because, and if you don't mind me saying, boss, he's kind of become a problem now."

"His loyalty to the Autobots is as strong as ever, it seems. It doesn't matter. I'm about to begin a press conference. Those Autobots, and both Fowler and Darby, essentially launched a terrorist attack against a military installation within the United States of America. And this only hours after the President's assassination by another alien terrorist. That's what they all are now, Captain. Terrorists. They will be treated as such."

"And what about Cyclonus? You still going to go along with what he said? You still going to give him what he wants?"

"Not yet. The Decepticon General and his cronies will have to wait a while longer. They may even have to wait until the current problem is taken care of. And that's what I want you to do, Captain. Take care of this problem. Utilise anything you have at your disposal. You'll be getting plenty more support in about an hour's time, once this press conference is over. Trust me on that."

Van Cleef did not care much for Carver's politics or his plans regarding such things. He was only really concerned with what had happened now and how a few very dangerous individuals had escaped his grasp. He did not need to be told to go after them. He was already in the process of arranging a coordinated hunt.

"I'll get the bunch of them, Colonel," Van Cleef replied. "You can bet on that. I think I know how to draw them out. Just give me an hour."

"I know I can depend on you, Captain. Just ensure that you are careful. It is a very sensitive situation we have right now. Those Autobots, along with Darby and Fowler, can potentially become a spanner in the works. Right now, they are a nuisance. Keep them from getting any worse than that."

"Of course, Colonel."

Carver hung up then. Van Cleef put the phone away on his end and looked over to the group of nearby operatives. He motioned them over, ordering them to acquire and ready up as many energon detectors as possible. Van Cleef had hunted big game in the past, mostly in Africa. Stalking one's prey before delivering the final kill always gave him a unique thrill, one that would very easily translate over to hunting down Autobots and humans. To have the power of life and death over something, it just felt so good. And no prey escaped from his grasp.

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

"...we are not alone in the universe. This alien force has been among us for well over a decade and have been watching us, plotting against us and have now revealed themselves through an all-out attack upon this nation, and upon humanity in general. The evidence is there for all to see. The death of the President at the hands of these alien terrorists has hailed in a new era, for better or for worse, and that humanity must make a stand in the face of this grave threat, lest it be swept from the face of this Earth. A state of emergency has been declared across the whole of the nation and the UN Security Council will be convening in short order to discuss the next course of action, as this new threat is not only directed against our nation, but to humanity as a species. Earth must become stalwart in the face of alien aggressors. And they are not without outside help. Humans in collusion with them also exist and must be captured and put to justice accordingly..."

Jack watched a few close-ups of him and Agent Fowler flash up upon the screen while Colonel Carver's speech from earlier was replayed for the umpteenth time on what was apparently most channels. His smart-phone in hand, Jack could hardly believe what he was seeing. Carver had been quick to put him and Fowler on the 'most wanted' lists, apparently. Not only that, but the Autobots had been painted as villains in the worst sense of the word. Given the nature of such an announcement, it was not surprising to see in the news some people taking to the streets in protest. Protests against the secrecy that had lead up to the events of today, protests against the state of emergency and the limited rights it gave to citizens, and then there were those who simply took to the streets to take advantage of the chaos.

Jack sat on an old wooden crate within the rundown interior of an abandoned tungsten mill. Large steel machinery, rusted in most places, was lined up along one side of the large hall. Pieces of the ceiling were missing and puddles of water were scattered about the floor. Outside, the sun was still fairly high, its light and heat bearing down relentlessly upon the Nevada desert. Nearby, Fowler paced back and forth, his clothing dirty and his skin slicked with sweat. Wheeljack sat at the end of the hall while Ultra Magnus stood ahead with Skystreaker doing what she could to patch up the hole that had been blasted into his back. He kept a straight face despite the pain, with the occasional wince indicating that even the Autobot Commander was not immune to the sensation.

Jack put the smart-phone down and shook his head.

"We're fugitives," he said, looking towards Fowler. The older Agent stopped and then briskly walked over. Somewhat abruptly, he snatched the smart-phone from Jack's hands and threw it to the floor. There, he stamped it a few times with his foot, crushing it under his shoes.

"They can track you," Fowler stated. "Even when it's so much as switched on." He reached into his pocket then and pulled out his own mobile phone. He threw that against the nearest concrete wall where it shattered into a hundred pieces.

"I can't believe this," Jack said. Today had turned bad abruptly, that was for sure. "What are we going to do? This is the first time I've been a wanted criminal."

"We lay low," Fowler replied. "That's about all we can do."

Jack frowned. He was sceptical, as much as he preferred to try and remain optimistic. Going up against Decepticons was one thing, but when your entire country wanted you in prison it made for a very different situation. Not only that, but Jack had never actually killed anyone before. He had never needed to take a shot at his fellow human and had hoped that he would get through life without having to do such a thing.

"Don't look so down, Jack," Fowler said, having noticed his downbeat expression. "We'll get through this."

"How many people did you kill today, Fowler?" Jack asked. Fowler frowned at the question. It was not something he had been asked before.

"What kind of question is that, son? I did what I had to. That compound was hostile territory." He paused, his eyes going to Jack's waist. "Where's your pistol?" The lack of a holster there was obvious.

"I only carry it if I absolutely need to," Jack answered. "I didn't expect I'd need to use it today. And I certainly didn't think I'd be shooting at anyone with it."

"It's better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it." Fowler crossed his arms. "I thought I told you that before."

"And I've gone nine years without having to fire a shot. You can probably understand my decision to not carry it with me."

Fowler nodded slowly.

"I get it, Jack. You've never needed to pull a gun on someone before. You weren't in the Rangers like I was, so you've never needed to fire a shot in anger. But I have no regrets for what I did back at the compound. Those Taskforce guys are bad news and that Colonel Carver guy's had it in for us since day one."

"He invited me to join..."

"So he could have you, and in turn Unit-E, under his thumb. Don't you see it now, Jack?" Fowler raised his brows, his tone taking on a more frustrated edge. "He's been building up to something like this. I bet General Williamson's in on the whole thing as well. They forced me into retirement and I can see why. With me gone, there'd only be you, and with you in the Taskforce then Unit-E could be absorbed by it and no one would ask any questions. Colonel Carver would be in complete control of Earth's defence against the Decepticons."

Jack figured it all made sense now, after everything that had happened. Still, there were too many unanswered questions. How did Cyclonus figure into it all? And who was really the one who had killed the President, since it sure as hell was not Bumblebee?

"We can't just stay here," Jack said. At best, he felt conflicted. Not just about killing people, but also regarding what they were going to do next. He had no idea what they could do short of turning themselves in. Naturally, he had no desire to spend the rest of his life in a federal prison.

"You're damn right we can't," Fowler said. He turned his head to look over at the Autobots. Skystreaker had finished with Ultra Magnus. The Autobot Commander flexed his arms, testing to see if they were as workable as they should be.

"Any ideas, Magnus?" Fowler asked. The Autobot Commander looked towards him, frowning as he thought over the question.

Wheeljack rose to his feet then, a disgruntled look crossing his metal features.

"I tell you what I'm going to do," he said aloud. "I'm going to go find Bumblebee and then I'm going to get my hands round the neck of that ass Deadeye and tear his fucking head off." The profanity was surprising to hear, coming from an Autobot, but given the situation Jack could understand the reaction. Wheeljack clasped his hands together, flexing his metal fingers in anticipation.

"And I suppose you're going to do that all on your lonesome?" Skystreaker tilted her head at him, one optic ridge raised. She did not sound convinced.

"Any better ideas?" Wheeljack narrowed his gaze at her. "Other than running away like a damn coward?"

"You have a ground-bridge, don't you?"

"I said, 'other than running away like a damn coward'."

"Can't you just call in some of your friends from Cybertron?"

Wheeljack shook his head.

"What good would that do, sweet-spark?" He smiled when he saw Skystreaker give an annoyed grimace when he spoke the last word. "They'd get hunted down just the same as us. Unless you're saying we should just invade Earth, but I don't think that'd help our image in the eyes of the human population. All they've been told about us is that we're 'terrorists'. Doing 'terrorist' things would only add to that image." He crossed his arms then, satisfied that he had made his point.

"Still, we'll need help," Skystreaker replied. "If we're going to find your friends and stop Colonel Carver, we'll need more than two Autobots and one Decepticon deserter."

"And why are you so keen to help us?" Ultra Magnus was the one to ask this question. Skystreaker swivelled around to face him, smiling at him as their gazes met.

"Because I've got no other option," she said. "I'm being hunted down by my old boss, who just so happens to be Cyclonus. I'm in as much trouble as you guys are. Staying with you will increase my chances of survival."

"Good to hear your spark is in the right place," Wheeljack quipped, his sarcasm blatant. "In it for yourself. Can't say I'm surprised. You remind me of a younger me, except I wasn't a bitch."

"Any ideas?" Fowler asked. "That's what we need right now. If we're going to find Bumblebee, we'll need a means of tracking him."

"And none of us have the means," Ultra Magnus answered. "It's easy enough for an Autobot to hide their life signatures, or for someone else to do it for them. We'd need sophisticated scanning equipment. The sort you'd only find on Cybertron."

"Or Unit-E headquarters," Fowler replied. Jack stood up then and walked over to the group. Already, he could see that some kind of plan was falling into place. "Ratchet might have left equipment like that lying around. Apparently, the Taskforce have the same sort of stuff since they were able to find Decepticons before we could. So, we could go back to Unit-E headquarters, or we could head back to the Taskforce compound. It's a toss-up, isn't it? We're all wanted fugitives, so I don't think it'll matter which one we go to."

"The ground-bridge is back at the Unit-E HQ," Wheeljack said. "Even if there's nothing salvageable there, we can go back to Cybertron and get what we need." He nodded slowly, approving of this haphazardly put together plan. "I'm liking where this is headed."

"We might actually stand a chance after all." Skystreaker spoke through a wry smile, her tone hardly convincing.

"I'll go to Unit-E," Wheeljack said.

"Don't expect the people there to open the gate for you." Fowler looked towards him, his expression grim. "They'll be on the lookout for any Cybertronians. You'll have to sneak in and I know that stealth was never your strong suit."

"I've changed," Wheeljack countered. There was an extended pause as a smile crossed his face. "Well, maybe not much. I'll still do my best to keep a low profile, you can count on that, tiny."

"I'll go with him," Skystreaker added. Wheeljack peered at her inquisitively and Fowler raised an eyebrow. Skystreaker did not strike them as the sort who would volunteer for a potentially dangerous mission. "He'll need backup and I can give that to him."

"And you'll probably make a run for it once we reach the ground-bridge," Wheeljack commented.

Skystreaker shook her head. She actually looked downbeat then, as if she had suddenly been hit with the full gravity of the situation.

"I can't go back to Cybertron," Skystreaker replied. "And I've got nowhere else to go. Why do you think I'm here with you? You're the only ones who'll have me."

"You can't go back or you don't want to go back?"

Skystreaker shrugged.

"A bit of both," she said.

Jack looked over to Fowler. They at least had something they could do, with Wheeljack and Skystreaker relegated the task of acquiring the means to find Bumblebee. And Knock Out for that matter.

"What about you and I?" Jack asked Fowler. The older Agent turned to him and put a hand to his chin for a moment, thinking it over. "We can't just stay here. I was thinking I could test out my Taskforce credentials. I may still be able to log onto their systems."

"Where would you do that? Back at their compound?" Fowler shook his head. "Going back there is a bad idea. And if we're going to do any computer stuff, we could get Rafael to help us..."

"No," Jack interrupted. "We're not dragging him into this. You might want to think twice about bringing any friends of yours into this as well, Bill."
Fowler nodded in understanding.

"You're right. The Taskforce wouldn't hesitate to go after our families. That would likely include Miko in your case, Jack."

"Next we're at a payphone, I'll call her. Get her to leave the country. But as for Rafael, we're keeping him out of this."

There was a long silence between the two of them. Neither of them could think of any real plan, other than what had been suggested. Jack had little hope that he would be able to access any Taskforce computers with his credentials, but it was worth a shot. The information they might be able to gleam would be helpful.

"You wouldn't mind coming along, Magnus? We sort of need a vehicle, anyway."

Ultra Magnus nodded in the affirmative.

"I understand, Fowler," he said. "Wheeljack and Skystreaker will go to Unit-E while we go find the means to access the Taskforce's computers. Just tell me the way." Ultra Magnus ducked his way out of the large and partially open doors of the mill then, heading outside into the sun. Wheeljack and Skystreaker followed.

"Are you sure about this?" Jack asked Fowler, as the pair of them walked outside after the Autobots. Fowler turned to him, his look one of doubt.

"I've no idea," he answered. "It's not every day you end up a fugitive in your own country. I swore an oath to protect this nation, I guess being put on the 'most wanted' list is some sort of twisted repayment."

"You're taking it pretty well."

"That's the only way I can take it." Both of them stepped outside into the heat, the gravel crunching underfoot. A dirt road ran by the mill, heading back onto a highway that wound its way across the state. "I was trained to keep it together under stress. We both were."

"I wasn't in the Rangers..."

"And I haven't been in them for years," Fowler interrupted. "The point is, we have to keep a level head because as soon as we don't, we lose. Our enemies would want us to panic. They'd want us to be nervous wrecks. We can't give them that satisfaction. I'm going to get to the bottom of what's going on and so are you. And we're both going to do it without losing our cool. I'm just worried if my heart can take it. I'm getting old, after all. Probably too old for this shit."

Fowler smiled then. Jack did the same. He did feel slightly better about things. If Fowler could keep himself in good humour despite everything that had happened, then he figured he should be able to as well.

 

Very good writing! No violence, yet tension is high in the air! Jack's innocence is fun to read, especially contrasting with Fowler. I always did imagine wheeljack was pretty much like Rattrap.

 

Jack will have to put aside that 'innocence' soon enough if he wants to survive. As for Wheeljack, I'd say deep down he gets a kick out of everything that's happening. It's his first real action for a decade, after all.

 

no doubt his restlessness, I was talking his prejudice towards Cons. Very Rattrap like, ( the only thing worse than a stinkin' Pred, is a stinkin' Decepticon!) Except Wheeljack's wayyyy more subtle  

 

Welcoming Committee

There was not much outside of Las Vegas. Aside from some industrial compounds scattered here and there, as well as a railway line that wound its way far out into the desert, the city of Las Vegas was very much smack-bang in the middle of nowhere. Carver figured that was part of the appeal, having a city like this far from any other significant blot of civilisation.

He had been working in Nevada ever since the Taskforce's inception three years ago and he had been the one to choose the location of the Vault as it was now. Keeping it close to an urban centre, yet hidden out of immediate view ensured that they had easy access to any supplies they might have needed and that workers were close to home. Morale was always an important factor in running any operation, military or otherwise.

Carver stood in a mostly deserted, rundown parking lot situated on a hill beyond the city outskirts. There had been a drive-in cinema here, although that had died with the advent of home video decades ago. Now it was overgrown and the cement was either cracked or completely missing in places. There was one car nearby, a rusted hulk with no wheels. The screen of the drive-in cinema was missing, presumably long gone like the rest of the place. The main building was small and rusted, its windows boarded up and covered in graffiti. Carver was accompanied by two operatives in combat gear, both clutching submachine guns while they hung around by the black sedan he had arrived in.

At the other end of the parking lot stood two Decepticons. Carver knew one of them, Vortex, the brown-grey Combaticon who was apparently some kind of elite shock trooper. He was not too sure of the details, nor did he care much for them. As for the other one, this Decepticon was a flyer judging from the wings at his back. He was also 'scarred', with half of his face and part of his chest melted and warped beyond recognition, scorched thoroughly. Carver reached into one pocket on his jacket and pulled out a packet of peppermint gum, a piece of which he placed in his mouth before putting the rest away.

Both Decepticons strode over to him, tall and imposing. Carver had long since gotten over being afraid of them. They could be killed, like anything else. He knew just how to do it and he, and his Taskforce, had the means to do so. Both Decepticons likely knew this much and it made for at least part of the reason why Carver had opted to work with them in the first place. As much as he hated them and their kind, what they had was a business arrangement. Sometimes working with people you did not like was something one had to do, and Carver had done it a fair few times through his military career. He was used to it by now, even if those he colluded with were not even from this planet.

He chewed his gum slowly, letting the minty fresh flavour wash over his tongue. He had stopped smoking ten years previously, so chewing gum had become a decent enough alternative.

"Who's the new guy?" Carver asked as Vortex peered down at him. He was of course referring to the flyer standing nearby. "He looks like shit."

"Skywarp's his name," Vortex replied. His tone was level, oddly refined, something that Carver found slightly amusing. For a killing machine from another planet, Vortex sounded like a university professor from the way he sometimes spoke.

"That's almost as stupid as 'Vortex'," Carver said. If Vortex was insulted by the comment, he did not show it.

"You had a Decepticon," Skywarp said. One of his optics was missing, Carver noticed. With a facial disfigurement like that, Carver was reminded of a James Bond villain. The thought was amusing. "Skystreaker. What became of her?" His voice was raspy, probably a side-effect of whatever hell he had been through.

"That's why we're meeting," Carver said. "She escaped. Along with Wheeljack and Ultra Magnus. They even had some human help. I said as much over the phone, didn't I?" He raised an eyebrow inquiringly. "I mean, surely you 'Cons aren't all stupid?"

Skywarp stepped forwards, the look in his one good eye suggesting that he wished to crush Carver to a pulp or something similar. Vortex put out an arm, stopping him from doing so.

"We have a problem, then?" Vortex returned his gaze towards the Colonel.

"Maybe." Carver was still undecided on this matter. There were not many places a bunch of Autobots and their human helpers could run to that his people, and the rest of the nation's authorities for that matter, would not be able to reach. "I'd say they're more of a 'nuisance'. But not to worry, you two. The whole country's been turned against the Autobots. Ask the common Joe on the street and he'll likely tell you what the media's told him: they're an alien force bent on humanity's destruction. It's amazing what a bit of spin and a Shifter shooting up a military base can do for your cause."

"And that means?"

"It means, big guy, that this band of valiant Autobots and their human helpers have nowhere to run," Carver explained. "They'll be hunted down like dogs. I already have a few leads I can follow up on. There's even a hotline for people to call if they catch sight of any alien robots, such as yourselves." He paused, curling one corner of his mouth slightly. "I'm afraid the common Joe on the street isn't going to be able to determine the difference between an Autobot and a Decepticon. You should keep out of sight. You'd only confuse the situation."

"And the item?" Vortex leaned forwards slightly. Carver did not like how hard it was to read the Combaticon's face. His optics were shielded under a yellow visor and his mouth was covered up by a battle-plate. It moved only slightly when he spoke. All Carver had to go on was body language and the sound of his voice in order to determine what the Combaticon might have been thinking. It annoyed him. Sometimes he would catch out liars just through the way they looked. Vortex's unreadable mask made such detection difficult.

"You mean the thing you want so bad but you won't tell me what it's for?" Carver spat out his gum then, the flavour gone. It landed in a patch of grass nearby. "Not until this situation with the Autobots is defused. They might be a nuisance, but they're a nuisance I don't need. And in my experience, nuisances can quickly turn into something more serious."

"You're not giving it to us?" Vortex asked. As always, his tone was perfectly level. Very controlled, Carver noticed. That indicated a lot of discipline, likely far more than his buddy Skywarp had.

"Of course I'm not giving it to you, metal-head," Carver stated, matter-of-factly. "We had an agreement. You do what I want you do to, and you get your special shield-disc thing. So far, things haven't gone completely according to plan."

"Your failure to contain the Autobots is the fault of your Taskforce, not us."

"And until the problem is rectified, you won't get your special shield thing." Carver paused, narrowing his eyes. Was that anger he detected, in the way Vortex's stance faltered? Something about the Combaticon's demeanour changed, but it was difficult to determine what. "What is it, exactly? I'd like to know what I'll be giving away."

"You don't need to know."

"I think I do," Carver said. "For all I know, I could be giving you the means to blow up planets. Or to travel through time. Or something equally insane, these Cybertronian relics are always such fun, aren't they? How many of them were dumped on Earth, anyway? Is this planet your species' dumping ground or something?"

"How about I crush you?" Skywarp spat, his anger obvious. "The General should never have agreed to this."

"Go ahead," Carver said. "Right now, I have five people scattered around well out of sight, each armed with a Taipan Anti-Material Cannon, all of them watching us have this conversation. Those guns can punch holes straight through your armour, so chances are you'll get the other half of your face shot off before you can put your metal claws anywhere near me." Carver kept a straight face as he looked up at Skywarp, the Decepticon's anger faltering. He looked around carefully in an effort to catch sight of at least one of the five aforementioned snipers. "These guys are experts, so they aren't going to advertise their presence to you."

"Or they're not even here," Vortex said carefully.

"Are you willing to take that chance?" Carver raised an eyebrow. "If you kill me, you'll never get your precious relic." He paused for effect, letting his words hang in the air between them. "This relic has something to do with 'Nova Prime', doesn't it?"

Vortex was silent, but Carver could tell that the Decepticon was surprised. The way he was glaring at him seemed to indicate as much.

"Maybe you should just tell me what it does already," Carver continued. "I'll find out eventually. You'll save time for both of us if you just spill the beans right here and now."

Vortex was unlikely to do such a thing, but Carver figured that it was worth a shot.

"You would have to talk to Star Saber about that," Skywarp said.

"And who might that be?" Carver asked. 'Star Saber' was not a name he had heard before, certainly not in regards to any one Cybertronian. "I thought that General Cyclonus was the one who wanted the relic?"

"He does. And so does Star Saber."

Vortex turned to look at Skywarp, likely in an attempt to get him to stop talking. Skywarp fell silent there and then, but enough had been said for Carver's mind to go into overdrive regarding the possibilities. Star Saber must have been a fairly significant figure, probably one who worked closely with Cyclonus.

"Can I meet this 'Star Saber'?" Carver asked.

"No." Vortex's response was quick and to the point. Carver could see he had struck a sensitive chord with these two Decepticons. He had them on the ropes, their want for the relic so strong that they were willing to bend over backwards to accommodate him. It amused him, as these two Decepticons and the rest of Cylonus's force had no idea that the relic was contained within the city nearby. It was buried underneath layers of concrete with scramblers set up through the Vault compound based on a model Deadeye had put together for them, but even that Autobot had no idea as to the Vault's existence and what it contained.

"Do you want assistance in your hunt for the Autobots?" Vortex asked. "I am sure General Cyclonus would be more than willing to provide it."

Carver got the impression that no matter how he answered, Cyclonus would send some of his soldiers to join in the hunt anyway. Carver's people certainly did not need any more Decepticon help in the matter.

"If I answered 'no', would Cyclonus still send Decepticons?" Carver asked.

Vortex did not reply. The answer was an obvious one anyway. There was a brief silence as the three of them considered their options. Finally, Vortex did speak again.

"The two of us will return to the ship," he said. "The General will be in touch with you shortly."

"I'm sure," Carver said, his voice laced with doubt. He watched the two Decepticons turn and walk away, both of them disappearing from view around the side of the rundown building nearby. They would have had a transport ship hidden somewhere close, likely fitted with all manner of jammers and scramblers to ensure conventional human air surveillance systems could not detect it. The same most certainly went for Cyclonus' cruiser and personal 'yacht'.

Once the two Decepticons were gone, Carver stood for a short while in the drive-in cinema, the heat of the sun bearing down on him strongly. He could feel himself sweating underneath his jacket. Nonetheless, he put another piece of gum in his mouth and began to chew in earnest. It felt good, having a whole bunch of Decepticons under his power. It certainly would not last, but he would make sure to enjoy it for as long as it did.

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

Unit-E headquarters was under heavy guard in response to the events of the last twelve hours. There were still clean-up crews milling about the helipad where the President had met his fiery end. Soldiers milled about on patrol, far more than usual. There was even an armoured tank parked at one side of the runway, although it appeared to be unmanned.

Wheeljack watched all this from a hill beyond the compound's perimeter. He had so far needed to disable a few surveillance cameras on his way here, causing a patrol to come out to investigate. However, a spot fire he had started beyond the perimeter further back had drawn the attention of most of that patrol, leaving Wheeljack relatively free to get closer to the base. He knew the place well, even if it had been nine years since his last lengthy stay. The time spent there yesterday had been fleeting at best and boring to top it off.

Skystreaker was crouched nearby. She had already suggested flying overwatch, but Wheeljack did not want her getting detected. The humans had sophisticated enough technology that an unidentified aircraft flying over a secure installation would be easy to detect, no matter what countermeasures Skystreaker might have at her disposal.

"So, what do we do, hotshot?" Skystreaker asked him. Wheeljack turned to her, still lying prone in the dirt. He had his one remaining sword sheathed at his back and the hold-out pistol clipped to his waist. He would have preferred far more for a break-in like this, but the Taskforce had taken his grenades and mounted cannons away from him.

"We stroll in," Wheeljack said. "There's a blind-spot at the corner there. From that point, it's about a five minute walk to the hangar."

"Blind-spot?"

"A hole in the guard patrols. Cameras might still see us."

"That's not much help," Skystreaker replied. She did not sound convinced of their plan. This was understandable, for not even Wheeljack was convinced of it. He certainly was not about to sit back and do nothing.

"It's all we've got," Wheeljack said. "So, you coming with? Or you just going to stay out here and sulk?"

"Do I have a choice?"

Wheeljack shrugged.

"There's always a choice, babe." Wheeljack unsheathed his sword and stood up off of the dirt, shifting into a crouched stance. "We can get in, get what we need, then blast our way out if we have to."

"You're not much into stealth, are you?"

Wheeljack smiled at her. Wreckers were not well known for covert operations.

"Do you even need to ask that to a Wrecker?" Wheeljack started down the hill then, somersaulting near the bottom. It was only a short walk from here to the perimeter fence so he moved quickly, coming to it in short order. Skystreaker followed suit, glancing about as she moved, her uncertainty in their approach apparent.

Wheeljack used his sword to carve out a section of fence before he pushed it out, letting it clank somewhat loudly on the ground beneath. He climbed on through then, with Skystreaker following close behind. The pair bolted into a narrow lane between two of the larger buildings on the base, with several more hangars up ahead, one of which was the Unit-E headquarters. Wheeljack could see that there were guards roaming about, some of whom were cleaning up debris from the runway outside. Wheeljack noticed a surveillance camera at the corner ahead and so, moving along the wall so he was just outside of its cone of vision, made his way towards it. A single swipe from his sword took the whole thing clean off of its housing.

"They're going to investigate that, you know," Skystreaker said.

"And we'll be long gone by the time they come here," Wheeljack replied. He leaned his head around the corner. There was a short, but open stretch of ground between them and the building across the way. From there, they would be able to work their way behind them and sneak into the Unit-E hangar from the back. Wheeljack gestured to Skystreaker with one hand, signalling her to stay. Once the nearest patrol had turned their backs, he motioned to her to follow. It was a short, but decisive, run. The two Cybertronians crossed it quickly, entering the cover of the hangar on the corner. From there, Wheeljack moved on ahead to the rear of the row of buildings, taking out another surveillance camera with his sword as he moved. Skystreaker followed his lead and the two of them found their way to the back of the Unit-E hangar. Here, there was a set of metal double doors and a garage door just large enough for Wheeljack to crawl through.

"You sure your fat aft can be fit through there?" Skystreaker quipped.

Wheeljack forced open the door and pulled it up as looked back at her, shrugging in response.

"Will yours?" He went prone then, crawling his way through the door, finding himself in the large back-room of the hangar. Ratchet kept most of his equipment, that which he was not using for anything, stored back here and in tunnels that ran underneath the building. The place had not been built to harbor Cybertronians, unlike the base that had been out by Jasper until Megatron had demolished it. This hangar had been hastily refurbished to make room for the Autobots, leaving some sections very much 'human' in scale. Wheeljack stood up, noticing some pylons at the walls that jutted out slightly. The ceiling here had once been a lot lower.

There were shelves here, including a few locked bulkhead doors. Wheeljack surveyed the items scattered about the shelves, making mental notes as he went. Some items here were useless to him, junk even. However, there were a few distinctly Cybertronian pieces of technology amongst the junk that he might have been able to make use of.

He took up a Cybertronian signal beacon. That was not much use to him as it was, as signalling his location would be a very poor move given his standing as a fugitive here. It was the technology that comprised it that he was more interested in.

Skystreaker came in then and she stood in the middle of the room, crossing her arms as she regarded the assorted equipment around her.

"You know what you're doing?" She asked him.

Wheeljack grabbed a Cybertronian drill off of the shelf in front of him and switched it on, relieved to see that the power pack still retained some charge.

"Yeah," he said absently, his concentration set upon the signal beacon he held. He used the drill to release a panel on its side, revealing the circuitry within.

"Shouldn't we get out of here?" Skystreaker stepped towards him, curious. "If you've already got what you came for..."

"I need more," Wheeljack said. He looked towards the shelves as he set the partially dismantled beacon down on the floor. Grabbing items as he moved along the shelf, he gave each of them a once-over before throwing them aside. Nothing much here would be useful, some of this stuff was indeed junk. Burned out power cells were of no use to him. Some of the items were human in design, hardly helpful for their situation. "I need something more." He muttered this as his movements became more frantic, his spark pulsing harder as he began sweeping items off of the shelves completely. Much of them clanked loudly upon the floor and Skystreaker took a step back, startled by his sudden loss of control.

"There's nothing fucking here," he spat. "Human scrap, nothing I can make any real use out of." He let out an angered shout then, hardly concerned about keeping a low-profile. If the humans here found him, he did not care. He was just about out of ideas anyway. "I didn't come all this way for things to fall apart now!"

"But..."

"But what?" He turned to her, his optics wide. How could things turn so bad in such a short time? Usually he retained a cool head, but the last twelve hours had gone from bad to worse. "We have to find Bumblebee and I can't do that if I haven't got the right equipment."

"The ground-bridge..."

"In the next room? You know, the one place where we're sure to be spotted?" Wheeljack made his way over to the large set of doors joining the back-room with the rest of the hangar. His brief burst of anger had resided, leaving him only mostly frustrated. He kicked open the doors then, sword drawn. The hangar interior before him was as he had left it, prior to leaving last night to meet with Jack. There were human soldiers out here, several of them, all of whom turned their heads to watch the Autobot Wrecker come barging inside with a sword in one hand. All of them raised their weapons, but none fired at him. Something else had caught their attention in the direction of the ground-bridge. A pulsing green light tinged with white. Wheeljack turned to look in its direction, surprised to see that a ground-bridge portal had opened up. From out of it stepped two distinctly Cybertronian figures, one of whom he recognized. The bulky but distinctly feminine shape of Wildstrike he would recognize anywhere. As for the other very male Cybertronian walking through, he did not recognize him. He was carrying a large rifle over one shoulder, so that was a bonus. Wheeljack could do with some guns of his own, as he only had his pistol and sword.

"Great timing," Skystreaker commented from behind him. The human soldiers took a moment to consider who they should shoot at, if anyone. Wildstrike stepped into the hangar, regarding the human soldiers with a curious gaze from her blue optics. As for the other Autobot with her, he kept his gun placed across one shoulder, his optic-ridge raised slightly. He had a similar crest to Ultra Magnus, but was slightly shorter than the Autobot Commander.

"Wheeljack?" Wildstrike looked his way, clearly confused as to why he had his weapons drawn and why he was looking so beat up. "What's going on here?"
Somewhere outside, an alarm sounded.

"I'll explain later," Wheeljack replied. He motioned to both Autobots to follow. Despite their reservations, they did so, all the while the soldiers watched them. None fired a shot, apparently on orders to hold back until reinforcements arrived. Those reinforcements, Wheeljack realised, were bearing down on them quickly. Both Wildstrike and her friend followed him into the back room. Her gaze went to Skystreaker and it scrunched up noticeably when she saw the Decepticon insignia on her chest.

"Wheeljack, what in the Pit are you doing with this 'Con?" Wildstrike went to draw her weapons but Wheeljack was quick to stop her, grabbing her right arm as she prepared to reshape it into a cannon.

"She's with me," Wheeljack said. He still had his doubts about this particular detail, as he had no real idea of just where Skystreaker's loyalties lay. Nonetheless, she was technically "with him" since following him everywhere likely counted as such. As for the other Autobot new arrival, he did not seem too fussed with Skystreaker's presence. He hefted his sizeable rifle in both hands, the barrel visibly glowing a blue-white.

"Who are you?" Wheeljack asked. Outside, he could hear the sounds of footsteps and vehicles roaring. This base was about to go on lockdown (for the second time today). He found it peculiar that none of the soldiers had come running in. Perhaps they knew that their conventional weapons would have little effect on their Cybertronian guests?

"This is Doubletake," Wildstrike said, nodding in the direction of the silver and black Autobot. "He's the Chief of Security in Iacon."

"A cop?" Wheeljack did not bother to hide his disdain of the police from his voice. Doubletake tilted his head slightly, picking up on this inflection.

"You don't like cops, Wheeljack?" Doubletake's voice was very male and very refined.

"I just think you guys are pretty much useless," Wheeljack said. "Like how you only show up after a crime's been committed. What good is that, huh?"

Doubletake said nothing. Instead, he glanced back through the doors and into the hangar's main hall. "Looks like these fleshlings are pulling out all the stops for our arrival." He was sort of right: about twenty soldiers had run into the hangar now, spreading out and taking positions behind cover. All of them trained their weapons in the direction of the Autobots, targeting them through the doorway.

"Is now really the time for conversation?" Skystreaker asked. "We'll get boxed in if we don't make a break for it."

"I'd like to know why we're being greeted like enemies by the humans," Wildstrike inquired. She turned to Skystreaker, apparently assuming that she was the cause of the problems here. "You wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that, would you?"

Wheeljack, as much as he would have liked to see the two females fight, stepped between them and did what he could to prevent any sort of conflict. Infighting was something he wanted to avoid.

"There'll be plenty of time for you two to slap each other later," Wheeljack said. "Like Skystreaker said, we need to go. Right now."

Doubletake put his rifle at his back, one elbow knocking a shelf near him. A box of emergency flares fell down, spilling the red cylinders across the floor and by his feet. Intrigued, he picked a few of them up. He stuck the end of one in his mouth, rolling it between his metal teeth like some kind of human toothpick. Wheeljack would have made a comment, were it not for what he saw enter the hangar.

Deadeye strode in as confident as ever. The human soldiers spread out around him, allowing him a clean field of fire into the back of the hangar. Wheeljack returned his gaze to the others, gesturing towards the door.

"We have to go," he said. His hold-out pistol in his left hand, he ducked in the doorway and fired off a shot. The Autobot expertly dodged the white beam, sending it by his right shoulder and out through the open hangar doors. Immediately all hell broke loose and the soldiers began shooting, the thunder of twenty assault rifles resounding throughout the hangar. Wheeljack put an arm in front of his face as to shield his optics from the hail of bullets. Behind him, the others rushed out through the rear entrance.

Once clear of the building, the four of them transformed. Wheeljack lead the way in his vehicle mode, tearing along the perimeter fence with the others following after him. Finally they came to the part he had cut open earlier and he barrelled straight through it, taking a chunk of the fence along with him. The four of them put a great deal of distance between them and the airbase very quickly. No one pursued, at least not at first, but by the time any helicopters had been put into the air the group was long gone.

Wheeljack could at least rest easy in the fact that they had slightly more help, so the trip back to Unit-E headquarters had not been a waste of time. He had salvaged parts of the beacon, for whatever good that might do him. He had only some slight idea of what he might use them for.

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

Deadeye did not give chase. Part of him simply did not want to. Being seen as an enemy by your fellow Autobots was not what he had signed up to the Taskforce. However, their attack against the people of Earth was something they would have to answer for. Justice had to be done and he was perfectly content with being the one to do it. However, he had other reasons for not pursuing the four Cybertronians. For starters, he did not like being so outnumbered. Wheeljack and Skystreaker he could handle, but the two new arrivals complicated things. It was their arrival here he had been sent to prevent, in a way.

Carver wanted the ground-bridge offline. Given the power requirements and technology needed to open a direct ground-bridge between Cybertron and Earth, the Unit-E headquarters was the only place on the planet that could receive a ground-bridge straight from Cybertron. That made it a vital point to control. And by 'control', in Deadeye's case, that meant shutting the whole thing down completely. There was even a large metal ring, about thirty metres in diameter, set into the floor with a short tunnel behind it. That was where the ground-bridge was channelled, the whole thing connected to a number of Cybertronian terminals. Without that stabilising field, there could be no more ground-bridges from that planet to here. Certainly none that would not collapse within short order.

Deadeye was no technology expert, certainly not on computers. Carver wanted him to ensure the ground-bridge would no longer function and he had not specified how Deadeye was to achieve this, so the Autobot did what he did best in this case: he started shooting. He shot each terminal several times over, sparks flying and smoke wafting out as each one was riddled with large fist-sized holes. Finally, he shifted his aim towards the stabilising ring and sent several shots into it, shearing one portion clean from the rest before the entire thing collapsed in on itself, streaks of energy running along it as the power was no longer contained. A shower of sparks erupted from much of the large metal ring before Deadeye sent a shot into the power conduit set into the floor beneath it. There was another explosion, a larger one than the rest, that sent fire racing down part of the conduit before the power was cut completely. Lowering his pistol, Deadeye regarded his handiwork with only the slightest sense of satisfaction. He had destroyed his only reliable means back to Cybertron, but he had also ensured that those Autobots here already would be stranded. It was a conflicted sensation he felt, no matter how many times he told himself it was for the best, a necessity.

With the ground-bridge gone, the Autobots on Earth were on their own.

 

Harbinger

There was no answer. The phone rang and rang, but no one picked up. Finally, it switched over to the answering machine and Jack heard himself telling the caller to leave a message. He did not bother and instead hung up the payphone and dialled the number again. Outside, the street was mostly empty and Ultra Magnus, in vehicle mode, was parked nearby. Fowler waited in the driver's seat, the window wound down as to provide some cool air in the harsh heat of the Nevada desert. It was about one o'clock in the afternoon in a tiny, fly-speck on a map town that was located in the middle of nowhere. There might have been thirty buildings tops, mostly small houses, dotted around a central diner, gas station and town hall (albeit the "hall" in question was hardly big enough to qualify as one). Jack was in a phone booth on the corner by the diner, the interior fairly warm. He had discarded his jacket sometime prior, leaving himself in a white shirt and black trousers. He had even unbuttoned his collar and thrown away his tie, as looking businesslike and presentable had become the least of his worries.

"Come on," he muttered as the phone on the other end of the line rang for the fourth time. He hung up then, as there was no point in letting it go on any longer. He would have to get back to the house himself.

He departed the phone booth and returned to Fowler, who watched him as he approached.

"Any luck?" Fowler asked.

"None." Jack could hardly contain his frustration. Today had gone from bad to worse, all within a short space of time. It was not something he had experienced for nine years. It occurred to him then that he had become far too content in his life during that time, free of any significant crisis and mostly free of Decepticons. This time around, it was not just Decepticons he had to worry about but all of the law enforcement authorities in the United States. At least out here, in this fly-speck-on-a-map town, there were no public surveillance cameras.

"I need to go to the house," Jack said. The passenger's side door opened and he climbed inside before sitting down. One hand went to the dashboard where he clutched it tightly, hard enough for his knuckles to turn white. As much as he wanted to keep a level-headed exterior, the fact that Miko might be in extreme danger was making this very difficult.

"That might be a mistake," Fowler said. He sounded grim, as he knew that he would not be able to talk Jack out of taking such a course of action. "If she's not answering the phone, they might have already got her..."

"Don't say that," Jack interrupted, his tone more incisive than he had intended. Fowler fell silent and there was a brief moment of awkwardness between the two. Slowly, Fowler nodded his head, understanding full well what Jack intended. The passenger side door closed then and Ultra Magnus' voice filtered through the speakers on the dashboard. He sounded his usual stern self, although there was a tinge of uncertainty audible within his voice.

"So, are we going to Jack's house?" He asked.

"Yeah." Jack answered the question before Fowler could get a word in. "And get us there quickly."

The engine shifted into gear and Ultra Magnus guided himself back onto the road. As soon as they were out of town, he essentially floored the accelerator, sending them shooting across the desert highways at a speed well beyond 'safe'. Jack remained uneasy, the anticipation and the fear eating him up inside. He had a feeling of what to expect when he got back to the house, but it was not a matter he wished to give any great amount of thought to until he was absolutely certain of what had happened.

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

When Ultra Magnus rolled up to the house, Jack immediately sensed that something was wrong. The front door was partially open, uncharacteristic of either him or Miko. Neither of them were careless enough to simply leave the house's entrance open like that. As soon as Ultra Magnus came to a halt on the side of the quiet suburban street, Jack pushed open the door and bolted out. Fowler could do little else but follow, albeit slower, his age and his weight not doing much to help his overall agility. Nonetheless, he pulled out his SIG pistol and checked the magazine. He had two full magazines, about thirty rounds in total. As for Jack, he was unarmed, yet he gave little thought to this as he pushed open the front door and stepped into the quiet interior of the house.

Jack resisted the urge to charge in completely. He knew that if someone had 'gotten' to Miko, it was very likely that they were still here. He had no gun on him, although there was one in the house. Miko had insisted they have at least one on the premises, "just in case". There was also his standard-issue sidearm, presumably where he had left it in his bedside drawer.

"Miko?" Jack called, somewhat gingerly. He had pretty much given up the element of surprise if there was anyone else in here. The house itself was lit in a rather subdued manner, a result of having all the blinds drawn, enough so that the sunlight filtered through them only partially. Slowly, he walked forwards, starting down the floor-boarded hallway that ran down the length of the house. To his left was a living room, to his right a partially open door that lead into a dining area and, in turn, a kitchen that was connected to it. From there, he would be able to access the garage and the outdoor patio that was behind it.

Further down were the bedrooms. It was outside the master bedroom that he found the first piece of evidence indicating that things were not quite right. On the floor, he saw the unmistakable red of two empty shotgun shell casings. He knelt down by the pair of them and picked one up, noting the '00 BUCK 70MM' that was lightly printed on the side of both. He dropped the casing, his heart pounding in his chest, before he rose to his feet again and pushed the bedroom door open completely. It took him a moment to register the fact that there were two bullet-holes embedded in the door-frame His attention was quickly diverted to the bed itself and the blood that was splattered across it. There were more bullet-holes, these in the wall behind him. The drawer in the nightstand was open and the holster that had contained his standard-issue sidearm was exposed, even if the gun itself was absent. Judging by the brass casings scattered across the room, someone had pulled his gun out and used it. They might have even been successful, if the blood on the bed-sheets and floor was anything to go by. Or that may very well have been Miko's blood, he had no idea. It was all very fresh, he could see this much.

Fowler appeared in the doorway behind him. His gaze went to the mess in the room and his eyes widened somewhat.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered. "Is that her blood?"

Jack approached the bed slowly before he put one finger to a splotch of it that was on the bed-sheets. It was still damp, a fresh spill. Whatever had happened here had happened very recently. The smaller holes that were in the mattress and the wall behind the bed indicated that someone had fired a few shotgun rounds into here and had likely caught Miko with the buckshot in the process.

"If they got her," Fowler said. "Where is she?"

That was a good question. Jack already had the many possibilities playing out in his mind, none of which were good. His heart pounding and his frustration on the rise, he stormed out of the bedroom and brushed by Fowler. The older man immediately fell into step behind him, knowing full well that he would have to reel in Agent Darby somehow, lest things only get worse for the both of them.

"She must have gone down fighting," Fowler commented. "That'd be trademark Miko..."

"Does it matter?" Jack spat. The anger and despair that had been building up in him for the past few hours finally exploded out of him then, his tone seething with it. Fowler looked understandably taken aback for a moment. "It doesn't fucking matter what happened here. They got her and she's probably dead by now. They've probably got guys outside ready to barge in here, ready to turn this place into a fucking shooting gallery!"

"It was your idea to come back here, Jack," Fowler said, his voice level. "I went along with it because I knew there'd be no talking you out of it. We've got to stick together, or else we're done. They want to get to you, Jack. They want to make you angry, to make you upset, to impair your judgement by turning it personal."

"It was already personal when it started," Jack replied. He reined in his anger a bit, aware that Fowler had a point in regards to keeping a clear head. "They've targeted the Autobots, our friends. And for sticking by our friends, they've targeted us as well. They're only making things worse for themselves by dragging Miko into this." Jack paused for a moment then, thinking over what to add next. An idea occurred to him, likely a dangerous one. "We've got to get to Rafael. They'll get him into this and they'll probably kill him while they're at it."

Before Fowler could reply, the phone in the kitchen began ringing. It broke the silence within the house suddenly, casting an ominous atmosphere over both men. Slowly, Jack walked through the partially open door to his left, stepping into the mostly grey and white kitchen. The phone continued to ring, twice, three times, before finally hitting the sixth ring.

"Don't pick it up, Jack," Fowler said from the doorway. However, his advice went unheeded and Jack snatched the phone out of its housing on the kitchen bench. Placing it to his ear, he half-expected it to be a telemarketer. However, he felt a shot of anger go through him when he heard Captain Van Cleef's voice coming down the line.

"Jacky-boy, is that you?" He spoke condescendingly, no doubt to further torment Jack. "Sound off, will you?"

"Van Cleef. What have you done with Miko?" Jack kept his voice as controlled as he could, despite the stress that was currently ravaging his state-of-mind.

"She's a fighter, that one. Took a few shots at me. Now she's currently gagging on some duct tape in the back of one of our cars. Not only is she a fighter, but she simply doesn't shut the hell up, you know?" He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in. "Don't worry, china. She took a few wounds herself, so she's not in much of a fighting state anymore. I guess she lost a bit too much blood, since she passed out about five minutes ago." He said all of this nonchalantly. Jack clutched the phone tighter and he heard the plastic of it audibly creak. Fowler watched him carefully from the doorway, the phone's volume up loud enough for him to be able to hear what Van Cleef was saying.

"How did you know to call here and now?" Jack asked.

"Don't sound so surprised. We've had that place bugged for three years. You and your girlfriend have been under surveillance that entire time. Kind of puts all those craps you've taken into a new perspective, doesn't it?"

"You son of a bitch. What do you want? You've already made me a fugitive."

Van Cleef chuckled. He sounded smug and was most likely smiling all the while he spoke. Jack wished he could have reached through the phone and strangled the man.

"Give it up, boet. The cops are on their way to your place to investigate the recent 'disturbance'. I suggest you turn yourself in. It'll make things easier for you and easier for your friends, the Autobots included."

Jack should have expected as much. Fowler walked out of view and headed for the front of the house, where he peered through one set of blinds to view the street. No police cars had showed up yet, but the distant sound of sirens indicated that they would be here within minutes.

"Jack, hang up that damn phone." Fowler called from the living room and Jack, for a moment, considered doing just that. Fowler walked back into view at the kitchen doorway a few seconds later. He had his pistol clutched in his right hand.

"This is your chance to end it, at least your part in things," Van Cleef said. "And you'll get your girlfriend back. She could visit you in prison, that is if you don't get the death penalty. Treason's a pretty big offence."

"Don't listen to him," Fowler said. "Miko could be dead for all we know. Even if she isn't, he could kill her, regardless of what you do now. And do you really want to give him the satisfaction of turning yourself in?"

Jack looked over to Fowler, feeling more conflicted than he knew he should have been. He could not just give up now, not when his friends were at risk. "The Autobots need our help. This entire country needs our help."

"Is that Fowler?" Van Cleef asked. "I wouldn't listen to that old fart. Give him fifteen years and he'll probably wind up senile and sitting in a puddle of his own piss in a nursing home somewhere. A fitting retirement, don't you think?"

"I'll kill you," Jack said. He had never actually killed another human being before, but he was sure he could make Van Cleef a first time. That, and Colonel Carver. Still, he had no idea just how he was going to find either of them, short of giving himself up and even if he did that, it would be the police that met him, not the Taskforce. They were clever, he could give them that. They were keeping their distance. Let the police handle it, Jack and Fowler were wanted fugitives after all.

"You ever killed a man, Jack?" There was a pause. Neither of them spoke during that moment. "I'll take your silence as a 'no'. As for your decision now, it could seal the fate of your friends. Who's next on the list, from your little band of heroes? Rafael Esquivel? Or what about your mother, June?" He was just taunting him now. "Make your decision, Darby. It's now or never, as the Elvis song goes."

Jack pressed the 'end call' button before he threw the phone towards the wall. There, it shattered into dozens of pieces, most of which scattered throughout the kitchen. Fowler approached him, putting one hand reassuringly upon his shoulder.

"Come on," Fowler said. "We can't stay here."

Jack nodded in understanding. Despite his rage and the sheer stress of everything, they had work to do. If Miko was still alive, he would find her, this much he would make sure of. And as for Rafael, they would get him before the Taskforce did.

"I have to get something," Jack said. Fowler gave him a frown but Jack had run off down the hallway before he could say anything. He found his way into the garage where Miko had left her car. At the wooden bench at the back wall, Jack pulled open one of the drawers and felt some relief when he saw the revolver laying within. He picked it up and blew the dust off of it before he took the pair of boxes of bullets that had been stored in the drawer with it. With these items in hand, he ran back into the house and followed Fowler outside. Both men crossed the lawn and made their way to where Ultra Magnus waited for them in vehicle mode. He flung open his doors and they both climbed in, the engine starting immediately and the doors slamming shut behind them. Further down the road, a pair of police cars appeared, sirens wailing.

Jack watched them shrink in the rear view mirror as Ultra Magnus went trundling down the suburban streets. His decision had been made, his resolve strengthened. The Taskforce had only made things worse for themselves, something he would make sure to prove to them.

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

The Harbinger was a Decepticon cruiser, shot down many years before and essentially left to rust away in the Nevada desert, tucked into a valley far from any human eyes. Wheeljack had been here only once before, and that had only been a passing visit while the other Autobots had attempted to salvage what they could. Then, it had been nothing but an empty shell, much of the vessel a wreck from the crash it had endured. Now, it was probably his only chance of attaining the equipment he needed, as Unit-E headquarters had not given him anything terribly useful and going back to Cybertron was out of the question. However, it had not been his idea to come here. He had all but forgotten about the ship's existence. No, Doubletake had suggested it as they had gone speeding across the desert, putting as much distance between them and the airbase where Unit-E's headquarters had been located. Apparently, the Autobot Security Chief was convinced that they would find some useful equipment in the husk of a ship. Wheeljack was unconvinced, but the ship itself would make a decent enough hide-out until they came up with a proper plan.

Wheeljack, Wildstrike, Doubletake and Skystreaker arrived at the ship's entrance. It jutted partially from the sand and the rocks, most of it buried. The four of them emerged from their vehicle forms and Doubletake was the first to approach the ship's one accessible entrance. He had no qualms about simply kicking open the mostly rusted door, tearing it from its moorings with a surprisingly loud creak. Beyond that, the ship's darkened and dusty corridors travelled deep underground.

"We stripped this place clean a while back," Wheeljack said. He stood by Doubletake, watching the Autobot curiously as he pulled a red emergency flare from somewhere on his armour. He stuck the end of it in his mouth, rolling it between his metal teeth absently. Skystreaker and Wildstrike stood nearby, keeping some distance between one another. The distrust was blatant and somewhat understandable, given Wildstrike's Elite Guard status and Skystreaker's Decepticon background. She still carried the emblem on her chest, so her Decepticon nature was clear to all who laid eyes on her.

"You know, I'm curious about what brought you two to Earth," Wheeljack said. Doubletake turned to him, an optic ridge raised. "Your timing was spot on, by the way."

"There was a bit of trouble back on Cybertron," Doubletake said. He started into the ship and Wheeljack followed him.

"What kind of trouble?"

"Some time after you left with the Commander, some Decepticons launched an attack on the Iacon control centre," Doubletake explained. The pair, followed by Wildstrike with Skystreaker tagging along slightly further back, made their way deeper into the shipwreck. The walls were covered with dirt and sand, with cables hanging from the ceiling and broken computer terminals scattered about. "We fought them off, but most of them got killed in the fighting. One of them we captured mentioned something about their leader being on Earth, so Wildstrike and I decided to come here and get in touch with you and the others." Doubletake paused as they came to a door. It was partially open, enough for him to fit his hands through and force it the rest of the way. It grinded on its moorings loudly, the noise echoing throughout the dead ship's interior.

"I'm betting their leader's Cyclonus," Wheeljack said. "He's the big shot Decepticon here. Calls himself a 'General'. Real classy type. And a real good liar, if what you say is true."

"Maybe." Doubletake rolled the flare between his metal teeth as he walked into the control room past the door. Part of the wall nearby had been opened up, the panelling gone to reveal a makeshift lever connected to several cables that snaked across the floor and into the wall. Ratchet had likely set that up when the Autobots had come here years before to salvage what they could, a means of powering up the ship to an extent. Doubletake had probably read reports on those actions, judging from the way he navigated the ship as if he had been here before.

"He wanted to negotiate," Wheeljack added. He stopped by the main control panel while Doubletake put a hand to the lever and pulled. There was a whirring sound from somewhere deep in the ship as the main power generator spun into life, switching on the many lights dotted throughout. The control room and the corridor outside became bathed in a subdued bluish glow. The main screen at the wall ahead switched on, reverting to a standard blue display as the system booted itself into life. Information in Cybertronian glyphs scrolled across the screen and gradually, as the seconds went by, the display shaped itself into something properly discernible. Ship status information appeared on the left half of it, with a schematic appearing next to it and many sections being highlighted in the red. Half of the ship was missing.

"He was full of shit from the beginning," Wheeljack said. Doubletake, with the large, oversized rifle stuck to his back, approached the control panel before the main screen and began tapping away at the holographic buttons with his fingers. He seemed to know exactly what he was searching for.

Wildstrike stopped nearby and crossed her arms.

"The Decepticon we interrogated did not say he followed Cyclonus," she said.

"I doubt he'd give up that kind of information..."

"He said he was a follower of Nova Prime. We didn't gain much more from him, since he succumbed to his wounds."

Nova Prime? Wheeljack frowned. He had heard that name before, but only in passing. One of the original thirteen Primes, Nova Prime was the sort of mystical figure that Wheeljack had never much believed in. The old myths and legends were just that.

"And he said his leader was on Earth?" Wheeljack asked. "Because there's no Nova Prime on Earth." At least, I don't think there is.

"Nova Prime's an old legend. I had to study history at the Elite Guard Academy." Wildstrike turned to Wheeljack as she recited off this information matter-of-factly. "He was an expansionist and a supremacist. The most morally dubious of all the thirteen original Primes. According to the stories, the other Primes turned against him. They must have killed him or something, the sources contradict each other."

"And there's a Cult about him now?"

"There's Cults for all of them now," Doubletake interjected. "A lot of Decepticons, and plenty of Autobots, are turning to faith in this post-war world." He paused, surveying the screen ahead. He appeared to be lightly chewing on the flare he had jutting from his mouth.

"What's with the flare?" Wheeljack asked.

"Hmm?" Doubletake turned his head, an optic ridge raised.

"The flare. In your mouth. You obsessive-compulsive or something?"

Doubletake shook his head.

"No. Chewing on it helps me concentrate." He turned his gaze back to the screen. Wheeljack felt somewhat lost in his current situation, especially since Doubletake seemed so sure of what he was doing. The Autobot Wrecker's current state of mind had become one of pessimism, a significant change from his usually cynical attitude. Being held prisoner by humans and hunted down would do that to an Autobot, especially one like him.

"We're not going to find anything in here," Wheeljack said. "This place was stripped clean more than once."

"I've been on ships like this before. I've searched them for contraband. That includes guns. And that's one thing we're going to need if we're going to deal with Cyclonus and the rest of the Decepticons here on Earth, as well as those humans you and Magnus apparently pissed off enough for them to shoot at you."

"That wasn't our fault."

Doubletake said nothing in response to that.

"Have you got a plan, Wheeljack?" Wildstrike asked. Wheeljack looked at her. He had no plan, beyond 'killing those who wanted to kill him'. And that in itself was not so much a 'plan' as it was an 'idea'. An idea he intended to put into practice, hence the 'plan' issue.

"I was going to put something together to find Bumblebee," Wheeljack said. "I think the 'Cons got him and they either brainwashed him or replaced him with a double, maybe a Shifter." He still had the signal beacon he had found at Unit-E headquarters, even if he had no real idea how he would make any real use of that. "And Knock Out. Can't forget about that guy. He's gone missing too."

"What do the humans have to do with this?"

"I don't know. They're probably working with the 'Cons. Just a wild guess." Wheeljack was still very confused as to what exactly was going on where the Decepticons and the Taskforce were involved. Were those two factions really working together?

"Well, if you want to find Bumblebee, you could probably use the scanners here," Doubletake said. "Why do you think I came here? With this, I can do a continent-wide scan for Decepticon energy signatures."

"They'll be disguised..."

"Weapon signatures. There's four of us, five if you count Magnus. We need guns. That's partly why you went to Unit-E, isn't it?"

Wheeljack nodded. Doubletake was striking him as a bit of a 'know-it-all', the sort of individual that Wheeljack made it a point to avoid, if only because he would likely develop the urge to tear out his voice-box.

"You're right, of course. Cyclonus' ship will be cloaked from the scanners. But any Cybertronian weaponry that isn't on that ship won't be. And we'll be able to track your friend Deadeye from here if we tune the scanners properly."

"Let me guess," Wheeljack said. He did not bother to hide the disdain from his voice. "You're a computer expert as well as a cop?"

"My knowledge of the systems here is adequate," Doubletake said. "And it's all I could think of doing on such short notice. Now that it's apparent that both Wildstrike and I are stuck here, with you and your Decepticon friend, it's in our best interests to work together and get to the bottom of what's going on. Cyclonus, the Taskforce, Nova Prime, whatever's going on, we'll find out."

"Here to save the day, huh?" Wheeljack had not asked for their help and he certainly did not like appearing vulnerable to these two. They had literally showed up out of nowhere, yet he could not deny how helpful they had been so far. His chances of getting at either Colonel Carver or Cyclonus (or even both) had greatly increased since the arrival of Wildstrike and Doubletake. Of course, if he found out where either of them were, he would probably head off on his own. He found he worked at his best that way, unless he had help from his fellow Wreckers. Not that there were many of them left now. If only Bulkhead had come through that ground-bridge instead of Doubletake.

"It'll be a while before I can rig the scanners here to find what we need," Doubletake said. "Since you're the only qualified engineer and demolitions expert here, Wheeljack, you'll have to do the heavy lifting. The scanning array on this ship needs to be patched up and aligned properly."

Doubletake struck him as just a bit too friendly. He was acting as if he had known Wheeljack for years. Maybe it was just the way he was, even if it was somewhat at odds with his gravelly voice.

The conversation was interrupted when Ultra Magnus' voice filtered through his comms system. Wheeljack stood, listening carefully, surprised to hear the chief after all of this time.

"Wheeljack, do you read me?"

"Chief, what's going on?" Wheeljack said. The others in the room turned to look at him. From the outside, it looked like he was talking to himself. Humans sometimes say that's the first sign of madness.

"Things have become complicated."

"Things were already complicated," Wheeljack replied. "What's happened now?"

"I'm taking Darby and Fowler to find Rafael. The Taskforce are on their way to him as well. If they get to him before we do, there will likely be a fight. I may need backup."

"Well, chief, you'll never guess who showed up when I went to Unit-E." Wheeljack adjusted his comms, "opening" it up to the others so that they could chime in. "Wildstrike and Doubletake are here with me."

"Sir," Wildstrike said, becoming stiffer than usual. These Elite Guard types were often like that, save for Smokescreen who had struck Wheeljack as being a bit too boisterous for his own good. Wildstrike, though, she had 'by-the-book' written all over her. She and Ultra Magnus would be a perfect match, not that the chief ever showed any interest in that sort of thing.

"Wildstrike, has Wheeljack briefed you on the situation?"

"Partially." Wildstrike narrowed her optics towards Wheeljack. "If you need my help sir, just give me your location and I'll get there ASAP."

"I'm transmitting my intended destination to you right now. And Wheeljack, are you coming?"

"Doubletake and I are going to refit the scanners on the Harbinger, see if we can't find some 'Cons with them. I'll come along if you need me to, chief. You were just as unarmed as I was, last I checked."

Doubletake took his rifle from his back and handed it to Wildstrike.

"This is Doubletake, sir. Don't worry about a thing." Doubletake interjected. "Wildstrike's bringing along some heavy firepower with her." He looked towards the female, tapping one hand on the side of the weapon. "You take good care of that, all right?"

Wheeljack detected genuine concern in his voice. Apparently Doubletake was just as attached to his rifle as Wheeljack was to his swords (or just 'sword' now that he was down to just one).

"You still want me to come, boss?" Wheeljack asked. There was a pause on the other end of the line. Could the Decepticons track this signal? Ultra Magnus would certainly have done his best to secure it, but nothing was ever completely secure.

"You stay with Doubletake. If you can get those scanners working, we'll have an easier mission ahead of us. And Wildstrike, I'll see you soon."
"Always glad to lend a hand, sir." Wildstrike looked to the others. "I'll get going." She ducked out then, brushing by Skystreaker, glancing at her cautiously as she went by.

"Is Skystreaker still with you, Wheeljack?"

"Yeah, she is." Wheeljack looked towards her. She returned his gaze and he found himself smirking for no proper reason.

"You keep an eye on her."

"You don't trust her, boss?"

"Just keep an eye on her. I want to know how she figures into all of this. For now, Ultra Magnus out."

The connection was cut then, leaving Wheeljack thankfully free of the Autobot Commander's voice breaking into his head. He eyed Skystreaker carefully, still unsure of what to think of her.

"You think you could lend a hand round here?" Wheeljack asked her. He walked towards her and she raised one optic ridge slightly.

"I don't know. The physical labour might scratch my finish." She smiled at him. Wheeljack rolled his optics in response. Doubletake watched the pair with a straight face, rolling the flare between his metal teeth absently.

"All the better then. I like a girl who isn't afraid to get her hands dirty."

 

Bit of a longer chapter, this one.
------------------------------

Rendezvous

It was about three o'clock when Ultra Magnus came to a halt outside Rafael's home, a short drive outside of Las Vegas. The now twenty-one year old aspiring scientist had not travelled too far from Jasper when he had gone out into the world and he had maintained close ties to Unit-E throughout the last nine years, an organization that was very much situated in the heartland of Nevada. His life was pretty much set, although Jack had a feeling the events of the last twenty-four hours had done a thorough job of completely ruining that.

Rafael's home was a modest property, one nestled out of the way on a hill not far from a posh country club. The house itself was nothing too fancy, being a single floor affair of a fairly average size, but the government had been kind enough to pay for most of its selling price given his connections to Unit-E and Fowler's own recommendations. Beyond the property, there was desert and hills for as far as the eye could see. The city of Las Vegas with its colourful buildings was far off in the distance. The sky above was mostly cloudless, the heat as unrelenting as it so often was. The country club some distance away was a lush green that contrasted starkly against the yellow and brown of the desert, situated a fair drive down the hill and past several houses similar to Rafael's.

Jack sat in the passenger's seat, eyeing the house carefully. He did not even know if Rafael was home. He had tried calling ahead, only to receive no answer. For all he knew, the Taskforce could have got here first. He turned to Fowler, who was seated in the driver's position. The older man was likely having similar thoughts. They could walk into that house and end up in a trap, much like how their trip to find Miko had very much been one. Albeit a trap that Captain Van Cleef had hoped the police could take care of, not one that the Taskforce itself could be really bothered with. Van Cleef was counting on Jack bowing out and giving himself up. The more Jack thought about this, the more he wanted to prove to the man just how badly he had misjudged him. Fighting Decepticons was one thing, going up against a human black ops group could hardly be any worse, could it? Maybe it was naive for him to think this, as he had seen what the Taskforce was capable of first-hand. They had only slightly more caution regarding innocent lives as the Decepticons had, and since the Decepticons had none, then that was saying something.

"Are we going in?" Fowler asked him.

Jack, his train of thought broken, looked up and simply nodded. The doors flung open then and both men climbed out of the vehicle.

"Keep watch out here, Magnus," Fowler said. He slapped the panelling on the side of the vehicle. Ultra Magnus shifted his engine into gear and moved further up the street before he parked off to the side.

Fowler kept his pistol in his jacket. Jack had since loaded the revolver he had acquired and kept it tucked underneath the belt at his waist, with the spare bullets filling his pockets. There was no one else out here, so he did not need to worry about any locals seeing him walk up to the front of the house with a gun visible at his waist. He rang the doorbell, hearing the chime resound throughout the building. After a moment, he rang it again. He was sweating fairly profusely now, partly because of the heat and partly because of the stress. He did not want to lose Rafael, not so soon after losing Miko. Even if the latter were still alive, he had no idea where she was or how he would even get to her if he did know. It was something that ate away at his mind, nibbling away at his resolve and it was the kind of nibble that would only worsen if he did not find Rafael.

Finally, the door did open. Jack breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Rafael, although the confusion evident on the younger man's face was understandable. He was tall, as tall as Jack, and was of an average build. His wavy brown hair had been cut fairly short, giving him a more businesslike appearance. He wore a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and he was currently dressed in a dark blue polo shirt and baggy cargo pants. He looked as if he had just woken up, from the way he rubbed his eyes and how his hair appeared unkempt.

"Jack, what are you doing here?" He asked. His eyes went to Fowler and he raised his eyebrows, confusion dancing across his face. "And Fowler?"

"Have you seen the news?" Jack asked. He stepped inside, brushing past Rafael in a manner somewhat more forceful than he had intended.

"I had a late night," Rafael replied. Fowler followed Jack inside and closed the door behind them. The inside of the house, with the living room to the right and a hallway ahead that travelled down its length, was amazingly tidy. There was no clutter, not even on the mantelpiece nearby which was surprisingly lacking of actual display items. There was a framed picture on one wall, a few years old photograph of the Esquivel family with Rafael in the middle. The television was switched on, but instead of news there was a tacky game show being aired.

There was a large window at the front, in the living room. The curtains were partially open and Jack walked over to it, peering through it to look out onto the street. Ultra Magnus was still visible, parked across the cobblestone drive way. He maintained a watchful eye on their surroundings, even if it did not immediately appear that he was.

At one end of the living room was a 'shrine' of sorts, as the Esquivel family had been churchgoers and even though Rafael was not quite a religious person, he had a photo of his father on a shelf there, along with a small statue of Christ on the cross and a painting of the Virgin Mary. Jack sometimes wondered if he could ever get into that sort of thing, even if recent events had shown him that if there was a higher power, it did not give a shit about him or anyone else he knew for that matter.

"When did you wake up?" Jack asked.

Rafael glanced at the digital watch at his left wrist.

"About eleven," he replied.

"Jesus," Jack muttered. "What do you do all night?"

"Uh...work, mostly."

Jack nodded slowly. Rafael had changed a fair bit in the nine years since the Decepticon-Autobot conflict had ended. "I'm doing a research project, through correspondence. A lot of staring at a computer screen and sorting algorithms, that sort of thing. And even after I've done all that, I get caught up with my own personal projects."

"Aren't you on a break?"

Rafael nodded slowly. Vacation meant little to him. If anything, he much preferred working, even if he was supposed to be relaxing at home.

"I can't help it, Jack," Rafael said. "I can't just sit at home and play computer games all day. It just doesn't feel right to me."

Jack stepped away from the window. He walked over to the television set and put a finger to one of the buttons on the side, pressing it repeatedly as to flick through the channels.

"You do know we're wanted fugitives, right?" He asked.

"What?"

"Fowler and I. We're wanted fugitives." Jack found a news report where they replayed Colonel Carver's speech from earlier, complete with unflattering mug-shots of both Jack and Fowler. Jack motioned Rafael to watch and he saw the younger man's eyes widen noticeably as he saw the mug-shots in question. His surprise and confusion quickly morphed into something even more serious when footage of Bumblebee firing on the President's helicopter played for what was likely the umpteenth time today. 'Alien terrorists' at work.

"Hang on, what?" Rafael rushed forwards to get a closer look. Seeing Bumblebee take down a helicopter had certainly caught his attention. "What's going on? What did 'Bee do?"

"There's no real time to explain," Jack said. "We've got black ops guys after us. And they're coming after you."

Rafael turned to face him, his face scrunched up into a disbelieving grimace. Fowler stood nearby, keeping watch through the window. His hand drifted close to where he was keeping his pistol.

"What? How do you know they're coming after me?"

"Because one of them told me." Jack would have liked to have properly eased Rafael into the situation, but there was no real time for that. The longer they stayed here, the more likely it was for the Taskforce to rock up and for trouble to start.

"Pack your things," Jack added. "We have to leave."

"What?" Rafael was apparently at a loss for words, since 'what' was about all he had managed to muster in the last minute or so. "You can't just come here and drag me to God knows where..."

"Raf, listen to me." Jack put on a more forceful tone. "The Autobots are being hunted down. Ultra Magnus is outside right now waiting for us. Fowler and I have had to dodge cops and black ops guys since this morning. I was in the middle of a battle only hours ago because the Taskforce turned against me. They were shooting at me, Raf. And they'll shoot at you, they've got no problems doing that. They want me dead, they want Fowler dead and they want the Autobots dead."

"But I thought the Taskforce..."

"Were trustworthy? So did I. It's not every day your own country turns against you." He paused, letting his words sink in. "That's why it's important that you grab your things and come with me right now. This is bigger than us, and it's bad. And if we die and the Autobots die, then the future of this country, and of humanity in general, could be heading down a real bad path. That's why they want us dead. Because we're the ones who could completely ruin their plans."

"And what are their plans?"

Jack shrugged. He could only speculate as to what the Decepticons on Earth were planning, but as for Colonel Carver, he got the impression that the man had a coup d'état in mind. That, and he had his own designs for humanity's future.

"Shit," Fowler said. Jack walked over to the window and looked through it to the front of the property. Several men in black assault vests and tan combat outfits had come running from the shrubs and trees that lined the property, each one armed with either a submachine gun or a shotgun. They seemingly came out of nowhere, presumably having left their vehicles behind some distance away as to make a stealthy approach. At the front, there were about a dozen of them in total. They spread out across the lawn, weapons at the ready.

"Is this what you were talking about?" Rafael asked. Jack turned to him and saw the fear in his eyes. Jack could feel it himself, but he did his best to hide it. There was no real escape open to them right now, save for Ultra Magnus who would likely get caught up holding these people off.

"You got a car?" Jack asked.

"Yeah. It's in the garage."

"Fetch the keys. We're leaving."

Fowler turned to them. By now, he had pulled his SIG pistol from his jacket and had it clutched in his right hand.

"We're just going to drive away from these guys?" Fowler sounded understandably sceptical. "They've probably got a chopper on the way. And they've likely got guys moving in on the building's rear."

"We have to try," Jack said. Even he did not have a great deal of faith in the 'running away' tactic. However, it was really all he could think of at the moment. He and Fowler had been improvising for most of today, a little bit more would not make much of a difference.

Jack glanced through the window. There looked to be a dozen of them all up, plus one very familiar figure who appeared to be directing them. Captain Van Cleef was in his usual black uniform, complete with blue beret. He carried a pump-action shotgun as he came striding out of the bushes. And, somewhat foolishly, Jack looked straight at him. Their gazes met and a smile crept onto the Captain's face. He motioned to the operatives to move forward. It was as if he had been looking forward to this. Knowing him, he probably had been. A way to take out one major problem with a minimum of legwork. Well, Jack was not going to make things easy on him. Outnumbered and outgunned, they at least had Ultra Magnus here. And even though he was unarmed, a veteran Autobot warrior without a weapon still made for an imposing target.

Jack cocked his .38 snub-nosed revolver. He had never needed to actually kill a fellow human being before. It was not something he thought he would ever need to do. For all the proof and knowledge they had of hostile alien races, it appeared that humanity would never get above its desire to kill one another.

There were a few reasons why Jack had agreed to join Unit-E. Hoping to unite humanity on some sort of common ground in response to alien threats was one of them. The Taskforce had promised something similar, albeit with a far more active involvement. Now, though, they had turned against him, simply for standing up in the defence of his alien friends. Maybe he was a traitor, but a traitor to whatever warped cause the Taskforce was fighting for.

An operative carrying an Anti-Material Cannon appeared from within the bushes. These people had obviously come prepared for Cybertronian involvement. Van Cleef motioned the operatives to flank and somewhere at the back of the house, there came a very audible thump!

"They're at the back!" Fowler shouted. He started down the hallway, pistol at the ready. Jack remained at the front of the house and promptly hit the floor, dragging Rafael down with him, when some of the operatives opened fire. Submachine guns sounded off, the rapid brack-brack-brack of multiple automatic weapons firing echoed loudly across the property. The front window shattered, showering Rafael and Jack with shards of glass. Parts of the couch in front of it was ripped to pieces, fabric tearing away and white foam spilling out as 9mm and .45 ACP rounds tore into it. Jack and Rafael remained low, with Jack crawling along the floor in the direction of a doorway ahead. This lead into the kitchen, a place he figured would be slightly better for defence than the exposed living room.

Fowler came to the laundry at the rear just as an operative came storming in. This one carried a shotgun and went to raise it as soon as he laid eyes upon Fowler. The Agent was quicker on the trigger, planting two bullets through the operative's vest. The operative pulled the trigger, his aim wide as he stumbled backwards through the doorway. The buckshot found its home in a washing machine on Fowler's left, causing the top of it to explode in a shower of sparks and metal fragments. Fowler stumbled backwards, watching as the operative tumbled back down the steps and landed in a heap on the dirt outside.

Two of the operatives came charging through the window at the living room, the first of which dived through it and hit the ground in a somersault. Jack rose to his feet by the doorway while Rafael, somewhat understandably, remained prone on the living room floor with his hands covering his ears. He had never been in a situation quite like this, nor had Jack for that matter, but where the adrenaline made Rafael practically freeze up, Jack on the other hand felt the urge to stand his ground and fight back. The first operative through the window came up firing an MP5K, hosing the wall by Jack with bullets. Plaster exploded outwards, covering Jack in white dust as he raised his revolver and let off a shot. This one hit the operative in the neck and for a moment Jack, upon realising just what he had done, remained standing where he was, stunned as blood spurted out of the gaping neck wound. The operative fell backwards, blood spilling across the beige carpet. Jack rushed forwards upon seeing the second operative come jumping in through the window. He picked up Rafael with one arm, dragging him to his feet while his free-hand aimed the revolver and began pulling the trigger. One, two and then three shots were fired. The operative twitched and convulsed with each impact before finally falling backwards, disappearing behind the couch.

Fowler ran into the kitchen then as an operative appeared at the window there. There was a spray of automatic weapons fire and the glass shattered, bullets hammering into the kitchen bench-top. Fowler ducked, letting out a cry of pain as a bullet struck him in the left arm. Nonetheless, he raised his pistol and began shooting, emptying several rounds into the operative's direction. Spots of blood erupted at his chest and he fell backwards, emitting a pained grunt. Fowler's magazine clicked on empty and he ducked behind the kitchen bench, one hand going into his jacket to find a new magazine.

Another operative came storming in then. Jack stepped into the kitchen as he raced inside, levelling his submachine gun as he quickly surveyed the room. Jack fired a shot from his revolver, catching the operative in the shoulder. He stumbled briefly and Jack went to fire again, only to find that the weapon was empty.

Fowler stood up then, his gun still empty. However, he lunged for the operative instead, punching him square across the jaw, causing him to fall backwards against the wall. Fowler reached for the wooden block housing the many assorted kitchen knives on the bench here, pulling out the biggest one. He did not hesitate to plunge it into the man's neck, severing an artery and sending blood spurting out across his jacket.

Jack watched this with wide eyes. He had hardly figured Fowler capable of such an act. The older man turned to him, leaving the body of the operative to slump lifelessly to the floor, smearing the white wallpaper behind it with blood.

"You can't hesitate, Jack," he said. "These people sure as hell won't."

Somewhere outside, there was the unmistakable whirr of a Cybertronian transforming. Ultra Magnus went running by the window, heading for the front of the house in an effort to defend it. Jack stepped through the sliding door leading out of the kitchen and into the backyard. Someone fired a shotgun from somewhere up ahead, blowing a chunk out of the wall near him. He stepped back into the cover of the doorway, leaning around it as he searched for the shooter. There were two operatives in the backyard, one of whom had crouched down by the fence and was pointing a shotgun in Jack's general direction. He let off another shot, sending a shower of brick dust pluming into Jack's face.

Ultra Magnus stepped into view, knocking over the fence with one leg as he stepped in front of Jack, shielding him from view of the shooter. However, somewhere an Anti-Material Cannon fired and there was a small explosion at the Autobot Commander's back. He fell forwards, smoke pluming from the small hole that had been punched through the armour there.

"Magnus! Get us out of here!" Jack shouted. He heard a subdued metal clanking noise from the front of the house and turned to look into the living room. A grenade had landed in the middle of that room, a noticeably red grenade, cylindrical in shape. Jack dived to the floor, taking Rafael down with him, as the incendiary grenade detonated. A massive burst of flame filled the living room, scorching the furniture and floors. Some of the heat washed over into the kitchen, smoke pouring out of the newly-created fires. The Taskforce was going to burn the place down. Flames licked at the little shrine in the living room, melting away the framed photo of Rafael's father. Christ on the cross continued looking solemn, even as the intense heat melted the statue into a runny mess.

Ultra Magnus balled a hand into a fist as he was down on all fours. He swatted aside one of the operatives in the backyard, sending him flying into the wooden fence where the impact sent him straight through it, wood panels and all. Fowler ran for the door, heading out into the backyard. Jack followed, with one hand clutching one of Rafael's arms. The younger man looked dazed, understandable given the situation. Jack was doing all he could to remain in control.

Outside, the side-gate was abruptly forced open. Van Cleef stepped into view, shotgun raised. Fowler turned to face him, firing off a shot from his pistol that clipped the Captain in the upper arm. Ahead, Ultra Magnus had shifted back into his truck mode, both doors open. Jack began to run towards it, dragging Rafael along as he went.

Fowler fired another shot, blood dripping down his left arm from the wound he had received moments earlier. Van Cleef hit the ground, rolling to one side before he fired a shot. The buckshot connected with Fowler's chest. Jack bundled Rafael into the driver's cabin of the truck before turning around, watching with increasing horror as Fowler fell backwards, blood all over the front of his shirt and jacket.

Jack saw Van Cleef rising to his feet. The young agent began to fumble with his revolver while the Captain started to advance, followed by a pair of operatives. All three of them began to fire their weapons, hammering Ultra Magnus' side with a hail of bullets and buckshot. Jack stumbled backwards into the driver's cabin, dropping a handful of .38 bullets as he went. The door slammed shut and the engine kicked into life, sending them roaring across the backyard before they went straight through the far fence.

"Where's Fowler?" Rafael yelled. tears were streaming down his face. Jack looked at him, somewhat vacantly as the reality of what had happened began to hit home. Nonetheless, he took a deep breath and continued to load his revolver using whatever bullets he could dig out of his pockets. Ahead, Ultra Magnus sent them trundling down a hill, flattening some dry shrubs as they went. The ground levelled out abruptly as they came onto a winding narrow road. Ultra Magnus swerved, sending them by several houses similar to Rafael's. As for Rafael's house, it was now in the process of burning down, black smoke pouring from the flames and rising high over the desert.

"Where is he?" Rafael screamed and Jack remained silent. Ultra Magnus did not say anything either. What was there to say, really? There was nothing they could do now but get as far away from the Taskforce as possible. That in itself would be tricky, Jack knew this, even now they were being pursued. Above, a jet roared into view, distinctly Cybertronian in its appearance. The noise caught the attention of both humans, who peered up through the windshield at the jet as it came swooping down low. For a moment, Jack thought it might have been Skystreaker. However, the fact that it sent a pair of missiles zooming their way quickly dashed that possibility.

"Hold on," Ultra Magnus said. He braked abruptly, one of the missiles sweeping over them before it slammed into the road up ahead. The explosion caused the ground beneath to shake, dirt and debris raining down upon the driver's cabin. Ultra Magnus was quick to put the engine back into gear, sending them shooting forwards as the second missile hit the road to their left. The whole vehicle buckled at the proximity of the explosion, but the Autobot Commander was quick to regain control.

The jet shot overhead and began to rise in altitude, rolling to the left slightly as it prepared to make another pass. Ultra Magnus floored the accelerator, sending them hurtling forwards, tearing down the narrow, winding road. The Decepticon jet had turned around now, this time bringing its nose-cannon to bear. A stream of high-calibre tracer rounds rained down on the road around Ultra Magnus, causing the Autobot Commander to drive in a zig-zag in an effort to avoid the hail of fire. The bullets tore into the road and some pinged into Ultra Magnus himself, one of which shot straight through the driver's cabin and narrowly missed Rafael. The Autobot grunted from the pain but kept on driving, hardly one to let a few minor wounds stop him.

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

Deadeye arrived on the scene of the burning house just in time to see the Decepticon jet shoot by. He shifted himself out of his vehicle form, coming to stand on the narrow road at the front of the property. Here, Taskforce people milled about, including Van Cleef who was sporting a bleeding gash at his upper left arm. He looked up at the Autobot as he arrived, all the while a medic bandaged up his wound.

"Don't just stand there," Van Cleef barked. Deadeye narrowed his optics; he had begun to dislike this human a great deal over the last twelve hours. "Get after them."

"What happened here?" Deadeye glanced at the burning house. Apparently no one here cared enough to put a hose to the flames.

"None of your concern," Van Cleef said. He rose to his feet, causing the medic to follow suit. "Just get after Magnus. He and his human friends are trying to make a getaway."

"And what about that jet?"

"What jet?"

"The 'Con jet." Deadeye could tell that Van Cleef was only feigning ignorance. Humans were so easy to read. "That wasn't Skystreaker."

"So?"

"What are the 'Cons doing here?" Deadeye's levels of uncertainty regarding the Taskforce had been on the rise ever since the battle at the compound. The presence of Decepticons here only made it all the more intense.

"They're not supposed to be here, china. They're interlopers."

"But convenient interlopers, I guess?" Deadeye crossed his arms. He had no desire to take this human's orders anymore. He had already done enough harm for one day. "All the while you tell me to go and hunt down fellow Autobots. All the while you kill the people who get in your way."

Van Cleef's stern expression turned to one of anger. The man apparently had a short temper, either that or all that had happened today was beginning to take its toll on him.

"We had a deal, hot-shot," Van Cleef said through gritted teeth. "You do what we say..."

"The deal didn't involve hunting Autobots," Deadeye interrupted. "I might not have much love for some of them, but they're still my own. And going out of your way to get Darby and Fowler? you haven't much for subtlety." He nodded towards the burning house. One whole wall of it fell over then, flames jumping onto a set of bushes close to it.

"Just do as you're told..."

"Or what? You'll kill me?" Deadeye raised an optic-ridge. There was nothing these humans could do to him that he was afraid of.

"We'll do what we have to," Van Cleef replied.

Deadeye shook his head. Was this what the Taskforce was really about? Had he been working with the wrong people all of this time? He had stayed away from Cybertron to keep out of the post-war politics. He preferred the fighting, taking down Decepticons was dangerous yet satisfying. Here, on Earth, it appeared he had simply fallen into a whole different set of politics. Had the Autobots really killed the President? Perhaps, but was it any of his business? In fact, had any of this Earth stuff been his business to begin with?

"I'm going for a drive, Captain," Deadeye said. He turned around, all the while Van Cleef watched with anger visible in his eyes. Even so, he had returned to wearing a straight-face, his momentary loss of control nothing more than that. "I might come back. Or I might not." Deadeye shrugged then, before quickly transforming back into the luxury coupe he had adopted as his Earth vehicle form. Before Van Cleef could say anything, Deadeye had sped off, heading back the way he had come. Deadeye had needed to resist the urge to crush Van Cleef in his bare hands; staying any longer there might have resulted in him doing just that. At least now he could get some proper time to himself, without Van Cleef or Carver barking orders at him all the time.

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

Ultra Magnus brought himself to a halt by the parking lot of a country club. The lush greens of the golf course stood in stark contrast to the surrounding desert. Nearby, the Decepticon jet circled the area, pondering its next course of action.

As for Jack, he realised something was wrong as soon as Ultra Magnus stopped. The Autobot Commander had taken a beating, his windows smashed and several holes punched into his form. His voice, usually strong and authoritative, filtered through the speakers on the dashboard with a raspy edge:

"Get out, make a run for it. I'll keep this one distracted."

"Magnus, you're hurt," Jack said. He had to reel in his emotions, as his voice threatened to become a feeble croak with what had happened to Fowler still predominantly on his mind. "I'm not going to leave you here to take on that 'Con alone."

Rafael was noticeably shaking, the stress of everything likely a bit too much for him to handle. Everything had happened so quickly and his life, at least his normal life, had been effectively ruined within minutes. The fact that his house continued to burn on the hill in the distance was practically symbolic of that fact.

"You have no weapons," Jack said. His voice broke halfway through the sentence. He did not want to lose Ultra Magnus, not so soon after losing Fowler. He hated this feeling he had, this one of powerlessness, that nothing he could do would be of any help. How could he assist against an airborne Decepticon? All he had was a revolver and about ten bullets for it. He may as well launch spit-balls at it for all the good a weapon like that would do him here. "Damn it, Magnus, I'm not going to leave you to die."

"Don't be so negative, Jack," Ultra Magnus said. The doors at both sides of the driver's cabin flung open. "I'll keep this Decepticon distracted."

Jack, with some reluctance, climbed out of the vehicle. He had to drag Rafael out of the other side, keeping one arm around him as they began to rush away from the Autobot Commander.

There were several cars parked outside of the country club while an elderly man in golfing gear stood by the entrance to the administration building. He had been watching the house on the hill in the distance burn down, although now his gaze floated towards the two men heading his way, one of whom visibly carried a gun. Whatever he was about to say in regards to that, the words were stolen from him as Ultra Magnus transformed, standing tall in biped mode at the far end of the car-park.

Jack looked back and saw the Autobot Commander, his frame dented and scorched in places. Several small holes had been put into his armoured frame, some of which leaked bright blue energon fluid. He hardly looked up to the task of fighting an airborne Decepticon. Yet nonetheless he turned to face it as it came in for another strafing run. Jack pushed Rafael towards the door of the administration building. He himself did not run in after him. He could not simply leave Ultra Magnus out here. He had to help somehow, even if right now he had no idea what he could do in that regard.

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

Ultra Magnus dived to one side as the Decepticon jet's front cannon opened fire, hammering the tarmac around him with a hail of high-calibre rounds. Some of them pinged off of his armour, a few struck the lighter-armoured sections of his form, drawing yet more energon fluid. He hit the ground hard but was back on his feet within seconds. He ran for a parked semi-trailer, crouching behind it as the jet, already far off into the distance, began to roll on its ailerons in preparation for another run. Ultra Magnus was unarmed, he did not have the means to fight back. He had removed his on-board weapons before coming to Earth, as he had assumed the trip would not turn into a violent one. Even now, he silently cursed himself for not bringing at least a side-arm. His whole body ached and his wounds stung painfully. He should have guessed that the Taskforce was in league with the Decepticons, after all that had happened so far.

Suddenly, there was a shout from nearby. A familiar voice, one he had not been expecting to hear, yelled out from somewhere off to his right.

"Commander!"

Ultra Magnus turned to watch as Wildstrike emerged from his vehicle mode, that of an Earth-based SWAT vehicle. Her momentum carried her forwards some distance before she planted her feet down and dug hard against the tarmac. At her back was a large rifle, one that she snatched from there with one hand and threw in her Commander's direction. Had the circumstances been different, Ultra Magnus would have asked her just what she was doing on Earth. She had her duties back on Cybertron after all. However, he was not going to question the help and certainly not the high-power rifle she had just throw his way.

Ultra Magnus jumped to his feet and snatched the rifle from the air. Clutching it in both hands, he switched off the safety and a slight hum emanated from it as the weapon powered up. Narrow gaps along the edge of the barrel, designed to expel the volatile gases and prevent overheating, glowed a bright blue. The Decepticon jet came screaming for him, preparing to let fly with a pair of missiles. The Autobot Commander stood his ground and pulled the trigger on the rifle. A bright blue streak of energy lanced forth, searing the air along its path before it connected with the Decepticon jet's right wing. Flame and smoke exploded from the impact and the jet went spiralling out of control. The Decepticon transformed out of vehicle mode mere seconds before it hit the ground, knocking aside a parked sedan before slamming into the short brick wall that surrounded the perimeter of the parking lot off to Ultra Magnus' left. The Decepticon was a Seeker no less, purple and black in colour, what remained of his wings tucked aside at his back. One of them had been sheared clean off and had come to a rest several metres from the groaning Decepticon.

Ultra Magnus looked over to Wildstrike, who had closed the distance between them and stopped nearby. She had shifted her right arm into a standard energy cannon. She smiled at him when their gazes met. It was only a fleeting movement and was quickly replaced with a far more business-like demeanour.

"It's good to see you alive, sir," she said.

Ultra Magnus did not reply. He was more concerned with their attacker, who had since rolled onto his belly and was slowly but surely crawling away. Smoke poured from the gaping hole at his back from which energon fluid poured freely. Metal had melted, deformed and twisted around the wound, no doubt causing the flyer incredible pain. Ultra Magnus stopped behind him, clasping the rifle in his right hand before he leaned forwards and forcefully grabbed the back of the Seeker's neck. He turned him over, landing him on his wounds, the sensation enough to get a scream out of the Decepticon.

"Skywarp," Ultra Magnus spat. He had seen this one before, during the war. It had been a long time since he had last run into him and for a moment he thought he might have identified him wrongly. Half of his face was gone, the optic there with it, leaving an exposed endoskeleton and a crude patchwork of metal plating. It looked like he had needed to do some serious DIY-medicine at some point, recent as well judging from the fresh look of the weld points.

Wildstrike stepped into view on his left. She looked down at the Decepticon, keeping a straight-face even as he looked her right in the optics. She pointed her cannon directly at his head. Ultra Magnus could see that she was seriously considering executing him right there and then.

"No," Ultra Magnus ordered. He put out his free-hand, clutching Wildstrike's extended arm, lowering it for her. "We need to question him. There are some things I want to know."

Jack came running up from the administration building of the country club, at the far end of the car park. Rafael followed, albeit slower and with an understandably solemn look on his face. Both humans looked beaten and dirty, and the 'beaten' part seemingly extended to their state-of-mind as well. Ultra Magnus could certainly empathise. Fowler had been a friend and valuable ally. For all he had done to help in the fight against the Decepticons, there was something almost cruelly ironic in the way he had been slain by those of his own species.

"Is he with the Taskforce?" Jack asked. Skywarp turned his head, eyeing the human with noticeable disdain.

"Are you?" Ultra Magnus leaned forwards, using his free-hand to grab the Decepticon's chin as to turn his head towards him. Skywarp looked like he was about to say something but instead spat a globule of energon fluid out of his mouth. It hit Ultra Magnus on the chin. He was not one to let something like that get to him and so with his left hand he wiped it away, all the while keeping his gaze fixed on Skywarp. Ultra Magnus, with the rifle clutched in his right hand, shifted it in such a way that he forced the barrel into Skywarp's mouth. He was not actually going to shoot him, but he figured it would be a decent means of persuasion given the circumstances.

Skywarp pushed himself away from the weapon, disgust crossing his face as Ultra Magnus lifted the barrel out from between his jagged metal teeth.

"You don't know the half of it," Skywarp said. Was he going to cave in and answer their questions? Ultra Magnus doubted it. He could lie to them and they would not know it. "I'm not 'with' them. You think I'd let myself get beholden to a bunch of humans?"

"Then what the hell are you doing here?" Jack was the one to ask this. The anger was clear in his tone, no doubt having built-up as a result of Fowler's demise. By now, several other humans had emerged from the country club to see what all the noise had been. They all stood some distance away, watching with a mix of fear and awe. A few were on their phones, likely calling the authorities. Either that or they were hoping to get themselves on the six o'clock news.

"I was simply lending a helping hand," Skywarp replied, venom lacing his tone. "You'd do well to keep me alive." He looked up at Ultra Magnus. There was genuine fear in his voice. Ultra Magnus and Wildstrike had the power of life and death over him and he knew this. "I could tell you about a lot of things."

"Then tell me." Ultra Magnus asked.

"Yeah, I'll tell you." Skywarp smiled, a cruel smile at that. Ultra Magnus did not know what to make of this. Apparently Wildstrike did.

Skywarp coughed then, spitting up energon, raising his left arm weakly. Wildstrike raised her arm cannon and before Ultra Magnus could react, she had fired. The front of Skywarp's head exploded when the blue bolt of energy connected with it, scorched metal and blue energon fluid flying outwards. Ultra Magnus took a step back, optics wide as he turned to regard Wildstrike. She simply lowered the cannon and looked towards him, not a hint of remorse in her gaze.

"What the hell...?" He began to ask, but Wildstrike knelt down and brought up Skywarp's left arm. Clutched within it was a small 'hold-out' blaster. He had likely been keeping it at his back, hoping it would at least take down one of the Autobots standing over him.

"I couldn't let him shoot you, sir," Wildstrike said. She picked up the small blaster and clipped it to her thigh. "Or me, for that matter." She smiled at him. Ultra Magnus narrowed his optics but said nothing. Surely she could have wounded him? Keeping him alive would have been preferable, even if they did not have the resources to properly contain him.

"Besides, what were we going to do with him?" Wildstrike continued. She shifted her right arm back into its normal form and crossed both over her chest. "Were we going to drag him around like a pet? Unless you've got a prison around here we could have kept him in."

"We don't shoot unarmed..."

"Sir, with all due respect, he was armed," Wildstrike interrupted. Ultra Magnus had trained her since she had first joined the Elite Guard. He had seen the potential in her, even if her attitude was very much a 'shoot first, questions later' sort. That, and he got the inkling that she was very much an authoritarian. He was as well, in a way, although he had come to believe that 'earning' respect was much better than gaining it through the barrel of a gun. Wildstrike, on the other hand, may have leaned towards the latter.

"Shoot to wound," Ultra Magnus said. "I needed answers from him. The situation here is out of control." He paused, the most pressing question returning to his mind then: "And just what exactly brought you to Earth, Lieutenant?"

"Decepticon uprising in Iacon, sir," Wildstrike replied. "Cultist sorts tried to take the control tower. We fought them off, but Doubletake and I thought it'd be best to come here and check out how things were going with your 'negotiation." She paused, taking a brief glance at Skywarp's corpse. "I take it they haven't gone well?"

Ultra Magnus shook his head. Jack walked up to him then.

"Magnus, we have to leave," he said. "The cops are probably on their way. The Taskforce won't be far behind."

He was right, of course. They had already delayed here long enough. Ultra Magnus was no fan of running, yet it was seemingly all he had been doing for the last twelve hours or so. At some point they would have to turn around and take the fight to the enemy. At least Wildstrike was here; the extra help was something he was grateful for.

"I think I may have an idea," Jack added. "About the Taskforce." He turned to Rafael, who had been standing close by with a sullen look on his face. "And you, Raf. I'll need your help."

He looked up, his eyes still red from the tears he had shed earlier.

"Can I rely on you, Raf?" Jack asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, you can."

 

Spark-to-Spark

"I bet you wish you could see my face right now."

Colonel Carver was not often one for anger, but the last half hour had left him feeling flustered. He stood in the operations room in the 'Vault' complex, a room on one of the sub-levels filled to the brim with computers and surveillance equipment. He had a monitor in front of him that took up the entire wall. It was currently displaying the statuses of the known Autobots and Decepticons. He was alone, for the room had been closed off to other personnel. Despite all the 'eyes' the Taskforce had scattered across the nation, whether they be on-the-ground personnel, drones or surveillance cameras, Carver still felt blind. He had an ear-piece in his right ear and Van Cleef's voice filtered through on yet another call.

"Decepticon involvement will complicate things..."

"Of course it will, Captain." Carver watched the monitor in front of him carefully. On the mug-shot they had of Fowler, a large red 'X' had been placed. A small victory, a very small one at that, for it was the Autobots that concerned him the most. "Get Deadeye back. Maybe he'll lead us to the other Autobots. As for the Decepticons, I want you to get back here to the Vault. We're going to need to tackle them head-on. This 'deal' we had with them, it's off. Completely."

"Boss, are you sure that's a good idea?"

Carver sighed. He did not need his second-in-command questioning him, certainly not now of all times.

"Of course I'm sure, Captain. Get back here. If the Decepticons find out where their precious 'Seal' is located, they'll come knocking."

"All right boss. I'm on my way."

Carver ended the call then. He turned his attention to the monitor ahead as information scrolled along it. Autobots sighted outside of Las Vegas was one notification that caught his attention. Of course, this was to be expected, since that was where the Taskforce had last engaged them. He realised that almost nothing in this room had helped him in any significant way, and likely would not if the Decepticons continued to get involved. He had been planning this for months, he did not need it to fall apart now. Making the deal with Cyclonus had been a means to an end, nothing more. He had fully intended to have the self-titled Decepticon 'General' dismantled when he was no longer useful. Now, it was not just the Autobots the Taskforce would hunt down and eliminate. It was the Decepticons as well. Fighting a war on two-fronts was something any military leader would advise against, yet Carver had found himself falling into that very scenario.

He grabbed one of the computer monitors on the desk in front of him and swept it off, his anger flaring violently as the monitor connected with the carpeted floor and clunked loudly. Given the fragility of a typical LCD monitor, it occurred to him that the one now on the floor would no longer be of any use. Not that it mattered. He could buy fifty more if he wanted to.
And as quickly as it had come, his anger died down and he composed himself. Setbacks were to be expected.

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

Doubletake had supplied a few grenades, much to Wheeljack's delight. The Autobot Wrecker had taken three of the explosives and had used them to blow open a sealed door on the lowest deck of the Harbinger. It was down there that he had found some old, dusty metal crates containing some spare parts. He wondered what else could be buried deep in this wreck, at least anything that had not been stripped off of the ship already.

Wheeljack took what he had deemed useful and gone outside to aid Doubletake in refitting and repairing the ship's main scanner array. They had cobbled together a fairly makeshift metal dish that the pair had erected a short distance from the partially hidden entrance into the wreck. Cables ran along the dirt and back inside, hooked up to power supplies and the ship's computers. Doubletake had gone back in to work in the ship's control room while Wheeljack remained out in the warm desert air, doing what he could to get the jury-rigged array functioning. Any wrong move could result in the scanner becoming a "beacon" of sorts, one that would likely bring to them either the Taskforce or the Decepticons. The plan was to track down either Bumblebee or Knock Out, using the scanner to cut through whatever jamming signal or camouflage that was hiding both of them from conventional Cybertronian scanner technology. That, and the scanner should be able to pinpoint the locations of any Decepticons who may be around.

The Autobot Wrecker had his doubts about the whole exercise. A jury-rigged scanner array was not the most reliable piece of technology, especially when it was constructed from spare parts fished out of an old Decepticon shipwreck. Still, Wheeljack played along, he could see no other option. As much as he wanted to go out there and take down the Taskforce and the Decepticons, he could not really do such a thing if he did not know where either of those foes were located. He hated the feeling of powerlessness that hung over him and the whole situation. He needed to be out there doing something, even if the Taskforce would be down on him within short order.

He adjusted one of the settings on the scanner array. The whole dish swivelled a few degrees. While Doubletake fiddled with the computers inside the shipwreck, Wheeljack took a moment to regard the desert valley they were located in. It was like so much of Earth he had already seen, as during his time here years before he had not really taken the opportunity to travel farther than Nevada. The brown desert could only be interesting for so long before it all started to look the same. Nonetheless, he found the silence here oddly calming. Not even birds called, with the only noise being the whistle of the wind around the rocks and through the valley. Up above, clouds had started to move in from the west.

Wheeljack had lived a chaotic life, he knew this much. Some of the early parts were hazy, missing even. It had been a long time before he had properly sat down and simply thought about things. On Cybertron, it had been nothing but work; engineering, demolitions, even outright construction. He had been a Wrecker for so long that becoming a builder was something he was having difficulty getting into.

"I'll be a while in here, Wheeljack." Doubletake's voice broke into his comms abruptly, interrupting his train of thought. "You might want to catch some rest. If I figure out where 'Con central is, I'll let you know."

"Yeah, sure, whatever." Wheeljack replied with only vague interest before he switched off his comms. He flexed his left arm, feeling pain shoot through his shoulder. Skystreaker's patchwork wound repair was far from perfect, but certainly adequate. He had never thought that a human weapon would be capable of punching through his armour to any significant degree, but he supposed that things had changed. Nine years since his last visit here and he had no idea what new toys the humans might have built for themselves. Chances are they had salvaged everything they could from any dead Decepticons they might have stumbled across. With all that alien technology at their disposal, something would have had to come of it eventually.

I don't feel so welcome here anymore, Wheeljack mused, with a wry smile. Yet, for all that had happened, he found himself satisfied. The thrill of the combat, even if he had been wounded, never got old. He had not felt it proper for nine Earth years, a short time for a Cybertronian but still too long for the Autobot Wrecker. Being shot at, even hunted, for all its drawbacks, it still excited him. He still got a very significant kick out of it. Ratchet might have described such a trait as "reckless", "symptoms of a damaged psyche", perhaps even "self-destructive". Then again, Wheeljack had never gotten along so well with doctors.

"First time I've seen you looking thoughtful." Skystreaker's voice came from somewhere close behind him. Wheeljack spun around, one hand going for his sheathed blade on instinct. Either he had been really distracted by his own thoughts, or Skystreaker was some kind of stealth expert on top of her flight capabilities and her basic first aid knowledge. She was standing a short distance behind Wheeljack, one optic-ridge raised curiously.

"Being introspective, are we?" She asked.

"And what's it to you?" Wheeljack narrowed his gaze. Skystreaker walked by him, stopping a few steps to his left. He turned to face her, watching as her optics went up to the afternoon sky. It was nearing sundown, with the sun itself a sharp yellow disc low to the horizon.

"I can see right through that whole 'lone warrior' thing you've got going," Skystreaker said. She turned her head, eyeing him carefully. "You act like a tough guy, but I bet deep down..."

"Deep down I'm what? A big softie?" Wheeljack rolled his optics. He had only recently met the female and she was already trying to decipher him. "You could say I'm more of a 'team player' than I used to be."

"And what makes you, Wheeljack?"

"What?" That was an odd question. "Is that a trick question?"

"I just want to know a bit more about you, that's all." Skystreaker gave him a fairly innocent look. She meant no harm with her questions, Wheeljack figured. She was only curious. Not that he would ever spill his problems onto anyone else. They were his and his alone; he was fairly confident that any doubts he had about anything were the sort he could cope with himself. He certainly did not need an ex-Decepticon asking him about his feelings.

"What do you want to know?" Wheeljack asked her. "You want to know if I was abused as a youngling? Or if I'm a war criminal? That sort of thing? All the juicy stuff someone like you would probably get a kick out of knowing?"

"Are you always this cynical?"

"When you've been through what I have, becoming a bit cynical is probably to be expected," he replied. He then asked, somewhat suddenly: "How old are you, Skystreaker?"

She smiled at him, as if the question amused her.

"That's a bit of a personal thing to ask a femme..."

"Not really," Wheeljack interrupted. "I'd tell you my age, if I knew it myself. I just want to know if you were in the war for long. You couldn't have been, really. You seem a bit too chirpy for that."

"I was in the war for a bit," Skystreaker said.

"On the Decepticon side." Wheeljack frowned as he said this, doing nothing to hide his distaste. Skystreaker took notice of his disparaging look and shook her head slowly. "What? You weren't a 'Con, then? So the emblems on your chest and wings are just for decoration?"

"I'd get rid of them if I could."

"I could scratch them off for you," Wheeljack suggested. His right hand went for the hilt of his sheathed sword. "It might hurt a little."

"No, thanks." Skystreaker rapidly shook her head. Wheeljack lowered his hand and curled one corner of his mouth slightly, close to forming a smile but falling short, instead ending up with a look of indifference instead. "Surgery from a Wrecker is not something I want. Ever."

"You're a real ball of fun to be around, 'Streaker," Wheeljack said. He was naturally being sarcastic, although there was some truth to what he said and he realised it. Without her help his wounds would probably have become a lot more serious. She had helped him, even if it had been for her own selfish reasons, self-preservation in particular. That, and as annoying as she might have been, he did find himself enjoying talking with her. This thought surprised even him, not that he showed it. Nor did he show any sign that he might have been enjoying her company. She was a Decepticon, even if she had had her membership revoked. Being a 'deserter' implied she was a coward and she had done little to prove otherwise. The fact that she was currently unarmed might have been a reason why she had fled the battle at the compound earlier today, but Wheeljack got the feeling that it was simply a convenient excuse.

"How did a nice girl like you end up a 'Con?" Wheeljack tilted his head slightly, his curiosity significant. Skystreaker gave an unassuming shrug of her shoulders in reply.

"Probably down to circumstance," she said. "My father was an Autobot. At least, the one who claimed to be my father. I wasn't so sure on that."

"Let me guess: your mother was a 'Con?" Wheeljack had heard of similar occurrences during the war. Not everybody had been completely out to kill each other.

"I have no idea," Skystreaker said. "I'd tell you if I knew it myself." She smiled at him, satisfied at using his own earlier remark against him.

"You're a real smart-aft, you know?"

"Thanks. So are you."

Wheeljack let out a short sigh. Ever since he had met her she had been admittedly good at one thing: getting on his nerves. It both annoyed him and amused him, all at the same time.

"What about you?" Skystreaker asked.

"Me? My parents?" Wheeljack did not need to think much to get an answer to this. "I don't know. There's still a lot I don't remember from before the war. They found me wandering around the ruins of Crystal City and I had serious amnesia. Someone did a number on me, and this was very early in the war. I had apparently been an engineer before then, since that sort of thing came naturally to me."

"How did an engineer end up a Wrecker?"

Wheeljack shrugged. That was a good question, one he usually had difficulty answering on the odd chance someone actually asked him it.

"I sort of just fell into it," he said, after a pause. "They needed volunteers, I volunteered. They neglected to tell me how dangerous the work could get, but by the time I realised that I was enjoying it too much to care."

"So, what? You get off on the killing?"

"I do what I have to do," Wheeljack said, his tone shifting to a more serious one. "Don't you? Or have you never needed to kill anyone before?" He asked this last question with a great deal of doubt. The war had drawn in just about everyone on Cybertron to some extent. Redirecting the question back on Skystreaker at least spared him from having to admit the satisfaction he gleamed from killing Decepticons. Maybe he was concerned with how Skystreaker would see him, though he knew he should not have been. Why did he care? She was a Decepticon, even if she was a 'deserter'. And he did not like her much, despite her outright physical attractiveness. In essence, he was conflicted and he hated that. It was either one way or the other, being split down the middle about anything only annoyed him.

"I do what I have to, in order to survive," Skystreaker answered. "That's what the war ended up being about. Survival. The cause was secondary."

Wheeljack nodded. Skystreaker was right about that, at least in his view. When it came down to it, when he was facing the enemy on the battlefield, it was never the Autobot cause that rattled around in his head, driving his actions. It was his survival instinct that kicked in, compounded by his combat training. He fought until every threat was neutralized. If it helped the Autobot "cause", that was all well and good.

"What about now? What are we fighting for?" He was not sure of the answer to this himself, aside from the obvious. And even that could not have been the only thing to it.

"Survival. They're hunting us. This 'Taskforce'. They'll probably melt us down for spare parts if they get hold of us again." Skystreaker paused briefly, giving the matter some further thought. "I heard that these humans were meant to be friendly."

"Oh, they are. Mostly."

"They could have provided a friendlier welcoming committee."

"Yeah? Because I got the red carpet and everything." Wheeljack grinned, even with Skystreaker's sceptical look directed at him. "You know what I came here for?"

"What?"
"Negotiation. With Cyclonus."

Skystreaker crossed her arms. Her scepticism morphed into blatant disbelief.

"Really?"

"Yeah. They sent a Wrecker on a peace mission. Magnus' idea, not mine. But I went along with it. Thought the change of pace might do me some good." So much for that idea, he thought. The change of pace had so far resulted in him being shot at and stuck on Earth. "Being on Cybertron, it's nothing but work. Build this, fix that. I'm a soldier, not a builder. I was a soldier for too damn long to change now."

"You were stupid for believing someone like Cyclonus would want any sort of 'negotiation'." Skystreaker sounded almost amused, likely because the Autobots had displayed significant stupidity regarding the matter in her view.

"That's what I said," Wheeljack added. "But Magnus was hoping it was genuine. And you know, maybe deep down I was hoping for the opposite. Hoping that I'd get to smash up some 'Cons, just like old times."

Skystreaker noticeably scoffed.

"So, you really do get off on the killing?" She asked him.

Wheeljack shrugged. What was he to say to that? The answer was probably obvious by this point.

"I like the excitement. There's something that feels good about having someone else's life in your hands." He looked down at his hands at this statement, flexing his fingers as he did so. Many times they had been covered with the bright blue energon of those he had slain. He had never given those he had killed much thought. And why should he? He knew who the enemy was, they had wronged him so many times in the past. Friends killed at their hands, entire cities levelled, innocents slain right before his eyes.

"I know the feeling," Skystreaker said. She watched him, their optics meeting. Something had changed in her demeanour. She seemed anxious all of a sudden. A silence fell between the two of them then, one that lasted for an uncomfortable twenty seconds or so. Wheeljack turned around, taking a look down the valley. He half-expected Taskforce helicopters to appear on the horizon, but the skies were clear. It was nearing evening, the end of another long day. Or the start of another long night.

Skystreaker stepped up behind him. He felt her place a hand to his shoulder. The touch surprised him. He did not show it.

"It must be great, being a Wrecker," she said. "You must get a lot of respect."

"You'd be surprised," Wheeljack replied. "It's nothing but work now. I hardly get any free time. Respect or not, life's been pretty boring."

"Peacetime not your thing?"

"Peacetime's the last thing I wanted," Wheeljack said. "Maybe that says something about me. Maybe I'm messed up in the head. Maybe my processors are all jumbled, who knows? Who cares?" He turned his head to her and shrugged. "I sure as hell don't."

"We got some free-time now," Skystreaker said. The sly edge to her voice caught Wheeljack's attention. Just what did she want from him?

"Yeah, so?"

She swivelled him around rather forcefully with her hand on his shoulder. Wheeljack would have shoved her away, had she not wrapped her arms around him. It was nowhere near a threatening manner, rather there was something seductive in her optics, something that the Autobot Wrecker found himself intrigued by.

"I could go with this," Wheeljack commented. Decepticon or not, she was on his side and the one instigating this whole encounter. "Didn't take you for the frisky kind."

"You'd be surprised." Her fingers worked their way along the plating at his chest. "I think I could get to like you, Wheeljack. More than you know."

"Huh." Wheeljack would have said more, were it not for the way she planted her mouth against his. His mind had all but gone blank, his attention very much set upon the attractive female close to him.

"No need to go easy on me, Jackie," Skystreaker said, breaking their 'kiss'. Wheeljack had no intention of going easy. That was something most Wreckers, him in particular, were averse to. Part of him thought that maybe this was a bad idea, that perhaps this decision would come back to bite him later. The consequences might even be tangible, given the way Skystreaker was trying to force open his spark chamber. She must have wanted him badly. Luckily for her, he was more than willing to play along with her wants, and her needs.