Thought I'd start posting this here, though I'm not expecting a great deal of readers. Especially since Transformers Prime isn't very well liked around this website, apparently. Still, after watching that show in its entirety, I felt I just had to write something, before all the ideas buzzing around my head drove me crazy.

Set about a decade after the end of the show with a mix of old and new characters. Chapter lengths will vary.
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Prologue

Memory alteration operations are delicate and considered 'barbaric' by some, as altering one's very character brings with it a certain moral dubiousness that has fueled debates ever since the invention of the technology to carry out such a procedure. Nonetheless, there are reports of some of these procedures being conducted, though few are completely successful. The technology itself is not widespread and prohibitively expensive to acquire. Rumours circulate that certain higher organizations, some within Iacon, keep such technology hidden away until such a dire situation arises that it must be put to use.
--Excerpt from "The Iacon Medical Journal", published some years prior to the Autobot-Decepticon war

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The sandstorm buffeted her harshly. Above, through the haze of swirling clouds of sand, two yellow suns floated, their rays warm and the sand underneath her feet even warmer. The desert around was pockmarked with artificially dug holes, a few of which had had pumps inserted within in an effort to drain what little scraps of energon could be found. On either side of the dry lakebed were rocky mesas with not a spot of vegetation between them. The star-charts did not have a name for this world, simply a flat designation that the computers had automatically assigned to it: DVM-876. No one had bothered with the world enough to give it an actual name. At least, not in any official capacity.

Skystreaker had to stop in her trek for a moment, her silver and black metal form glinting in the sunlight. She was tall, especially for a female of her race, comprised of elegant curves and an agile frame that was built entirely for speed. A set of folded wings lay upon her back, both of which would lengthen quickly if she transformed into her jet mode. Her optics, a pale red in the sunlight, narrowed as she attempted to discern anything from the desert ahead of her. The longer she stood here, the hotter she became and the less comfortable she felt. As for the holes scattered around her, each one a few metres in diameter, it was clear that she was on the right track. Someone was out here, other than herself.

This better be worth the time, she thought. She caught sight of something large and rectangular in the distance, shrouded in the brown haze of the sandstorm. She resumed her walk, her long legs taking her across the dry lake-bed at a brisk pace. The shape in the distance took form; it formed a stark contrast to the dunes and rocky outcrops behind it. The wide rectangular shape, Cybertronian in nature, was comprised mainly of portions of the hull from a scout-craft. The owner of the ship had clearly stripped it of what he could before arranging it into a prefab structure, enough to protect from the sandstorms and put a roof over his head. Hardly what Skystreaker would consider a holiday home.

She neared the front 'porch' of the makeshift abode. Scraps of metal, including a reconfigured Autobot communications dish about the size of her head, had been left out here. The dish ha emitted a guiding beacon that had lead her to the world before abruptly shutting down. A quick examination of it revealed that the power core had depleted and it was likely that there had been very little charge inside to begin with.

Aside from the howling wind, the place was quiet. Her suspicions were immediately raised and she readied the plasma blaster at her right arm, her hand giving way for the glowing barrel. Slowly, she moved towards the open doorway and peered inside. Sand had blown across the floor and the wind whistled loudly within the confined space. The makeshift home was far from airtight, with small gusts of wind working their way through gaps at the corners and where sections of the reappropriated hull had been connected.

There were some touches of home here. The seal of the Autobots, for one, was set on the wall ahead. Some medical equipment was placed on a table by the doorway. Skystreaker stepped inside, closing the door behind her, before she regarded the rest of the modest home. Being a reappropriated scout-ship, there were computer terminals at some of the walls. Only one of the half a dozen present was still functioning. At the far end was a fairly flat and no doubt uncomfortable berth, one that was currently occupied by a large and semi-conscious Autobot. He would have made for an imposing figure at any other time, though his current status had left him a mere shadow of his former self. Tall and well-built, with a mostly blue and grey finish, this Autobot lay sprawled upon the berth with his optics half open. He form was marred by thick patches of rust, likely of the contagious sort. Skystreaker felt ill herself just looking at him, noticing the way in which the rust had been gradually eating away at his metal form. By the berth was a table where a few Cybertronian data-sticks had been placed.

Skystreaker saw his state and put away her weapon. She was not sure how she felt, seeing him like this. Sympathy, sure, but not enough for her to rush to his aid.

"What happened to you?" She asked.

The Autobot stirred where he lay, his eyes opening completely. They fixed on her and he went to speak, only to let out a throaty cough. A splatter of blue-white fluid left his mouth and some of it dribbled down his chin. Skystreaker could see that he had a lot of wear and tear on him, likely some internal injuries to boot. His state must have been deteriorating for a long time. His optics shifted slightly and a look of concern appeared on his face.

"You...joined them?" He lifted one finger, slowly, so that he could point at the Decepticon insignia at her shoulder.

"I didn't really have a choice," Skystreaker replied. She took a step towards him and knelt by the berth. He had called her here for a reason. He better get to the point soon, she thought, as she had no desire to stay here any longer than she had to. And she had no desire to catch whatever he had.

"Were you followed?"

"Followed?" Skystreaker had not even thought about this possibility. No one cared where she went, she was sure of this. The Decepticon ranks had been in disarray for a while. She had her enemies, but it seemed unlikely anyone would send out a search party just for her.

"Our enemies...are everywhere..." The Autobot croaked, his voice weak. He coughed again, hitting Skystreaker in the face with some energon spittle. She gave a disgusted wince and wiped it away with one hand.

I'm going to catch something, aren't I?

"What do you want? Why did you call me here?" Skystreaker asked. Her tone was stern, her growing impatience working its way into her voice.

"Hardly friendly words...for your father..."

Skystreaker shook her head.

"You're not my father," she said. "You might have raised me, but that's it."
The Autobot said nothing in response to this. Skystreaker detected a hint of despair in the way his eyes widened, if only momentarily, before he looked over to the nearby table.

"Take it all," he said.

"The sticks?" Skystreaker scoffed. "What for?"

"Take them..." Before he could say anymore, he coughed again. Skystreaker leaned back slightly, avoiding the fly of spittle. This time around, the Autobot fell into a fit of strained coughs, a pained look crossing his face as he put a hand to his chest and another over his mouth. Skystreaker glanced over at the pads and data-sticks, seeing no significance in them.

"Do not allow the Seal to fall into the hands of our enemies," the Autobot said, having recovered from his fit of coughing.

"Anything else you want me to do? Buff your finish? Back rub?" She figured her 'father' was delirious, judging from his current state. Maybe the isolation here had driven him mad? It seemed likely. "What's so important about what's on these data sticks?" She could feel some anger building inside her, but she kept it contained for now. The lack of solid answers was grating against her nerves.

"Go to Earth," the Autobot declared. He sat up suddenly, his optics wide and one hand out towards her. He grabbed her roughly by one shoulder, drawing him in close. Skystreaker tilted her head away slightly, hoping to not take another mouthful of his spittle.

"Earth? Never heard of the place."

"The coordinates...are in the data-sticks." He looked straight into her optics, his gaze piercing, almost as if he were looking into her very spark. Compounded by his firm grip at her shoulder, it was all enough to make her feel uncomfortable.

"You really have gone crazy," she said, squirming free of his grasp. "What's so important about 'Earth'?" She glared at him, her desire for proper answers coming to the fore. What was he playing at? He had called her out here, to this forsaken pit of a planet, just to lay his personal library on her?

"Nothing," he said. Before Skystreaker could reply, her father interjected again. "Everything."

"Make up your mind." Skystreaker rolled her optics and stood up. "Did living out in this dump scramble your cyber-brain?"

"Don't be..." He coughed again, apparently unable to finish a sentence without doing so. "Don't be so arrogant. Everything happens for a reason."

"Look, I was having a nice enough time wandering the galaxy by myself," Skystreaker said. "You're lucky I even got your message. Now I realize that it was a waste of time coming here." She paused, thinking that she may have been too harsh. He was not well, likely near death, and here she was acting like he was nothing to her. He should have been, she knew this much, yet despite everything that had happened in her time away from him, she still had a soft spot for him. He had never been hard on her.

"Go to Earth," he said. "I think things will become clearer there."

"You think?" Skystreaker sighed. "I don't think that's enough for me to go on. You might want to find someone else to go on your crusade."

Somewhere outside, amongst the howling of the sandstorm, Skystreaker heard what sounded like an engine. She froze, noticing that her "father" had heard it too. He sat up in his berth, coughing loudly as he did so, the energon spittle he unleashed now a dark greenish hue. Whatever was wrong with him, it had worked its way into his very life-blood.

"Did you hear that?" He said, once his coughing fit was over. "They must have followed you."

"Followed me?" Skystreaker found this hard to believe. "No one even knew I came here. I was alone. Who would be organized enough to follow me? And why?" Despite her incredulity, she did ready the plasma cannon at her right arm. Her father remained in his berth, hardly in any state to even climb out of it.

If someone had actually followed her here, there may have been some truth to what the Autobot had told her. That was a sobering thought.

"You have to go," the Autobot declared. "They must not...they cannot get hold of you...or the Seal..."

Skystreaker walked over to the door and pulled it open slightly, peering out into the swirling sandstorm. It had receded somewhat and continued to do so, the air within the valley becoming less thick with sand and far brighter as the full rays of both suns were no longer obscured. Skystreaker's gaze fell upon the Decepticon scout vessel parked in the middle of the dry lake-bed and the several purple Vehicons who had emerged from it. Had they followed her? It seemed unlikely that it was simply coincidence that they had arrived here shortly after she did.

"Maybe they tracked the beacon?" Skystreaker asked, looking back at her father. He did not reply. Instead, he had laid back down, apparently resigned to whatever fate the approaching Decepticons had planned for him. Given her status as one (at least in the loosest sense) she figured she may be able to bluff her way past them. On second glance, her Autobot guardian appeared to be dead. She walked over to his side, sensing no more life from his spark. His rusted form looked more pronounced now, as if the rust itself had suddenly upped its game once the last vestiges of life had left him.

Skystreaker looked down at him, frustration filling her. Why did he have to be so damn vague? She hardly knew what he had been talking about. What did he mean by 'Seal'? The light in the Autobot's optics had gone and they stared blankly ahead, lifeless. Skystreaker felt a pang of sadness at his passing, even more when she realised that he had very clearly kept himself alive long enough to pass on his vague message. The rust had likely addled his cyber-brain, so it was a significant feat that he had even managed to be as lucid as he was.

Outside, her enemies marched closer. She took up the data sticks from the table nearby, one of which apparently contained Earth's location. Things might become clearer if she travelled there, as her "father" had said, but she doubted it immensely. Her Autobot guardian had not been thinking clearly and for all she knew, 'Earth' could be a junkyard planet.

Heading to the partially open door, she peered through the gap. A group of Vehicons stood outside now, weapons drawn. Skystreaker readied her on-board arm cannon and pushed it open, half-expecting them to start shooting right away.

"You have been marked as a deserter," the "lead" Vehicon said in a flat monotone. Skystreaker frowned, but knew that she should not be so surprised. She had indeed deserted, she had just not expected anyone to really notice, or care for that matter. The Decepticon ranks had been in chaos for a long time, with groups of them scattered across the known galaxy. At a glance, it appeared that this little force was organized.

"The punishment for desertion is death," the Vehicon said.

"Then you better get to it," Skystreaker said. She did not give the Vehicon an opportunity to respond, as she fired a shot that hit it squarely in the face. Its head exploded in a shower of fragments and energon fluid, its body crumpling into a heap upon the ground. Skystreaker was not about to take any chances, nor would she play along with any 'punishment' that any of these moronic Vehicons intended to dish out.

She adjusted her aim quickly and fired another shot, the blue bolt of energy connecting with the chest of one of the other Vehicons. There was a small puff of white flame as its spark practically exploded, the light leaving its long slit of an optic before it fell backwards. The remaining four opened fire, filling the air around her with energy bolts. Skystreaker dived to one side, somersaulting with excellent finesse. As she came back onto her feet she fired a volley from her arm cannon, blasting another of the Vehicons before sweeping her aim onto another. This one let fly with a shot that hit her in the left shoulder, sending a burning pain down her chest and arm that caused her to cry out.

Regardless of the pain and the scorched hole that had been burned into her armour, she readjusted her aim and returned fire. She cut down the Vehicon who had wounded her before the two that remained scattered apart. Skystreaker sought cover, as being out in the open was far less desirable for her current circumstances. She raced around the side of the dead Autobot's makeshift home, a few bolts of energy striking the metal near her position while the two Vehicons continued to shoot at her. Skystreaker glanced at her wound, the pain having faded somewhat. It was not immediately serious, despite the blue-white fluid that flowed out of the scorched fist-sized hole. Her pride was hurt more than anything else, as getting shot by a Vehicon was one thing she would never be able to live down.

She leaned around the building and took a shot, shearing the left arm of one of the Vehicons clean off. The Decepticon let out a pained scream and fell over, energon fluid spurting out of the stump in a manner similar to a geyser. The last Vehicon watched his comrade go down and, despite the lack of any real face on the soldier, appeared to consider its own options before turning around and making a run for it. Skystreaker stepped out of cover, watching as the fleeing Vehicon fired a few shots at her as he raced back for the parked scout-ship. Smirking, she prepared to give chase, only to hear a familiar voice sound out from behind her. She realised her mistake then, as the Vehicons had been mere distractions, all the while the real threat made their way around her flank.

"Guess who," the male voice said. Skystreaker swivelled around, cannon raised. She recognized the flier standing behind her, a tall and broad-shouldered Decepticon whom she had not expected to see ever again. He was pointing a stun cannon at her.

"Skywarp," she said, her tone sour. She narrowed her optics. She did not have time to do much else before he fired, sending waves of pain through her body, causing her to convulse violently as every joint in her reacted to the shock beam. She fell into a heap on the ground, shaking about, unable to properly control her limbs, all the while Skywarp leered down at her with a sick grin on his face. He no doubt got off on seeing her like this.

He pointed the stun gun down at her and shot her again. This was enough to knock her out entirely, with only a brief flash of pain to be felt before the world around her vanished into nothing.

 

Cybertron

It was a gradual process. Rebuilding an entire world, one that had been ravaged by war for many thousands of years, was no simple task. It required a lot of helping hands and a lot of coordination between them. It was also the sort of job that no one in their right mind would actually want to lead; that is, to be the one calling the shots and being in charge of countless workers. There were certain individuals where such a position would be perfect for them. Unfortunately, Ultra Magnus did not believe himself to be one of them.

Iacon had once been a glistening jewel of a city, a massive fortress in itself that had been the home of the Autobots for tens of thousands of years. Even through the Autobot-Decepticon conflict the city had endured, until falling within the war's final years during a massive assault, sparking the beginning of the mass exodus from Cybertron. It had been the first part of Cybertron to be rebuilt, a process that was still ongoing to this day. The central halls, where the Primes of ages past had governed from, had been among the first locations cleaned up and returned to their pre-war near-pristine states. The rest of Iacon soon followed, yet despite the rebuilt structures and clean streets, the place was still fairly empty. Refugees trickled into the city regularly, but it would seem that the Cybertronian race had been reduced to only small numbers.

A veteran of the war in every sense of the term, Ultra Magnus had been a leader in the past, just never the leader. The actual heavy stuff, leading entire armies, that had been something he had never had an affinity for. Optimus Prime had always been around for that sort of thing. Ultra Magnus had been content to be his second-in-command and nothing more. Politics was something a Prime would be able to handle, not a soldier.

He was seated within the vast central chamber from where the Primes had once governed the world. The chamber was large and circular, vast enough to make the bulky Autobot feel small. A large semi-circular table took up part of the floor and he sat alone upon the middle seat. There were twelve other seats, six on either side of him. The lighting above gave the entire chamber a bluish hue. Statues of the original thirteen Primes were spaced along the walls at intervals, each one three times his height and significantly wider. At each spot of the table was a computer terminal, but only the one in front of Ultra Magnus was switched on.

He had been going through reports for the last few hours, just another part of his new peace-time daily routine. Sometimes he felt that all he did was sit here and read whilst being alerted to any problems that might have arisen within the city. Hearing about everything that went wrong, ranging from trivial to serious, had had a draining effect on him during the years since Optimus Prime's sacrifice. Had the Prime considered that they would be without a leader? He might have been convinced that each of them was capable of rising above their station, that every Autobot was capable of leadership, but Ultra Magnus had not counted on being in this sort of leadership. He was a soldier, not a politician. The responsibilities of running a whole city, even with a small population, were unlike running a platoon. Instead of wounded soldiers, he had to deal with many self-styled politicians who had emerged in the intervening years, each leading their own little parties. Autobot, Decepticon or otherwise, there were so many new groups forming on Cybertron that he was having difficulty keeping track of them all and their relations to one another. They all wanted influence, they all wanted a piece of Cybertron. Sometimes Ultra Magnus found himself feeling nostalgic over the Autobot-Decepticon conflict, as that had at least been straightforward. During the war, he had known who his enemies were and he could deal with them accordingly. Now, instead of shooting anyone who threatened the Autobots, he had to instead be diplomatic. No one was foolish enough to ignite another conflict, at least no one on Cybertron. Yet they all wanted influence, power and even living space.

He checked his schedule for today. Some representative from one of the new groups was due to come by soon, likely to ask him for something. That was what most of these new faction leaders did every time they met with him: they asked him for something. None seemed too concerned with what he wanted, or what other groups may have wanted. He figured it had been naive of him to think that Cybertron's reconstruction would unite them. At least on the surface it had, with Autobot and Decepticon working together to rebuild the ruined world. But underneath that veneer of cooperation, certain opportunities had arisen and, quite fittingly, opportunists had taken them. Despite the conflicting groups, none had come to blows. A little healthy competition never hurt anyone. Iacon had formed a fairly good economy, mostly through bartered goods (particularly energon) since actual currency was non-existent and Ultra Magnus saw no point in trying to set one up. It was still too soon and they had a long way to go before the planet was back to the way it had been, before the war.

Finally, he mused over the last entry in the schedule. He would be drilling recruits, what few they had, anyway. There were some experienced Autobots like him who had come back to Cybertron and they handled most of the training. Working with the recruits and actually creating new soldiers had been something that the Autobot Commander had always enjoyed. This was at least something he could look forward to for today.

At that moment, the double doors of the massive chamber slid open then, groaning loudly on their tracks as they moved. The doors themselves were suitably large, emblazoned with a metal sculpture of the Matrix of Leadership in the centre. The sculpture split into two as the doors slid open and Ultra Magnus directed his gaze at the pair of figures who entered. Both he recognized, though neither he was terribly happy to see.

The Decepticon Motorhead had been a labourer prior to the war, like many of his kind. He was of an average size for a Decepticon, with the faction's crest set into the centre of his burly torso. He was mostly grey in colour, with black streaks along his frame. His strong arms hinted at his labourer past, whereas his face bore a few scars from battle. Among them, a long scar that worked its way down one side of his face and to his mouth. His red optics glowed brightly and Ultra Magnus found their piercing gaze, compounded by the Decepticon's irritating and almost perpetual smile, somewhat unnerving.

Motorhead's companion was a Vehicon, one that was a step above the typical drone. This Vehicon had a pair of red optics, unlike most others who carried one long slit that served as their eyes. It was of the average size for a Vehicon, with white trimming along its mostly black form. This was the 'Foreman', as it had taken to calling itself. A Vehicon that was something more than a Vehicon.

Motorhead gave a curt nod and greeted Ultra Magnus with a smile. The Autobot commander immediately saw through it but said nothing.

"Ultra Magnus," Motorhead said. "I'm here on the behalf of the Decepticon Worker's Union."

"I know," Ultra Magnus said. He tried to keep the disdain out of his voice. He did not entirely succeed.

"What's the problem this time?" He asked Motorhead.

"There are a few matters that have come to the Union's attention," Motorhead answered. His tone was level, his voice smooth. He reminded Ultra Magnus of Knock Out, in some respects, though Motorhead lacked the severe vanity of that particular Decepticon.

"Did you go to Bulkhead first?"

"Of course I did. However that Autobot answers to you. And I believe that if any actual changes are to be made, then it would be best to go straight to the top. In fact, I believe that it was Bulkhead who recommended we see you about these matters."

The burly Autobot had simply passed the matter onto him. It was understandable, given just how much work Bulkhead and the other labourers had to carry out every day. Ultra Magnus wondered if Bulkhead was aware of just how much work he had to do himself, albeit in somewhat less physically-demanding fields. Rebuilding was one thing, working in politics was another. Where the former may leave one's joints aching, the latter could leave one drained mentally.

"There is some dissatisfaction among the workers within the Union," Motorhead continued. "Firstly, energon shares. The workers require more."

"How much more?"

"A one-and-a-half unit increase would be sufficient," the Foreman interjected, his voice a monotone. Ultra Magnus narrowed his optics. Energon was not in limited supply, it was the more refined variants that everyone wanted a piece of. The refining facilities had been destroyed during the war and only Iacon's main facility had been brought back to a functioning state. Rationing was still required in some areas. It would be a long time before they had a significant surplus.

"Refined energon, I take it?" Ultra Magnus already knew the answer, but asked anyway. He wanted to see just how much these unionists were game enough request.

"At least seventy-percent refined," Motorhead said.

"Seventy-percent?" Ultra Magnus did not hide his annoyance as he repeated the demand. "As it stands, we're lucky to get fifty percent out of the refinery. Not everything around here is working as well as it should be."

"Fifty-percent should be satisfactory," Motorhead replied. He glanced over at the Foreman, who Ultra Magnus sensed was a bit angered at the response. However, the look on Motorhead's face, a brief one that he quickly replaced with his veneer of friendliness, was a stern one that more or less told the Foreman to keep his voice-box shut.

"I'll have the raise arranged," Ultra Magnus said. "However, it's come to my attention that your assigned projects are behind schedule. The tenements in the northern sector were supposed to be completed one deca-cycle ago."

"And they will be," Motorhead said, his tone as genial as always. "With the added rations, the workers will have all the motivation they need to complete their assigned tasks. Those tenement structures will be liveable in another week, mark my words."

"If it's not done by then I'll find someone else to finish the job," Ultra Magnus said, his tone stern. Granted, there was no one else available for such work but Motorhead did not need to know this. Ultra Magnus was not normally one to lie, though in this case simply neglecting to give the full details on their lack of replacement workers was not necessarily a lie. He could feel comfortable with that. "So you better make use of the new raise."

"Indeed we will, Commander," Motorhead said. The Foreman appeared to be on the verge of speaking again, but Motorhead shot him another cruel gaze that was enough to convince him to keep quiet.

"Is that all?" Ultra Magnus asked.

"There is one more thing," Motorhead said, returning his attention to the Autobot. "You might be aware of them. The Cult of Nova Prime?"

Ultra Magnus recognized the name, primarily the 'Nova Prime' part of it. Nova Prime had been one of the original thirteen Primes, although now was the first time he had heard of there being a 'cult' about this historical figure. Religion was not something he had ever thought much about. The war had done a good job of distracting him. On the odd occasion he may have pondered his own mortality, but he had never gone on his knees to pray to anyone or anything. He likely never would.

"A bunch of religious loonies, by all accounts," Motorhead continued. "But loonies are very good at stirring up trouble. They've been doing that at the construction site in the northern sector, near the unfinished tenements. There aren't many of them, but they get in the way and they leave their propaganda plastered around the place. It's an eye-sore."

"That's all they do?" Ultra Magnus was not sure if there was really a problem here.

"Some of the workers have been drawn into their weird beliefs," Motorhead said. "Some have even stopped showing up for work. You might want to look into this 'Cult', if you want your residential areas finished on time."

"I'll look into it," Ultra Magnus said. "If workers are neglecting their duties because of their affiliations with this group, then it could become a problem. There hasn't been any violence with them?"

"None," Motorhead replied. Ultra Magnus found this answer unexpected. If this 'cult' had been stirring up trouble at the construction site with a bunch of Decepticons, then it was very likely that those Decepticons would have attempted to rectify the situation through physical force. That was usually their means of solving problems.

"We are but simple workers," Motorhead added. "These Cultists are a nuisance and some of the Vehicons we employ are easily swayed with their promises of 'salvation' and a 'messiah'."

Ultra Magnus found Motorhead's constant grinning enough to make him feel uncertain of the Decepticon. Had this been ten years previously, Ultra Magnus probably would have gutted Motorhead and moved on to the next target. That would have been the simpler, if more barbaric, solution.

"Now, is that all?" Ultra Magnus asked.

Motorhead nodded, giving a short bow in reply.

"I thank you for your time, Commander," he said. Ultra Magnus said nothing, able to tell from the Decepticon's smooth tones that he was not entirely serious with his thanks. It was likely he doubted Ultra Magnus' political skills. That was understandable, even Ultra Magnus doubted them himself sometimes.

Both Motorhead and the Foreman turned and left the chamber, their footsteps receding into the distance before the massive double doors groaned shut behind them. Ultra Magnus was once again alone inside the vast chamber, left to his work as he looked down at the holographic computer display before him. He did not have much of a chance to resume his work, as the large double doors started groaning open again and he looked up, half-expecting to see Motorhead striding back in ready to ask for something else.

He was pleased to see that it was Bumblebee, the Autobot warrior-scout, who was the one striding into the chamber. He had his usual confident aura, his large blue optics carrying their characteristic youthful vibrancy. Even so, there was a hint of something almost solemn under that demeanour, the mark of someone who had needed to mature far earlier than they probably should have. The war had left its mark on them all differently.

"Bumblebee," Ultra Magnus said, rising from his seat. The scout stopped at the other side of the table and gave a salute.

"Ultra Magnus, sir," Bumblebee said.

"I didn't expect you back from Earth so soon." Ultra Magnus had assigned Bumblebee as their official liaison to the other world and the humans. The space-bridge aboard the former-Decepticon vessel Nemesis provided a quick and easy means of travel to Earth; naturally that travel had to be strictly controlled. Ultra Magnus had never really needed to pay any visits to Earth since his appointment to leadership here on Cybertron, save for the occasional unofficial trip. He did not have as strong a connection to the human members of "Team Prime" that some of the other Autobots had.

"I saw Motorhead outside," Bumblebee said. "He pestering you again, sir?"

"Pretty much."

There was a pause. Ultra Magnus flicked off his computer terminal with one hand, figuring that catching up with Bumblebee concerning his excursion to Earth was enough of an excuse to put his work on hold for a while.

"How was the trip, soldier?"

"Routine," Bumblebee replied. "At least, at first it was."

Ultra Magnus leaned forwards slightly, curious.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I did my usual thing. Exchanging pleasantries, meeting up with old friends. But I got a surprise visit from Agent Fowler."

"Fowler?" Ultra Magnus nodded, listening carefully. He had not seen that particular human for some time. As he understood, Agent Fowler of the United States government was getting on in human years yet he still worked in the same position that he had been in when the conflict with Megatron had ended. The human was persistent and Ultra Magnus could only imagine the sort of politics he would have to put up with while working such a job. He figured the two of them might have something in common, in that regard. "How is he?"

"Same as always," Bumblebee said. "Thing is, he had some interesting news, sir."

"About what?"

"Firstly, he wants you to have a meeting with the President. That's what he told me."

"Their President?"

"To renew the treaty," Bumblebee replied. "You do know about the Treaty, sir?"

Ultra Magnus realised that yes, he should have remembered that particular 'Treaty'. The Autobot-Human treaty expired in the coming months. Ultra Magnus had never been big on bureaucracy, but for some reason the humans needed this sort of thing down on paper and filed away in order for it to be 'official'. Optimus Prime had first signed the treaty, renewing it a few months prior to his final conflict with Megatron. The Prime had told him about it, but never in any significant detail. It was not a matter of discussion that had come up often.

"He wants to meet me?" Ultra Magnus nodded. "I can do that. When do they want me there?"

"As soon as possible, sir," Bumblebee said. He paused for a moment, noticing Ultra Magnus' somewhat weary expression. The Autobot commander did not even realise he was letting his general exhaustion become apparent, so the scout's next question did catch him a bit off-guard: "Is everything all right, Commander?"

Ultra Magnus took a moment to answer. He mulled over all that he had been doing for the last few months here, solar cycles even.

"I never saw myself as a politician," he said. "Here I am, in the chamber of the Council of Primes, and I'm not even a Prime."

"You don't need to be a Prime to be a leader," Bumblebee said.

"Maybe. But sometimes I think they had something that I didn't."

Bumblebee frowned. It was clear he had not expected to hear the Commander speaking this way.

"Sir, you really shouldn't be putting yourself down like that."

"I'm a soldier, like you. I was only a fledgling when I picked up a rifle and started shooting. The Elite Guard was all I knew. They taught me how to fight. How to kill. In that sense, the war was a lot more straightforward compared to settling worker's disputes and rebuilding infrastructure. Give me a squad of soldiers and point me in the direction of the enemy. Don't give me a data-pad and a bunch of squabbling Decepticon workers to deal with. That's not who I am."

"Permission to speak frankly, sir?"

"Go ahead."

"I don't envy your job, sir," Bumblebee said. His tone was one of understanding, the young Autobot carrying surprisingly more wisdom than someone of his age usually would. "But out of everyone here in the city, you're the one best suited to be a leader. You were by Optimus' side through most of the war. You have more field experience than everyone else. We all believe in you, sir. Don't forget that. And we're a team, after all. We all do our part."

"This chamber feels a little empty." Ultra Magnus took a quick glance around the chamber. The size and emptiness did make him feel small, and he was fairly large for an Autobot.

"I think it'll fill up soon enough, sir," Bumblebee said.

Ultra Magnus could only hope so. Maybe once the population here was large enough and the city was fully reconstructed they could have a proper ruling body, instead of just him and "Team Prime" doing their best to keep things organized.

"It's not just the treaty Fowler told me about," Bumblebee said, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. "There was something else. He seemed pretty worried about it."

"What was it?"

"He told me there's some kind of group that's been interfering with Unit E. He told me he didn't trust them, but that he's been made to work with them. Some kind of Special Taskforce, he wasn't specific."

'Unit-E' was the official designation for Team Prime's Earth-based branch, comprised of Agent William Fowler and Ratchet, as well as several others.

"The human militaries and their government organisations, if what I've read about them is correct, have always attempted to one-up each other. Even within the nation that is the United States. This 'taskforce' sounds like it's just trying to do the same thing. Fowler would do well to remain stubborn, that way they're less likely to walk all over him." Ultra Magnus would need to talk with the human personally to get a proper grasp of the situation. As it stood, it appeared all he really had to concern himself with regarding Earth was the renewal of the treaty.

"Whoever they are, he doesn't trust them," Bumblebee said. "He even suggested he thought they'd be the next MECH."

"That was an organization operating outside of the law. Sounds like this Taskforce is well within it." Ultra Magnus paused for a moment, giving the matter some thought. A trip to Earth would make for a welcome change from routine, even if it meant he would be dealing with human politics instead of the Cybertronian variety. "Maybe when we go there we can help him sort this matter out."

"As for your trip there, sir, you'll need an escort," Bumblebee said. His implication was obvious. Ultra Magnus could certainly appreciate the soldier's enthusiasm.

"I see no reason why you can't be part of that escort," he said. Bumblebee nodded in acknowledgement. "And I can think of someone else who might be a good fit for tagging along."

 

Workshop

The transition from destroyer to builder had not been a smooth one. Wheeljack may not have been a Wrecker to begin with, but the job had been his life for a very long time. Now, in this 'reconstruction period', he was expected to do away with his more destructive tendencies and put his efforts towards more constructive pursuits. He may have been a scientist in his early days, before the war had brought that routine lifestyle to a halt, but to try and get back into it after so long? It was a strange feeling, to say the least. Ultra Magnus had even assigned him a workshop of sorts, located within the central government building in Iacon.

Wheeljack was fairly averagely sized for an Autobot, but his bulky chest and arms indicated far greater strength than one might expect. He still retained his white finish and Earth vehicle mode, the flashy white sports car a form he could not see himself changing anytime soon. Both his swords he had placed upon a bench nearby while he sorted through one of the adjoining storage rooms. The workshop was large, so he had no complaints about things being too cramped. There was plenty of room to move about, even with the assorted junk scattered around. A long bench took up the centre of the room, with another against one wall. A waste disposal chute was set into the wall at the far end of the room, currently clogged with scrap metal. Wheeljack had opened one of the doors nearby, taking him into an equally large storage room that had likely not been opened for many years. Getting the door open had taken him long enough, given the fact that it had been sealed tight. He had been half-expecting some kind of treasure trove to be within, though upon opening the door he had been met with shelves stacked with metal boxes of varying sizes. So had started his exploration of what each of them had contained, beginning with the shelf closest to the door. The dim blue-white lighting cast subdued shadows across the room. The whole place was silent, save for his movements. Granted, he was one of about twelve Cybertronians currently within the vast building, so it was no real surprise that things were as quiet as they were. He did feel some odd childish excitement as he took down the first of the crates, although it was quickly quelled when he saw the elaborate locking mechanism set into it.

Should have expected as much, he thought. He carried the box back out into the workshop, setting it down on the central bench before he took up one of his swords from where it had been laid out nearby. The metal in his pair of swords was some of the strongest known to Cybertronian science, comprised of a rare alloy that was durable, but allowed for some flexibility. He had forged them himself early on in the war as equipment had been scarce for the Autobot side. They had not been the only weapons he had built.

His job here, sorting through the junk and the possible useful items, would have been made a great deal easier if he had access to the original supply manifests. Though Cybertron's core had been restored, many of the computers within Iacon had required repairs. Wear from age and the scraplet infestation (their numbers had burgeoned considerably while the planet had been abandoned) had taken their toll on many of the systems here. There had been no way to retrieve some of the files contained within the vast memory banks of the council building. Among those files had been the manifests listing everything stored here, left sealed within crates like the very one Wheeljack had set before him. As a result, manually sorting through them all was the only option. It was not quite as fulfilling as helping Bulkhead and the others rebuild the residential areas and factories. Still, someone had to do it. Wheeljack found it surprising that so much of this stuff had remained, as most of the city had been stripped clean during the war and even afterwards, whether it was by stragglers or scraplets. To find a few store-rooms full of goods was a noteworthy find indeed.

And I'm the lucky guy who gets the job.

With the sword in one hand, he worked its blade into the slight gap between the lid of the box and the rest of it. He squeezed it behind the lock, jamming it in tightly before he began to work the sword's hilt. There was some give to the lock, so it certainly was not as sturdy as it appeared. Gradually, he began to pull. The lock began to creak and it visibly lifted ever so slightly from its housing.

Come on, come on.

There was an abrupt snap and part of the lock came flying off, hitting him in the chest where it dinged harmlessly off of his armour. It left a slight silver mark among the white finish, nothing a buffer would not fix. A thin cloud of dust erupted from the box as the lid flipped open. Inside was a small cannon of some make he did not recognize, compact in design with sleek curves. It was a side-arm, one he found himself oddly enamoured with. Then again, he would often find himself enamoured with any new gun he came across.

"Ain't you a pretty little thing?" He said aloud. He removed the pistol from its housing, putting aside his sword as he did so. The door of the workshop opened at that moment and a very familiar red and silver Cybertronian strode inside.

"Little? You and me are practically the same size."

Wheeljack looked up, narrowing his optics with some annoyance.

"I wasn't talking to you, Knock Out," he said. The former Decepticon was a tolerable presence at best, annoying at worst. He saw that Knock Out carried a data-pad, its blue holographic display starkly visible from where he held it in one hand. Wheeljack lowered the pistol before he closed the now empty box it had been contained within.

"Sorting through all the old junk, are we?" Knock Out strolled over to the bench and took a brief look at what he had dug out of the crate. He then glanced around the workshop in general, his expression going from his usually smug one to one of disdain. "Shouldn't you tidy up the place first? Or is working in a mess your preferred method?"

"I've been busy," Wheeljack replied. "What about you? Ain't you supposed to be training wannabe doctors or something?"

"No classes on today," Knock Out said. "I have the day off, you see."

"So you thought you'd, what? Come down here and pester me in your boredom?"

Knock Out held the data-pad towards him. Wheeljack took it from him and quickly skimmed through the information on display. He frowned, realising that he had just been given an even greater workload than he already had.

"So, you're the chief's errand boy now?" Wheeljack put the data-pad down, noting Knock Out's brief but annoyed grimace in response to the question.

"Not at all. I was told to pass on the information and to help you out in your current task, as dull as it most likely is. That, and you've had your comms switched off for days."

"That way no one can interrupt me." Having people talk into his head while he was trying to work was a distraction he preferred to do without, especially with his current workload. "Also, it gets the chief off my back. He has a habit of chiming in and asking me how close I am to getting things done a heck of a lot more frequently than he should. Of course, he never actually comes down here in person."

"Ultra Magnus has been under a lot of stress."

"So have I. Now he wants me to start helping out at the refinery? I already did what I could there."

"Apparently not well enough," Knock Out said.

"I already have enough to deal with here." He did not find the idea of working together with Knock Out very appealing. There was a good chance the former Decepticon would start whining about the work after a short while. Wheeljack considered turning him away, content to sort things out by himself, but part of him would certainly appreciate the assistance. Rebuilding Cybertron was a team effort, after all.

"We all have a lot to do, Wheeljack. It's my day off. I could easily be somewhere else."

"Then how about you start bringing the boxes from in there," Wheeljack ordered, nodding towards the nearby store room, "And bring them out here. We need to sort this stuff out."

"Whatever you say." Knock Out gave a visibly sarcastic bow before he started into the store room. Wheeljack returned his attention to the pistol he had recovered from the first crate, noticing that there was a visible safety switch on the side. He picked the weapon up and flicked it off, feeling the weapon vibrate slightly in his hand as it charged up for the first time in centuries. It would likely be weaker than his on-board cannons, but his interest in anything remotely destructive had him toying with the gun in short order.

Knock Out emerged with a larger crate that he was having visible difficulty in carrying. Wheeljack watched him with the slightest of smirks as the former Decepticon dropped the heavy crate loudly upon the bench.
"No one stripped this place clean?" Knock Out asked him. He bent back and forwards, attempting to rectify an ache that had formed in his lower back. Wheeljack shrugged in reply.

"The door was locked tight," he said. "It was probably overlooked in the chaos of the evacuation."

"It's likely all junk," Knock Out commented.

Wheeljack held the pistol up for him to see.

"You call that 'junk'?"

"Does it still fire, after all this time?" Knock Out's tone was doubtful, derisive even.

Wheeljack was quick to reply, albeit in his own unique way: he gripped the weapon tight in his hand and fired, sending a brief white beam shooting past Knock Out that slammed into the wall near him. There was a puff of smoke and a shower of sparks upon impact, enough to cause Knock Out to stumble against the bench in fright.

"What is wrong with you, Wheeljack?" He shouted, his red optics wide as he looked towards the Autobot. Wheeljack gave an innocent look as he lowered the weapon.

"At least it still works," he said, putting the weapon down on the bench. "Low-yield by the look of it. Built for concealment."

Knock Out stood up and regained his composure, well aware that he had been the victim of a dangerous prank.

"Don't look at me like that," Wheeljack said. He found himself enjoying putting the Decepticon into as much discomfort as possible. "I'm a certified marksman. If I had wanted to hit you, I would have."

"Certified marksman?" Knock Out was unconvinced. "The only thing you're probably certified in is being an--"

"Amazing Autobot?" Wheeljack finished, getting another annoyed glance from Knock Out for his trouble. "Yeah, I'd have to agree with you on that." He nodded towards the large crate that Knock Out had brought in. "Why don't you open that up? You sure you can manage that?"

Knock Out ignored the latter question and set his gaze on the box before him. There was no lock on that one, so all Knock Out had to do was work the latches to pop it open.

"Just what I've always wanted," Knock Out said, his voice thickly marked with sarcasm. He reached inside and retrieved the long metal cylinder contained within the crate. "An outdated and depleted power cell."

"Well, it can't all be the cool stuff, can it?" The 'holdout' pistol was likely just a lucky find.

Knock Out placed the power cell back into the box and closed the lid. His face took on a thoughtful gaze then and Wheeljack noticed it immediately.

"Something on your mind?"

"Maybe," Knock Out replied.

"That must be a first for you."

Knock Out rolled his optics at the remark and shifted the crate to one side.

"I've just been thinking about what comes next," the former Decepticon said. Wheeljack raised one brow-ridge, uncertain of his meaning.

"Comes after what?"

"After everything," Knock Out said. "After we're done getting this planet back in full working order. What do we do then?"

"You sound unsure of yourself." Wheeljack had not given the matter much thought. His work, whether it be in the workshop or out in the construction sites, had taken up much of his thoughts in recent years.

"Let's face it, Wheeljack. It's a brave new world we're living in." He did not sound so convinced. "After all this time, the population here is still fairly small. By all accounts, our species is in a sorry state."

"The population will grow," Wheeljack said.

"Of course it will." Knock Out sounded exasperated, as if Wheeljack was not quite getting his point. "That's not what I'm talking about. What about us? The soldiers, the medics. We were fighting in a war for so long I'm worried I've forgotten how to function in an actual functioning society. Surely, you must feel the same way, even a little bit?"

Wheeljack would have been lying if he answered in the negative. He had always assumed his place on the new Cybertron would be much like the life he had lived prior to the war. Trouble was, he had difficulty even remembering that far back.

"I always thought I'd settle down," he said after a long pause. He was not entirely sure of this statement.

"Settle down? You?" Knock Out's scepticism was clear in his tone. "You don't seem the 'settling down' type. I certainly don't see you living out your days in some luxury home with a half a dozen little younglings racing about your feet."

"You're saying I'm not the type?" Wheeljack might have felt insulted, if he did not feel so unsure of himself all of a sudden. He had never heard Knock Out talk about this sort of thing before. Then again, he had not spoken to Knock Out much at all.

"Oh, I'm sure your skills with the females are superb," Knock Out said. Wheeljack was not entirely sure if he was being sarcastic or not. "You and I have something in common in that regard, I think. Then again, I've never been too picky..."

"I don't want to know about your taste in partners." Wheeljack interrupted him. Despite his general disdain for the former Decepticon, he did find himself thinking about what Knock Out had mentioned. 'Settling down' was something he had never thought he would get an opportunity to do. The life of a soldier had been a dangerous one, certainly, but it had also been very rewarding. He had become so engrossed in it, addicted even that for a time he had never seen himself doing anything else. Now, with the war over, he realised that he was very much at a loss. The reconstruction effort was a good diversion, but he knew it would not last forever. Becoming a scientist again did not interest him much, oddly enough. They may need scientists, he knew there were plenty of others who could take those roles. Going back to his old life was simply unappealing. In fact, it felt like a disappointment. He was a soldier, a Wrecker to be more precise. He had been convinced he would be one until he inevitably got himself killed. Apparently, he had been too good to get himself killed. And he had been one whom others had seen to be likely to die in some reckless endeavor.

"You simply don't seem like the type to stay in one place for any extended period of time," Knock Out said, his refined tones interrupting Wheeljack's train of thought.

"What do you know about me?" Wheeljack scoffed. His interactions with Knock Out had been fairly limited up until recently. "How do you know I'm not the type?"

"Why, Wheeljack, you sound insulted," Knock Out said. His mouth formed into a wry smile as he spoke. "Did I touch a nerve?"

"I just don't like it when a 'Con makes assumptions about me," he said, his tone level.

"Autobot, Decepticon, it no longer matters what side you're on," Knock Out countered. "I gave up being a Decepticon years ago."

"You still act like one."

"How so?"

"The superior attitude, for starters."

"My superior attitude? That's rich, coming from you. You're the cockiest and most self-absorbed Autobot I've ever met. If anyone's got a superior attitude, it's you."

Wheeljack frowned. Maybe Knock Out spoke the truth, it would not be the first time someone had said as much about him. Still, he found the former Decepticon's irritated expression slightly amusing.

"What are you going to do? Are you going to 'settle down'? Something tells me no self-respecting female would ever want to 'settle down' with you." Wheeljack leaned back against the bench, awaiting the likely frustrated reply.

"Your assumption is quite off the mark," Knock Out replied. There was some pride in his voice. "I intend to find myself a nice place in the east Iacon estates. I also intend to do my part in repopulating this world."

"Yeah, I'm sure you do," Wheeljack said. He was not at all convinced.

"My skills with the females are rusty, I'll admit that. There weren't very many in the Decepticon ranks."

"Maybe because most females have some degree of self-respect." Wheeljack smirked at him again when Knock Out gave a look of contempt.

"Do you want my help in your tasks or not? Because I can leave, if I want to. I'm supposed to have the day off."

"You won't leave," Wheeljack said. "You're too afraid of what the chief will say if he finds out you didn't help me." He paused for a moment, considering the matter. "You know, I don't think he likes you."

"Ultra Magnus and I get along fine," Knock Out replied. "What makes you think otherwise?"

Wheeljack shrugged. Honestly, he had no idea what the Autobot Commander thought about Knock Out, nor did he particularly care. Still, getting on Knock Out's nerves made for an amusing diversion. It was certainly preferable over sorting through old crates.

"My Decepticon past is behind me now, Wheeljack. If Ultra Magnus can accept that, you should be able to as well."

"Doesn't change the fact that you're a coward," Wheeljack said simply. He started for the store room, ignoring Knock Out's wide-eyed look as the statement registered in his head. Wheeljack took one of the small metal crates from the shelves nearest the door and brought it back into the workshop. Knock Out looked flustered. His fiery red optics went to Wheeljack as the Autobot emerged from the storage room.

"I'm a doctor, not a soldier," Knock Out said, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen between the two of them.

"Are you going to stay a doctor?" Wheeljack set the crate down on the bench in front of him. This one was unlocked, so he simply had to flip the latches to reveal the contents within. There was nothing inside this one, a slight disappointment but one to be expected. He realised, as he asked the question to Knock Out, that he and the doctor did have a few things in common. It was not a realisation that brought him any happiness. They were both self-absorbed, to varying degrees. Wheeljack had been called as much by others in the past. Knock Out had displayed as much during the time they had known each other.

"It's all I've ever done," Knock Out replied. "I will have my place on this new Cybertron. I'm curious to hear what you're going to do."

"I..." Wheeljack trailed off. This was not a matter he had settled within himself. He doubted he ever would. "I don't know." As much as he hated giving this answer for any question, it was the truth. The more he thought about it, the more daunting it seemed. Things had been so much simpler during the war.

Before Knock Out could add anything, he was distracted by the familiar voice that burst through his comms. Wheeljack watched him as he listened intently to whatever the caller was saying.

"He's here, sir." Knock Out looked towards Wheeljack and with one hand tapped the side of his forehead. It was an obvious signal for the Autobot to switch on his own comms. Wheeljack, somewhat reluctantly, did so.

"Wheeljack? Can you hear me?" Ultra Magnus' stern voice cut through his thoughts abruptly.

"Yeah, I can hear you. What do you want?" Wheeljack wondered what the Commander could possibly want from him now. He had already given him the assignment down here in the workshop, sorting through all the crates; and then he had given Knock Out the data-pad containing the details as to Wheeljack's assignment to the nearby refinery. What more could Ultra Magnus possibly want him to do?

"I need you and Knock Out to report to me immediately. I'll be in the central command centre."

"What is it this time, chief?"

"I'll explain when we meet." Ultra Magnus ended the communications link then, apparently seeing himself as above goodbyes. Wheeljack exchanged looks with Knock Out. It appeared that the former Decepticon doctor was just as confused as he was.

"Will he ever stop giving me things to do?" Wheeljack said aloud.

"That's doubtful..."

"It was a rhetorical question," Wheeljack interrupted. "You do know what those are, right?" The Autobot Wrecker could feel his frustration levels rising, ever so gradually. He had been at work non-stop ever since Cybertron's core had been restored. It was a constant stream of laborious, time-consuming tasks, none of which were particularly exciting or even mentally stimulating. For someone who had been a soldier as long as he had, it felt like a waste of genuine skills. He figured he should get used to it. I don't think I ever will.

 

Earth

In the heartland of Nevada and a hotbed of conspiracy theories, Area 51 was nothing more than an uncharacteristically large blot on an otherwise barren landscape. With rolling hills, flat plains and dry vegetation going on for miles on end, the airbase was very literally located in the middle of nowhere. Area 51 itself was a large compound comprised of squat rectangular buildings and large hangars, with a set of runways to boot, being a section of the somewhat larger Edwards Air Force Base. The buildings often gleamed silvery-grey in the harsh sunlight, especially now at this midday hour. The base sat on the mostly flat and perpetually dry Groom Lake. Even several miles from the compound's perimeter, security patrols were on the prowl. Orange markers denoted the limits of the actual restricted area and any civilian unfortunate enough to cross them, whether it be intentionally or not, would find themselves arrested within a matter of minutes. Surveillance cameras, most hidden about the perimeter, kept a constant eye on the surrounding desert. Given the secrecy and the security, it was no wonder the place had become a centre for so many modern legends. It had not been nicknamed 'Dreamland' for nothing.

Some of those legends might have been true. Jack Darby was one individual who had worked in and out of the place for some time, though he was yet to encounter any grey-skinned black-eyed aliens wielding probes. A chance encounter with a particular set of alien robots nine years ago had brought him into things he could have only ever dreamed about prior. Whatever ideas for a fairly ordinary life he had considered before that event had been thoroughly thrown askew. Not that he minded much, as the life he lived now was certainly a great deal more interesting than what most people lived.

He may have been a teenager when all this had begun, but he was an adult now. At twenty-five, Jack had been working properly with Unit-E for about five years. He was one of the few who had had actual close interaction with the Autobots and he had field experience to go with it. Nonetheless, he had been put through a training course once he had hit nineteen, just to make sure he was actually fit enough to be a proper member of the special unit. After about six months he had been put on official duties.

Now he found himself once again outside Hangar E, strolling his way to the entrance. Nearby, a group of soldiers in uniform jogged by on training drills. Above, an F-22 roared overhead. Jack, dressed in a fairly ordinary suit complete with tie, an outfit he had never felt much of a liking for if at all, stopped by the metal door located to one side of the large hangar doors. It was locked with a keypad and he was quick to punch in the appropriate numbers.

Jack was very much typical for a man of his age. Six-foot-four in height, slightly wavy short dark hair and a fair bit of muscle under his white shirt, Jack certainly looked the part for a government agent. Unit-E was one organization that was strictly off-the-books, headquartered right here in Hangar E.

The door in front of him clicked open and he pushed it, stepping into the somewhat cooler confines of the hangar before closing the door behind him. The interior was vast, with a lot of empty space where any resident Cybertronians would have certainly made use of if they were here. Ratchet, the Autobot medic, was off in the far corner, sorting through equipment. Nearby, a pair of armed guards stood on watch. Jack flashed his identification as he walked by them before heading up a flight of stairs and onto a walkway that ran the length of this side of the hangar. There were several doors along here, one in particular he headed for. Another, somewhat further up, still beared his name on the front.

How long has it been? He wondered as he stopped by the intended door. There was a name plaque on the front: FOWLER, W. And underneath that, in smaller letters: DEFENCE INTELLIGENCE AGENCY. The DIA was one organization that was fairly obscure. Everybody knew about the FBI, the CIA and the NSA. It was the DIA the general population did not seem to pay much attention to, even if the agency in question was just as powerful as the others.

This will be awkward. Jack placed three sharp knocks on the door. There was no immediate response. He noticed a buzzer by the door and tried that instead. Finally, after a lengthy pause, he heard a familiar voice shout from inside.

"Come in!"

Jack grabbed the handle and turned it, pushing open the door before he stepped through. The office was a fairly mundane affair, with grey wallpaper and an American flag on a pole in the corner. The blinds were partially shut over the windows ahead. Agent William "Bill" Fowler of the Defence Intelligence Agency sat at an average-sized desk at the end of the room, to the left of the door. Jack stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
William Fowler was a fairly imposing man, always dressed in the same grey suit jacket with white shirt and striped tie. He had even been a US Army Ranger in his younger years, though whatever evidence of that rigorous lifestyle had faded with time. He was actually fairly plump, particularly at the stomach area. His hair, close-cropped and curly, was grey and his face beared some of the weathering of age.

Fowler had been sorting through some papers when Jack had walked in. He looked up from his work, his brow narrowed as he regarded the younger man.

"You certainly took your time," he said. "You come to get all your things?"

"It's good to see you too, Bill." Jack walked up to the desk and held out one hand, intending to shake. Fowler eyed the offered hand and then looked back up at Jack.

"Six months," he said. Jack lowered the hand and found himself at a sudden loss on what to say. He had been worried about what this meeting would be like. Fowler was a good man, if a little stubborn. He had also made his dislike of Jack's latest career choice very clear during their last talk.

"Six months you've been gone," Fowler continued. "No phone calls. No emails. No postcards. Heck, no one's set foot in your office for just as long. The whole place is probably dustier than my mother's attic." Fowler set down the few papers he had been holding and leaned back in his seat, his expression making his general annoyance clear. Was that a hint of betrayal in his eyes? Jack could not be certain. He would understand if Fowler indeed felt that way.

"I haven't quit. I got an assignment offered to me and I took it. That's all."

"An assignment? They took you away from me. From the Unit. That was practically an insult." Fowler paused then, letting out an exasperated sigh. "I'm one week away from retirement and you make your comeback now?"

Jack shrugged. What could he say? Fowler's imminent retirement was one reason why he had returned after a six month absence. He was bothered with himself that he had not kept in contact, but the nature of his assignment had prevented him from doing so.

"I read about those people you've been working for," Fowler said. "What are they called again? The..."

"The Special Reaction Taskforce."

"Yeah. Those guys. I tried to look them up. There's even less on the books about them than there is on Unit-E." Fowler frowned. "Unofficial sources, on the other hand, imply that these guys have been trying to reverse-engineer alien technology. Is that why they called you in? Since you had first-hand experience?"

"Pretty much." Jack did not like the awkwardness that was apparent between the two of them. Nor did he like the way Fowler was looking at him.

"What are they? Black ops?" Fowler set both his hands onto the table in front of him. "What was so important with them that you couldn't even give me a call?"

"They advised I don't, for security reasons. I haven't even been able to call mom."

"How is June?" Fowler's eyes noticeably lit up upon mention of his mother. Jack saw an outlet to turn the conversation to a slightly more upbeat tone and took it.

"She's doing fine," Jack replied. "She asked the same about you, when I talked to her before coming here." He had been about to add something along the lines of, 'why don't you give it another shot?' but decided against it. That, he realised, would have been an awfully idiotic thing to say. Thankfully, he was more prone to thinking before acting unlike other people he knew.

"Good to hear," Fowler said. "How did she react to your six month absence?"

"About the same way you are." Jack smiled, noticing that Fowler was doing the same.

Fowler nodded and leaned back in his chair, one hand going to his tie to adjust it slightly.

"You probably think I'm being a bit too harsh," Fowler said. The sudden change in subject caught Jack a little off-guard. "You're a young man. You have a whole life ahead of you. A whole career. You've certainly made good of what you've done so far, for the agency, for Unit-E. I'm just worried about the company you've fallen in with. This Taskforce." He paused, raising one eyebrow as he pondered what to add. "They must have given you a nice offer."

"I'm still getting my regular pay. They simply invited me to join them for a while. To be a consultant."

"Is that all?"

"Pretty much. You probably understand that I can't tell you the details. I had to sign non-disclosure agreements."

"I do understand." Fowler's mood had mellowed noticeably. Still, Jack could understand why he might be feeling even slightly betrayed. He had upped and left one day six months prior with hardly a proper 'goodbye'.

"I didn't expect to be stuck with them for as long as I was," Jack explained. "I'm one of the few with first-hand experience with Cybertronians. Apparently that was experience enough for them."

"I guess I should have warned you about my retirement earlier," Fowler mused. "Maybe then you wouldn't have left like you did. I mean, what we do here, Unit-E and all that..." He trailed off. The thought of leaving this life behind him was having a very noticeable effect on him. Jack could certainly understand, as Fowler had been in this line of work for many years. Putting it behind him would be no easy decision. "I was going to hand off full reign of the operation over to you."

"I thought as much."

"Yeah, it was pretty obvious, huh?" Fowler gave him a warm smile. "In a week, everything here will be under your, uh, stewardship. I'll be gone, probably in the Bahamas somewhere living off my fat government pension."

"The Bahamas?"

"Or Hawaii. I still haven't decided." There was uncertainty in his voice. Jack figured it was caused by more than a simple indecision between which holiday destination to visit.

"They're making you retire, aren't they?" Jack asked.

"I've been in this job for twenty years, Jack. When it comes to this sort of work, the higher-ups can get very picky. And when the higher-ups get changed around, the new guys who take their places like to change around what their predecessor left them with." He stopped there, giving himself a moment to think over what to say next. "They even wanted to dismantle Unit-E. I kicked up a serious stink about that."

"Dismantle?" This was the first Jack had heard of this. It was no wonder that Fowler had been so annoyed at him for being absent this long.

"A lot of different people want a piece of the action," Fowler said. "I think this Taskforce you had a stint with might be among them. We are, after all, right on the link between two worlds. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when the guy who replaced Bryce came by and suggested I retire."

"And you just agreed to it?" Jack was surprised, assuming the worst given Fowler's more solemn tone. The agent simply looked at him and shook his head.

"I agreed only when they agreed to my conditions. The big one was that you take my place once I'm gone."

"They bought it?"

"I still have some sway, even with the new guy," Fowler said, some pride seeping into his voice. "General Williamson isn't like Bryce. He's even more of a hardliner, but he recognized your contributions and thought it best you stay here. I'm not sure how that's going to work now, since you've been off gallivanting with the Taskforce. It's a clever tactic."

Jack found himself a little confused by the last statement. The Special Reaction Taskforce had been a somewhat more militarised version of Unit-E, without all the bureaucracy. It had seemed a more appealing group to work for, as much as he liked Fowler and the connection he had to Unit-E in general. He had come back, after all, and he certainly would not decline Fowler's offer of taking over once he retired.

"They took you away and heaped all this stuff onto me while you were gone," Fowler continued. "They were probably trying to suck you right in, that way once you took over you'd let them in on what goes on here."

Jack frowned. It sounded like paranoia, a first from Fowler. Jack had not been 'sucked in' by the Taskforce and he had told them very little of what went on in Unit-E. After all, he had required to sign non-disclosure agreements prior to starting his work here, much in the same way he had done for his six-month long stint in the Taskforce.

"I'd never let them take over," Jack said.

"I hope you mean that," Fowler replied. "But I don't think they'd be happy to hear that from you."

"It's funny you mention all this," Jack said. "I didn't just come back to catch up on what I've missed. There's someone from the Taskforce who wants to meet you. He'll probably be calling you anytime now."

Fowler raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. Jack had only heard the news in passing from the Taskforce's boss. It seemed only decent to give Fowler prior warning.

"He wants to talk to you. Probably try and sort something out along the lines of what you said." If what Fowler had been saying was close to the truth, then it would appear that the Special Reaction Taskforce had a very vested interest in Unit-E. Jack supposed it only made sense, given the Taskforce's specialisations. Working for them had been only slightly more interesting than working for Unit-E. Despite the change of pace, he was still grateful to be back here.

"Well, if he wants to talk, I'd be more than happy to oblige him," Fowler said. It sounded like he had quite a lot to say to the individual in charge of the Taskforce.

"Are you here to stay?" He asked suddenly.

"I've got a few loose ends back at the Taskforce's headquarters," Jack answered. "But once they're done with, I'll be back here. It sucks about your retirement, though. They're seriously making you retire?"

"It was suggested to me. And I thought I'd take it on board." Fowler certainly did not sound keen on the idea. Jack knew he would miss the guy once he had left. Working with him for as long as he had had made Fowler virtually family, as clichéd as he thought it sounded.

"I'll go sort out my office," Jack said. He held out his hand again, intending to shake. Fowler looked at it and, with a warm smile, clutched it with his own and the pair shook heartily. It was good to know that there were no hard feelings between them.

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

Conspiracy theorist websites were far from reliable sources, yet Fowler still found himself browsing them in his downtime. After Jack had gone to clean up his office, Fowler had switched his computer back on out of standby mode and had paid a visit to the more obscure regions of the worldwide web, where paranoia and crazy theories reigned supreme. Part of him read such things for amusement, another part of him found himself fascinated. And yet, there was an even smaller part of him that wanted to believe in this stuff. He knew aliens existed and he knew there were schemes in place to keep their existence under wraps. He was surprised to see some of the conspiracy bloggers, with their often wacky suggestions, were getting ever so closer to the truth. The only problem for them, he realised, was that they would likely overshoot the truth by a figurative mile and land in something even stranger than what was real.

General Robert Williamson had told him to consider retirement. The increasing amount of red-tape he had to jump through to get anything done around here had told him that it was probably for the best he follow the General's advice. Someone higher-up on the food chain wanted him gone, albeit in the friendly sense and not the 'arrange an accident' sort. Hopefully Jack would fare better against the rising tide of bullshit.

Fowler navigated his way onto an obscure conspiracy blog where several photos of black helicopters had been uploaded. He had never seen these unmarked black helicopters in person, though according to the conspiracy theorists they were just another arm of the far-reaching 'new world order' that was apparently working to take over the planet. After his run-ins with MECH and their goals for a 'new world order', Fowler had found himself taking these theories somewhat more seriously. Well, slightly more seriously, anyway.
It was about an hour before the phone on his desk rang, interrupting his web browsing and derailing his thoughts. He picked it up, hearing the voice of one of the guards outside.

"There's a man out here to see you, sir."

"Who is he?" Fowler assumed this was the man from the Special Reaction Taskforce that Jack had mentioned.

"Colonel Carver. He has the appropriate clearance. He even says he's willing to wait, if you're busy."

"Tell him he can come see me," Fowler said. He hung up the phone then, unsure of what to expect when this Colonel arrived. He could at least look forward to getting some answers in regards to what the Taskforce actually did. As much as he would have liked Jack to tell him, it was understandable in this sort of work that the young man was bound by certain agreements against that sort of thing. Fowler had similar restrictions. He simply could not go out on the street and tell passers-by that he worked with aliens for a living. Then again, even if I did do that, no one would believe me. Rival organizations would not want their employees spilling details to each other. Is that what the Taskforce was to Unit-E? A 'rival'? He hardly knew enough about them to make a solid conclusion.

His train of thought was broken at that moment by a knock at the door of his office. Fowler turned his attention towards it.

"Come on in," he called. The door opened, revealing the tall and well-built visitor behind it. He stepped inside, his booted feet clunking audibly upon the firm carpeted floor.

If Fowler was standing up, this visitor would be taller by a few inches. The man was middle-aged, presumably in his late forties at first guess. He was dressed in a dark uniform, black mostly, lacking any of the multi-coloured medal ribbons one might expect on the uniform of an officer. His shoulders bore the insignia of a Colonel, as well as a patch that Fowler had not seen before: it was a simple black and white stitching of a pair of snakes coiled around a sword with a sphere, no doubt representing the Earth, backgrounding the piece. This Colonel wore a set of black gloves, somewhat ill-fitting for the heat of the Nevada desert. It's like he doesn't want to leave his prints on anything. The thought was an absent one, but it was one that struck Fowler as being likely true. There was no name tag on the front of his uniform, somewhat uncharacteristic for an officer's outfit.

"You're--"

"Colonel Jerome Carver," the man said, his voice level, with a stern edge and rough undertone. He had likely acquired that rough tone from yelling at his subordinates. Fowler figured him for the type right away. A definite drill sergeant sort, judging from the sound of his voice. Carver closed the door behind him and approached the desk, holding out one hand. Fowler eyed it but did nothing.

Carver retracted the offered hand and sat down in one of the two vacant seats across the desk from Fowler. He wore a black peaked cap. The hair that was visible from underneath was grey in places, particularly at the sideburns.

"I take it Mr. Darby mentioned I was coming by?" Carver asked. He spoke each word carefully, his tone perfectly level. The man practically reeked of military protocol. Fowler was fairly confident in his assumption that Carver had been in busy since he had been old enough to join.

"Yes, yes he did." Fowler frowned. "That's about all he did tell me about you and what your people do."

"Secrecy is important. You of all people should know that."

"Yeah. I just don't like it when my star employee leaves for six months to work for a bunch of people I've never heard of before." Fowler realised he may have sounded angry. He did feel a little that way, but it was mostly frustration he felt. Letting his emotions get to him was probably not the best approach here.

"That was only temporary," Carver said. "I introduced Mr. Darby to our organization and what we stand for. I wanted him to see how we compared to your little operation here."

"You wanted to sucker him into joining up with you," Fowler countered. He may have sounded paranoid, but he was certain this had been the Colonel's intention. "Convenient, since he's the one who'll take over Unit-E when I'm gone."

"And I'm sure he's up for the task."

There was a pause. Carver put an arm to either armrest of the chair.

"What do you people do, anyway?" Fowler asked. He doubted he would get much of an answer. "The Special Reaction Taskforce, that is what you call yourselves?"

"Yes, that is what we're called," Carver replied. "We were formed about three years ago through a secret executive order from the President himself."

"You have the Commander-in-Chief's approval?" Fowler could not keep his disbelief from seeping into his voice. He thought that maybe Carver was pulling his leg, that there was no way that something like this could have gone down without him becoming aware of it. He had been convinced that Unit-E was the first and foremost organization when it came to interactions with the Cybertronians. Apparently he had been mistaken.

"Of course we do," Carver deadpanned. "You might think Unit-E is the frontline when it comes to alien incursions, but it's my Taskforce that has taken up the mantle of protecting this planet."

Fowler felt his incredulity well on the rise. Not once he had been told of the Taskforce, nor of any other group that might have had significant involvement with the Cybertronians. "Your little group here, with your pet Autobot, keeps diplomatic channels open. The Special Reaction Taskforce is what defends this planet, Agent Fowler."

"Pet Autobot?" It took Fowler a moment to realise who Carver was referring to. "You mean Ratchet?"

"Yes, I mean Ratchet." Carver gave an almost roguish smile. "They do give themselves funny names, don't you think?"

Fowler did not answer the question. He was still trying to get over the fact that Carver's Taskforce had as much of an involvement in defending the planet as he said they did.

"Your 'unit' keeps diplomatic channels open, as I've said. But who does the heavy-lifting? There are no Autobots here, save for the one. The others only visit on occasion. There's no actual force of them to defend this planet for us. We have to do that ourselves. That's why the Taskforce exists." Carver said all this bluntly, as if it were common knowledge. The man practically exuded confidence. The aura he carried around him was that of superiority, or at least assumed superiority. Being a Colonel and in charge of some kind of black ops outfit was probably something very few people would be able to achieve. Individuals like that needed to be confident and willing to throw others to the wayside if it meant advancing their own ends. Fowler had known people like Carver in the past, men (and a few women, for that matter) who might have been good officers, but to get to that position they had essentially clawed their way to the top and mauled several people on the way up.

"We're the Earth's newest line of defence against an alien menace," Carver added.

"There's been no 'alien menace' for years." Fowler was certain of this. The Decepticons had been finished for several years. Cybertron was at peace and most former Decepticons had given up the fight. There had been a truce with the larger factions, since Megatron's 'retirement' had sent their forces into disarray. A lot of Decepticon warlords with their own little bands of bad guys had fought each other for whatever scraps of power were left for them, though none of this had happened on Earth. If it had, Fowler would have known about it. He was surprised when Carver said the one thing he had not been expecting, in this regard.

"That's where you're wrong, Agent Fowler." Carver sounded almost smug, as if knowing something Fowler did not gave him some sort of satisfaction. It very likely did. "The 'alien menace' will never go away. Earth is a world with a past inextricably linked to that of Cybertron."

"I meant that there have been no Decepticon incursions for several years," Fowler countered. "I don't see why we need a 'Taskforce' to fight a threat that hasn't actually been a threat for this long."

"Again, you're mistaken," Carver said. "There are many Decepticons out there, not all of them have fallen in line with the disbanding of their forces. And there are some that have foolishly come to Earth in the last three years, since the Taskforce's inception. Each time, my people have been there to intercept them."

Fowler would have scoffed in disbelief had he been talking to anyone else. The Colonel did not seem the sort who would make things up. Certainly nothing to that scale. Unit-E was supposed to have a handle on the Decepticons, not some Taskforce he had only recently learned existed.

"How could that have happened without me learning of it?" Fowler asked. "Without Ratchet finding out?"

"We keep such things under wraps, Agent Fowler." He paused for a moment and Fowler thought he saw traces of a smirk on the man's weathered visage. If there was, it was only a fleeting look that quickly gave way to Carver's mostly stoic exterior. "Besides, what would your 'Unit' do, if faced with Decepticon intruders? You have one Autobot on the premises. A medical officer at that, so he's hardly qualified for a fight."

"Ratchet is more than able to hold his own," Fowler said. His tone became defensive, the Colonel's thinly-veiled insult towards the Autobot not escaping his attention. However, it was probably best if he kept his emotions under strict control in the face of Colonel Carver. He did not want to give the man the satisfaction of getting a rise out of him. "And we can contact the other Autobots at any time through the space-bridge. Cybertron's practically a short walk away."

"That also makes for the perfect invasion vector."

"What the heck are you on about?"

"Cybertron, from what I've learned, isn't exactly at 'peace'. As I've said, there are many Decepticon warlords out there, not necessarily on Cybertron, who would happily start another war. If they incited another war on Cybertron, they could very well come walking through that 'bridge' of yours with their guns blazing." Again, his tone was level, stating all this as if it was common knowledge. "All it takes is another war to erupt, for past grievances to get the better of those Cybertronians who may not have been too keen on the end of the war the first time around."

"And I thought I was getting paranoid," Fowler commented. "Are all you black ops guys like this? Seeing threats where they aren't?"

"It's my job to protect this country, Agent Fowler, much as it is for you," Carver stated. He sounded sincere. "It's also my job to protect the human species in general from the threat that the Cybertronians, and any other alien race that might be out there, pose to us. Since the Special Reaction Taskforce was created, we have destroyed fourteen Decepticon intruders."

"You have records to back that up?" Fowler really needed to talk to General Williamson about this. Having all this information laid out on him now, so close to his scheduled retirement, was simply fuelling his desire to remain on board. A desire that would likely lead him into more trouble, he realised, but he sure as hell would not allow Unit-E to fall under the sway of some hardline black ops Colonel.

"I can forward you the appropriate records," Carver said. "Well, as much as I am at liberty to disclose, anyway. You may think your work is top secret. The lengths the Taskforce goes to in order to keep things under wraps makes Unit-E look like the Postal Service." He almost cracked a smile then, a slight curling of the corners of his mouth, but the action was so brief and stilted that most people would have missed it. Fowler noticed it and he felt a wave of anger building deep within him. Carver's attitude towards the operation here was blatantly clear.

"That's fourteen rogue Decepticons," Carver added.

"I think the Autobots scrapped a whole lot more than that while they were here," Fowler replied.

"Perhaps. Most were likely Vehicon drones. I'm talking actual Decepticons, beyond the drone-level. My people hunted them and killed them."

"Okay, Colonel. I get it. Your 'Taskforce' is so much better than what I've got here." Fowler gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "Did you decide, when you woke up this morning, that you'd come on down here and rub it all in my face? I'm surprised you haven't mentioned how you tried to sucker in Jack with all this."

"He was a consultant, nothing more," Carver said. He spoke his words deliberately, as if each one had been pre-selected after careful thought. "And no, Agent Fowler, I didn't come here to rub it in your face. That would be petty and more fitting for a teenager. I came here because, believe it or not, the Taskforce requires your assistance."

"Oh, so the only time you come here is because you want something?" Fowler would have laughed at how typical the situation had suddenly become, were it not for the serious way in which Carver was watching him. There was something about the Colonel's piercing blue eyes that made him feel uneasy.

"The Taskforce has been in contact with a Decepticon officer for some time," Carver explained, ignoring Fowler's question. "He's a warlord, much like the ones I've mentioned. He calls himself a 'General'. It's likely the title is self-awarded. We made contact with him, or rather he made contact with us after we eliminated one of his scouts."

"You've been talking with a Decepticon warlord?" Fowler's disbelief in the matter seeped its way into his voice. "So, what? He's on Earth?"

"Of course he is," Carver said. "He's probably been on Earth for some time, we simply were unaware until he came out and contacted us. The thing with this 'General' is that he wants to negotiate. Not just with us humans, but with the Autobots."

Fowler started shaking his head. This was getting to be too much. He had already needed to swallow a whole lot of bullshit from the Colonel, if anything this latest bit of news was icing on the bullshit cake.

"Unit-E liaises with the Autobots," Carver said. "As you can see, what I want should be clear."

"You want me to set up a negotiation? As in, have a nice get-together with some Decepticon I've never met before and a bunch of Autobots?" Fowler laughed out loud then. In contrast, Carver kept a straight face. "That's nuts. Absolutely nuts. Are you screwing with me, Colonel? Is this some kind of near-retirement practical joke?"

"I'm afraid it's no joke," Carver stated. "The Decepticon General wishes to negotiate with the Autobots. He sees Earth as neutral ground. He also desires the rights to mine energon here, as Earth has some very sizeable deposits of the substance."

"Can't he just go to Cybertron?"

"He doesn't trust the Autobots enough to do that," Carver replied. "Would you go into potentially hostile territory to negotiate with the enemy?" Fowler was about to respond but Carver continued speaking before the agent could interject. "You would find neutral territory. Earth is suitable neutral territory. At least now it is, since the Autobots are gone."

"You can't trust the 'Cons," Fowler said, bluntly. "The fact that there are more of them on Earth is news to me, Colonel. It's probably best you find where he's hiding out and bomb him back to the stone age. Better yet, I'm sure some of the Autobots would be more than willing to find him and whatever goons he has so they can blow them away." He could send Ratchet through the ground-bridge, send him back to Cybertron and tell the other Autobots the situation.

"He's running out of energon," Carver said. "He and his troops are in a very sorry state. That's why he wishes to negotiate. Sending the Autobots in to destroy them hardly seems sporting, does it? They want to negotiate and I feel it's in our best interests to do so."

"Your best interests." Fowler had no real desire to help the Colonel on this matter. In fact, he was seriously close to calling in Ratchet and telling him the situation. That way Ratchet could go get some of his friends from Cybertron and they could put an end to this situation with the Decepticon 'General' real quickly, if the Decepticons in question really were in a 'sorry' state.

"I'm afraid you haven't much choice in the matter," Colonel Carver said. With one hand, he reached into his jacket and pulled from a pocket there a letter. Fowler saw the Presidential seal upon it and felt his heart lurch in his stomach. Whatever level this Taskforce operated on, they had as much support as Unit-E. This was a disconcerting thought, to realise that for three years his work here had been undermined by a group that was too shady even for him. "Orders from the Secretary of Defence," Carver said. He handed the letter across the desk to Fowler, who snatched it up reluctantly and flipped open the envelope. "He wants Unit-E and the Special Reaction Taskforce to work together on this one. Hence why I'm here."

Fowler took out the notice from within the envelope and skimmed through it. Typical of orders of its kind, it was concise and free of any flowery language. Essentially, the Secretary of Defence wanted the two organizations to settle the matter through cooperation and by enlisting any Autobot assistance they required. However, the sort of assistance Fowler had had in mind was quelled when he read the last few sentences: If at all possible, a peaceful solution to this situation is preferable. The United States government has no desire to ignite an alien war through any overzealous military involvement, human or alien in origin.

"If we were to launch a full scale assault upon an enemy who has called for a truce, we would simply add to whatever political problems are occurring on Cybertron," Carver said. Fowler put the letter down, his thoughts conflicted. This had not been what he had been expecting today and certainly not a week before his retirement. "The potential here, through peaceful means, is considerable. We would not want our Autobot allies to think of us as barbarians if we laid waste to an inferior force of Decepticons, especially those who wish for peace. The Autobots are due to renew their treaty with our government, so I feel that the timing for negotiating with a hostile force could not have been better."

"The treaty?" Fowler had almost forgotten about that.

"The President intends full disclosure within the next ten years," Carver explained.

"I heard." Fowler still was not sure of the sanity behind that particular decision, but who was he to argue with the big boss? Carver did not seem to have a problem with it.

"A successful negotiation, compounded by a renewed treaty, will go down well in any history books written about this age in history," Carver said.

"Age?" Fowler should have guessed that the Colonel fancied himself a history-maker. The sort of man who's one goal in life was to have an impact on the world around him.

"An age of miracles," Carver replied. "Alien contact, advancements in technology. Peaceful negotiation with a previously hostile alien force. We could make history in the coming weeks, Agent Fowler. Why would you not want to be a part of that history?" The Colonel sounded almost proud of himself. Fowler was not so easily drawn in, not when there were Decepticons involved. However, he could not go against official orders, certainly not from the Secretary of Defence. As an agent for the Defence Intelligence Agency and, in turn, the boss of Unit-E, Fowler answered directly to the Sec-Def (and the President on occasion). Carver was likely working within a similar hierarchy.

"I suggest you arrange contact with the Autobots on the other side of the space-bridge," Carver said, the sound of his voice enough to bring Fowler out of his brief reverie. "Bring them here and I'll get in touch with the Decepticon General."

"The political situation on Cybertron isn't as bad as you seem to think," Fowler said.

"I've read the reports. The Autobots may be in charge, but there are a number of factions vying for control. We'd do well to attempt a peaceful solution here, rather than add fuel to the fire." Carver rose out of his chair then, holding out a gloved hand to shake. Fowler, reluctantly, took it in his own and briefly shook hands with Carver.

"There's a future for both Earth and Cybertron, together," Carver said. "And we can be the men who herald that future." He broke off the handshake then, seemingly scrutinising Fowler for a moment. "You are a man of integrity, Agent Fowler. I can see that. So I see no reason why we would not be able to work together on this matter, or any others that may crop up in future."

"Yeah, well, it's a lot to digest," Fowler said. "I wasn't expecting to have this stuff heaped on me today."

"We cannot be prepared for absolutely everything," Carver replied. "Goodbye for now, Fowler. I'll be in touch." He turned around then and strode over to the door. There, he grasped the handle and pulled it open before heading out. Once the door shut behind him and Colonel Carver was gone, Fowler sat back in his chair and let out an extended sigh.

A week from retirement, he thought. Why does this all come up now? Maybe a higher power had it in for him, or maybe Carver had set it all up intentionally just to mess with him. Whatever the reason behind it all, Fowler had a feeling that he would not enjoy the next few days.

 

pretty damn good so far !

 

I appreciate the comments. Kind of surprised anyone's reading this, given how unpopular Prime seems to be around these parts.

But, hey, I'll keep updating, if only because I dislike leaving things unfinished.

 

I think it's mostly how it was handle. TFP had the potential to be something great, but either the writers screwed up or Hasbro was yanking their chains. E.g. you're probably familiar that the whole Beast Hunters shtick was a last minute addition for the cartoon?

 

Yeah, I know about that Beast Hunters thing. I still enjoyed the show a great deal, of course. And as I mentioned at the top of the first chapter of the story, I had an awful lot of ideas for some kind of story after I finished watching the show. I'm just getting them out there in some form.

I'm intentionally keeping the main cast of characters fairly small, that way I can give them all ample time to develop. Focusing on the likes of Wheeljack and Ultra Magnus might seem odd, but I feel that I can give them both a fair bit more depth than the show ever did. Wheeljack in particular, as he seems the sort who may be a bit more morally ambiguous than the other Autobots.

 

And here's a new chapter:
----------------------------------------

Command and Control

The Autobots central command centre was located on the upper levels of one of the monolithic towers. Gaining access to the tower in question required a short walk through the streets outside the main council chambers, particularly those that weaved through a few of the narrower lanes before passing the base of the tower. From there, the elevators were available to take any visitors up to the command centre where the ground and space-bridge control centres were located. It was probably the most important location in Iacon, second only to the council building.

Wheeljack was on his way there, having worked his way out of the council chambers and into one of the narrow lanes that wound around the building's perimeter. He was accompanied by Knock Out, who trailed behind him by a few metres. Wheeljack had no real desire to be seen hanging out with a Decepticon, even an 'ex' Decepticon like Knock Out. Even he knew it was a bit vain, worried over what impression his choice of company might make in the eyes of others. Still, he could not shake this concern and he found himself somewhat grateful that these particular narrow streets were mostly empty.

The restoration effort had been through here during the earliest stages, cleaning the streets and fixing up the buildings, most of which had been left as ruined hulks as a result of the war. Now they appeared almost as good as new, though with a visible patchwork of repairs, imperfections caused when any holes had been built over with newer metal. There were some Cybertronians out on the streets despite the fairly late hour, where the system's sun hung low on the horizon and the sky above had taken a darker shade. Wheeljack started for the tower up ahead, its door guarded by a pair of bored looking Autobots. A few engineers, denoted as such by the orange highlights at the shoulders of their armour, walked by in the opposite direction. Makeshift market stalls lined the street on Wheeljack's left the nearer he got to the tower. Most were selling junk, primarily scrap metal that might have been put to better use on the restoration of the city. The majority of the vendors were Decepticon in some form, save for the few Autobot opportunists who had decided to take advantage of the burgeoning junk market.

Scrap metal for energon. Some would do anything for more. Even with the city's refinery working at seventy-percent efficiency, there still had to be some degree of rationing. Ultra Magnus had been very careful in deciding who got what amount, putting a blanket rationing scheme over the entire population instead of giving any one group a larger amount. Anything to ease tensions.

"These streets could do with a makeover," Knock Out said from behind him. Wheeljack ignored him, even as the former Decepticon fell into step alongside him. "The repairs stand out, don't you think? Wouldn't it be ironic for a slum to crop up right next to the council buildings?"

"I'm not sure that's 'irony'," Wheeljack said, his tone sour. He barely looked over at Knock Out. Working with the 'Con on the cataloguing had been enough. Honorary Autobot or not, Wheeljack doubted he would ever genuinely "like" Knock Out.

There was graffiti on parts of the walls near the tower entrance, among them posters that had been plastered over much of it. Wheeljack noticed the lone Autobot standing near the wall, one whom was staring straight at him and had been doing so for the last few minutes. The Autobot in question was of an average size, mostly blue in colour with some grey complementing the finish. Under one arm was tucked a data-pad. Behind him, someone had scrawled in the Decepticon dialect a few messages. Wheeljack picked up on some of the phrases, but others had either faded or been covered over with posters.

NO PEACE. NO FORGIVENESS. ALL HAIL. The rest of the phrase had been covered over with a few posters and some newer graffiti. It appeared that whoever the graffiti artist was hailing would remain a mystery.

Trust some 'Cons to hold old grudges, Wheeljack thought. The feeling's mutual.

The Autobot ahead of him raised a hand, gesturing towards him. He wanted Wheeljack to come over. Wheeljack stopped in his tracks, unsure of whether to simply keep walking or to humour the Autobot. He had not seen this particular Autobot before and could only guess as to why he wanted his attention.

"What is it?" Knock Out asked him, stopping just to his right. "You're really not going to give these street preachers the time of day, are you?"

"What do you want?" Wheeljack looked at the Autobot by the wall. There was several metres space between them, space the Autobot closed quickly once Wheeljack had acknowledged his desire for attention. He found himself regretting ever stopping in the first place, aware that in this instance his curiosity had lead him into a somewhat awkward situation. He saw at the close proximity that this Autobot was old, his frame was battered in places and he was missing one optic. In its place he had bolted on a crude metal patch.

"I can see it on you," the Autobot said, his voice croaky. One hand clutched Wheeljack by the shoulder but he quickly broke free of the grasp. He took a step back from the older Autobot, his face contorting into an annoyed scowl in response to this invasion of his personal space.

"Do I know you?" Wheeljack asked. He figured he already knew the answer to that question.

"He's chosen you. I know it."

"Whatever." Wheeljack was dealing with a whack-job, this much was clear.

"And so it was written, in the Book of Nova Prime, that the Age of Primes would end and a chosen few would arise to herald the next age!" The Autobot street preacher got a manic look in his one optic. Wheeljack started walking past him, only to be followed. He had to resist the urge to punch the 'Bot in the face.

"These few would either lead us to salvation, or into ruin!"

Wheeljack picked up his pace, as did Knock Out, and the pair moved to the tower's entrance. The two Autobot guards here stepped forwards, both of which went for the street preacher. He was unable to follow Wheeljack any further when the two Autobot guards grabbed him by the arms and motioned him away from the door.

"What's his problem?" Wheeljack asked no one in particular. The tower door ahead of him slid open. He realised that it had been a long time since he had last been accosted on a street by a whacko. Old Cybertron, as it had been before the war and even during it, when Iacon had remained stalwart against Decepticon aggression, had had its fair share of homeless lining the streets. Some of them had kept to themselves, others had stirred up trouble with passers-by. The last few months, before Iacon had fallen to the Decepticons, had been especially bad in this regard. Non-combatant refugees had flooded the streets with many fighting over whatever limited supplies had been available. Wheeljack did not want to see anything like that happen again, certainly not here in Iacon.

"The more things change, the more they stay the same," Knock Out said, almost as if he had read the Autobot's mind. Wheeljack did not reply. He continued into the tower's main lobby, a well-lit but sparsely decorated room where a guard sat at a desk alone. He pointed the pair to the nearest elevator.

"Whatever the chief wants," Wheeljack said, as he and Knock Out made their way to the elevator, "It better be worth the time."

"Having trouble with the workload, Wheeljack?" Knock Out's tone was always smug to some degree, even more so this time around. "We all have to do our part. Even 'Wreckers' like yourself."

The pair stepped into the fairly wide elevator and Wheeljack tapped the appropriate key on the holographic panel by the door. The doors slid shut behind them and the elevator began its gradual ascent to the topmost docking platform.

"I think I pull my weight around here a lot more than you do, red," Wheeljack replied. He watched Knock Out through his peripheral vision, finding the prospect of riding an elevator of the former Decepticon an unappealing one. Wheeljack had no real desire to small-talk with a Decepticon. Still, if he found an opportunity to get on Knock Out's nerves he would take it.

"I do have a name, you know," Knock Out said, narrowing his optics. Wheeljack could certainly think of a few harsher nicknames for the ex-Decepticon. "And I do recall helping you catalogue those items."

"That job's barely half-finished," Wheeljack said. "Once we're done with Magnus, we're heading back to the workshop."

There was a brief silence between the two of them. The rumble of the elevator was the only sound Wheeljack could make out. At least until Knock Out opened his mouth again.

"I train the newest generation of doctors." Knock Out's voice adopted a defensive edge. "I'd say my role here is just as important as yours."

"I think Ratchet would do a better job." Wheeljack smirked when he saw Knock Out cringe. He had struck a nerve with that comment. "I'm just saying..."

"I'll keep your comment in mind if you ever end up on my operating table." Knock Out seemed happy with this reply, judging from the way he smirked. "When you're bleeding out all over, I'll simply make a call for Ratchet and we can both wait around for him to show. Hopefully you won't be dead by the time he gets to you."

"Ha! You're a real piece of work, 'Con." Wheeljack turned his head, regarding Knock Out with some slight amusement. There was also a healthy dose of disgust evident on his features directed towards the Decepticon doctor. "Guess you 'Cons never change, huh?" He stepped closer to Knock Out, noticing that the former Decepticon stood his ground, even as he peered at him with a loathsome gaze. "The others might trust you, they might even think of you as a friend. But me? I think all you 'Cons are the same. I know you're all the same. Especially your sort. The ones who would sell out their own comrades if it meant keeping their own afts intact." With one finger, he crudely prodded Knock Out in the middle of the chest. Even though the Decepticon doctor seemed unfazed, there was a hint within the look from his optics that betrayed the anxiety he felt. "We might work together, but I will never trust you. That is one thing you can be absolutely sure of."

The elevator stopped then and the doors slid open. Wheeljack stepped away from Knock Out and departed the elevator. The former Decepticon quickly composed himself and followed him. Any desire for small-talk had left him.

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

The command and control centre for Iacon took up much of the upper levels of the tower. It was heavily guarded, as any place with its importance would be, and Ultra Magnus spent just as much time here as he did in the council chambers. The main control centre, where the ground-bridge was located, was a vast circular chamber with numerous computer monitors lining the walls and workspaces attached to each. Ultra Magnus even had his own seat in the centre of it all, as well as a large and thick window ahead that gave him a wide view of the city below. Such a thing might be considered a structural weakness, given the importance of the place, but there were thick blast shields that could be brought down over the glass at the push of a button. The ground-bridge here had been non-functioning when the Autobots had first reclaimed the building after the Well of Allsparks had been restored. Parts of the ground-bridge systems in the Decepticon dreadnought Nemesis had been salvaged and used to bring the ground-bridge here back online. With it working, the Autobots had a direct link to Earth and could even transport their own to others points on Cybertron's surface.

There were several other Autobots working nearby, most manning computers. Ultra Magnus stood by the command chair, hands clasped behind his back. Bumblebee had been waiting nearby, leaning against one of the half a dozen pillars that were spaced about the room. He had been speaking quietly with the female working the computer nearest to him, a tall silvery one at that whom Ultra Magnus had known for several years. She was larger than most females, yet still retained an elegantly curvaceous frame that was no doubt built for speed yet carried a visible and significant amount of strength.

"Wildstrike," Ultra Magnus said, getting her attention. She spun around and looked straight at him.

"What is it, sir?"

"What's the status on the power generators?"

"They're operating at eighty-five percent efficiency, sir."

Ultra Magnus nodded. More than enough to keep the ground-bridge systems running, especially since he intended to leave for Earth by the end of the day. Wildstrike stepped forwards then, a curious look on her narrow features. She was mostly silver, with blue trims across her chest and shoulders. She also had a crest, slightly smaller compared to the one Ultra Magnus had upon his head. Hers was a metallic blue in colour, much like his own. The Autobot emblem she wore at either shoulder had the extra chevrons that indicated her as a member of the Elite Guard.

"I heard you've been having trouble with the Decepticon workers unions, sir," she said.

Ultra Magnus stepped off of the short platform so he could be level with her. Being on the same level as those you commanded, especially when you spoke with them, did much to make some subordinates feel more comfortable. Then again, Wildstrike had always struck him as a particularly able sort, not one who was easily fazed by such things.

"News travels fast," he said drily.

"Wouldn't it make more sense to send some of our people in? To enforce the rules a little better?" She meant the Elite Guard in general. There were still some members of that particular branch of the Autobot military left. Ultra Magnus had been part of it, prior to being placed in charge of the Wreckers.

"I'm trying to avoid that sort of action," he replied. As much as he would have liked to enforce the law in the 'old-fashioned way', he knew full well that it would simply create more trouble. "The Decepticon workers, or at least former Decepticons who comprise a large section of the labour force, are very sensitive to that sort of thing. Diplomacy is the only option we have, if we're to keep the peace."

"Old grudges don't go away easy," Bumblebee interjected. He came away from the pillar he had been leaning on, standing upright. Ultra Magnus looked at the young warrior and was reminded of a younger, more idealistic version of himself. "I was just talking to Wildstrike about joining the Elite Guard. It's something I've been contemplating, sir."

"You can join what you want, Bumblebee," Ultra Magnus said. "Of course, you would have to go through the entrance exams like every candidate."

Bumblebee smiled and nodded in understanding.

"Yeah, I know. I still haven't decided."

"I'm sure you'd do great, Bumblebee," Wildstrike said, glancing at him with a warm smile.

"Like I said, I'm still thinking about it," the young warrior replied.

"Wildstrike here entered training shortly after she arrived back on Cybertron," Ultra Magnus said. Wildstrike had arrived with a small group of Autobots a few months after the Well of Allsparks had been restored. "Back then, the only other Guardsmen we had was Smokescreen and myself. If you want to join, Bumblebee, we could certainly use the numbers." Ultra Magnus would make sure the Elite Guard endured. That was one group he wanted to keep going.

"But what will you do about the workers, sir?" Wildstrike asked. "They're going to keep asking for things. Something's going to give, eventually."

"I'll handle the politics, Wildstrike," Ultra Magnus answered. Wildstrike was the inquisitive sort and it was something he liked about her, even if she sometimes stuck her nose in things she did not need to. "You have your own duties to attend to."

"Well, I have been considering a career on the political scene," she said, her mouth forming into a wry smile. Ultra Magnus could not be certain if she was being serious or not. He narrowed his optics as he listened to her. "I just like to keep informed, sir."

"And that's fine. But you may wish to reconsider the career choice. This sort of work can burn out neurons. I certainly wouldn't want to see an able soldier such as yourself waste your talents in politics."

"Is that your honest opinion, sir?" Wildstrike maintained her smile. It occurred to Ultra Magnus that he was probably being a bit too honest in regards to his views on politics. He should have been encouraging people to get involved, rather than the opposite. Yet, for the life of him he had no desire to see Wildstrike or Bumblebee or any other warrior under his command waste away in a political position, forced to deal with petty squabbles and mediate between rival groups. That was no way for a soldier to utilise their talents. Sometimes he felt like he was wasting away in the position.

"It's my off-the-record opinion, Wildstrike," Ultra Magnus replied.

There was a beeping noise from one of the consoles. Wildstrike turned around and stepped towards the nearby terminal. Bumblebee looked over her shoulder, curious as to what it meant.

"There's an incoming ground-bridge," Wildstrike announced after a brief once over of the information displayed upon the terminal. "It's from Earth."

Ultra Magnus frowned. Very rarely did any human visitors come through on the ground/space-bridge. When they did, they needed to be suited up since one thing Cybertron was lacking was a breathable atmosphere.

A swirling array of green and blues erupted at the far end of the walkway nearby, filling the open corridor ahead. Lights lit up along the edge of the entrance-way and along the floor leading up to it. Ultra Magnus looked into the heart of the mass of green energy and watched as a familiar and somewhat tall, bulky Autobot strolled from within. Once he was through, the energy dissipated, with much of it withdrawing into a central point that seemingly vanished into thin air. Ratchet stood on the walkway, his face formed into his usually stern expression.

"Chief Medical Officer Ratchet," Ultra Magnus said. The Autobot medic approached him and, unlike most, did not salute. He was not the type for that.

"Ultra Magnus, sir."

"Your arrival is unscheduled. What brings you to Cybertron?" Ultra Magnus clasped his hands behind his back. He was yet to gain any sufficient explanation as to why Ratchet had chosen to stay on Earth. Only occasionally did he come back to Cybertron for a visit and that was usually so he could pick up equipment for his own work, as the technology on Earth was not quite up to scratch for his purposes. As much as Ultra Magnus would have preferred the medic to be here, he could respect Ratchet's decision to remain on the other world. Even if Ratchet was not the most combat experienced Autobot, he had still proven himself out on the field on more than one occasion.

"Bumblebee has already updated me on the situation with the treaty," Ultra Magnus added.

"That's not why I'm here, sir," Ratchet said.

At that moment, the double doors at the other end of the room slid open. Ultra Magnus turned around, watching as Wheeljack and Knock Out stepped inside. The pair made their way over to him. The Autobot Commander sensed the animosity between the two almost right away, judging from the way in which Wheeljack moved quickly ahead of the Decepticon doctor.

"The two of you took your time," Ultra Magnus noted. Wheeljack shrugged as he approached.

"What do you want, chief?" He asked. "I've got a lot on my plate. Most of it is stuff you put on it." The mostly white Autobot looked over to Ratchet and smiled. "Hey, doc."

Ratchet had long since given up on correcting Wheeljack's use of the nickname, even if it still visibly miffed him.

"Wheeljack," he said simply. Knock Out stepped forwards, bowing his head slightly towards Ratchet.

"Greetings, doctor."

Ratchet let out an annoyed huff in response and returned his attention towards Ultra Magnus.

"Commander, it's not just the renewal of the treaty you have to worry about now," Ratchet said. "I was sent here on request of Agent Fowler."

"How is ol' Bill, anyway?" Wheeljack interjected. He did not seem too concerned with interrupting what Ultra Magnus had a feeling was an important message from Earth. "His hair still turning grey?"

"He's fine, Wheeljack." He narrowed his optics. "And I don't think the state of his hair is really important. Do you?"

Wheeljack curled one corner of his mouth and raised a brow. A sort of 'facial shrug', the sort of look Ultra Magnus had come to expect from the Wrecker.

"I'm just asking." Wheeljack shifted his gaze towards Ultra Magnus. "So, chief, why'd you call us up here?"

"I was going to request you to serve as part of the escort for when I go to renew the Human-Autobot Alliance Treaty," Ultra Magnus replied. "As for Knock Out, I was going to have him arrange a delivery of supplies to Ratchet on Earth. It appears he won't need to do that now." He looked over to Ratchet, curious to hear what the important news from Earth was. It was very out of the ordinary for Ratchet to arrive back on Cybertron without any sort of prior warning.

"So I can go?" Knock Out asked earnestly.

"No." If anyone here had a habit of attempting to squirm their way out of their assigned tasks, it was Knock Out. He may have been their best doctor (save for Ratchet), but he had the irritating habit of actively avoiding the serious dirty work. It would be a strange day when one saw Knock Out working on a construction site, or doing any significant manual labour on his own accord.

"There's a situation on Earth," Ratchet said. "I didn't quite believe it myself when Fowler told me. Some kind of organization, a human 'Taskforce' has been operating and under-handing the efforts of Unit-E. It's only now they chose to reveal themselves."

Ultra Magnus did not find this too hard to believe. His experience with humans in general had been fairly limited compared to the other Autobots who had spent time on Earth. However, he had made it a point to learn as much as he could about them, having scoured and perused their worldwide web during his stay on their world. Their history had been rife with conflict of all sorts and the humans had done things to one another that made the Autobot-Decepticon war look tame in comparison. The fact that a bunch of humans had 'underhanded' Unit-E did not surprise him in the slightest. Bumblebee had mentioned such a thing, albeit with not much detail.

"What do you mean 'underhanded'?" Wheeljack asked, his face contorting into a frown.

"This 'Taskforce' sees itself as the first line of defence against alien intruders," Ratchet explained. "They've been hunting down Decepticons without Fowler and I even knowing."

"And that's a problem?"

"The secrecy is what concerns Fowler and I," Ratchet replied. "They chose to reveal themselves after three Earth years in operation. And that's only because of circumstances that even they didn't foresee."

"What's happened, Ratchet?" Ultra Magnus asked. It appeared his intention for a fairly ordinary and somewhat political visit to Earth had been thrown askew, if Ratchet's serious tone was anything to go by. Then again, he realised that Ratchet sounded serious just about all the time.

"A Decepticon 'General' made contact with them," Ratchet said. "He wants to negotiate. Not just with the humans, but with us as well."

"Negotiate?" Wheeljack scoffed. "You can't trust the 'Cons to negotiate."

Bumblebee stepped forwards and uttered something similar.

"I find that a little hard to believe," he said.

"This 'General' hasn't made his desires clear," Ratchet added, "But if my information is correct, then he and his soldiers are low on supplies. They're in no real state to fight. They want the rights to mine energon on Earth, and they likely want their own sanctuary here on Cybertron."

"He wants to meet?" Ultra Magnus had experienced similar 'negotiations' during the war on Cybertron. Sometimes the Decepticons had been serious, other times they had feigned peaceful intentions and simply set ambushes. As a result, Ultra Magnus did not know what to think in regards to the Decepticon General in question. The fact that he referred to himself as 'General' struck him as a bit odd and it seemed likely the Decepticon warlord in question had simply given himself the title. If this was the case, then that indicated a level of vanity that only Starscream or Knock Out might have been able to attest to.

"That's what I came here to try and arrange." Ratchet did not sound at all keen on the idea. "The General wishes to meet for negotiations, though he wants to do so on Earth. 'Neutral ground'."

"We'd want to send some of our guys over," Wheeljack suggested. He looked towards Ultra Magnus, noticing the Autobot Commander's thoughtful expression. "You're really going to go along with this?"

"If he wants to negotiate, then it's likely best we do it on Earth." Ultra Magnus was not even sure of this decision himself. However, the presence of a Decepticon 'General' on Cybertron could incite some of the Decepticons to join him. The last thing he needed was any major Decepticon figure making a reappearance on the planet. He had enough problems to deal with already. "We'll keep his existence quiet and we can do that a whole lot easier if he stays off Cybertron."

"If you're really going to negotiate with this guy, I'm coming along," Wheeljack said. "If he starts trouble, you'll want someone backing you up."

"Indeed," Ultra Magnus said. He looked over to Bumblebee. "You too, Bumblebee."

"And what about me?" Knock Out asked. "I haven't been to Earth for some time. I sort of..." He trailed off, giving the matter some brief thought. "I sort of miss the place, to be honest."

"You were a Decepticon," Ultra Magnus said. "This 'General' is a Decepticon. Maybe you'll know him and if you do, you may be able to help out. The operative word there being 'may'." It seemed like a stretch, but when it came to Decepticon operations Knock Out was their most reliable source of information. There were officers and warlords still on the loose out there and Knock Out was probably the only Decepticon they had who would be willing to give them information on any of them. Of course, there was also a good chance Knock Out knew nothing. Still, Ultra Magnus would not relinquish the opportunity to put him on some field work for once. Part of him, the younger and more reckless part of him at least, wanted to see the former Decepticon squirm.

"If Knock Out's going, I should remain here and take over his duties as doctor," Ratchet suggested. "Agent Fowler will have more details on the whole situation. He'll brief you when you get to Earth, sir." He regarded Ultra Magnus with a concerned look. "I'd be careful about this whole thing, Commander. The short notice and the nature of it just strike me as odd."

"You should always be prepared for the unlikely, doctor," Ultra Magnus commented. Indeed, the whole situation did seem odd but it was not the sort of thing he would leave waiting. If a Decepticon warlord wanted to negotiate peace, it was his duty as Commander of the Autobots and acting council leader to attempt negotiation. Ratchet walked up to Knock Out and the red Decepticon briefly outlined where he worked before the Autobot doctor continued out of the room.

"I take it you want me along, then?" Knock Out asked. Ultra Magnus nodded slowly. He had a feeling he would regret this decision. Knock Out, on the other hand, smiled and seemed content. His liking for Earth culture, despite his disdain for humans, was a paradox that even Ultra Magnus found difficult to decipher.

"Yes, Knock Out. You're coming with us." Ultra Magnus looked over to Wildstrike, who had been standing over at the terminal and listening closely. "Wildstrike, ready a bridge to Earth. I'd like to get to the bottom of this situation as soon as possible."

"Shouldn't we load up?" Wheeljack asked. "I got my blades, my cannons and a few grenades."

"If he wants to negotiate, Wheeljack, then we won't be needing our weapons," Ultra Magnus said.

"And you really believe that? A 'Con negotiating?"

"I can understand your doubts, but if this 'General' wishes to negotiate then that is exactly what we'll do." Ultra Magnus started for the entrance to the short tunnel that served as the projector for the ground-bridge. The green lights within flashed at regular intervals as power coursed through the pylons lining the tunnel.

"I say we go in and blow him and his goons away," Wheeljack suggested. He was not one for bluster. Ultra Magnus considered replacing him on the team with someone else for this mission, but he realised that if a negotiation were really to take place, then one of the best Autobots to bring along would be Wheeljack. A Decepticon wanting peace might be the sort of thing he needed to mellow out his attitudes a little.

"That's what the Decepticons would do," Ultra Magnus stated. "Do you really want to lower yourself to their level? If we can make peace with a major Decepticon figurehead, then we may be able to defuse some of the tensions here on Cybertron. It's what Optimus would want."

Wheeljack said nothing. The last sentence was one he seemed to be in silent agreement with. And despite his doubts, he would not give up an opportunity for a trip to Earth. Ultra Magnus knew of his friendships with a few of the humans they had worked with in the past. Any chance to see them was one the Wrecker would take gladly.

Bumblebee and Knock Out followed after the pair. From her terminal, Wildstrike began to key in the appropriate commands to start up the ground-bridge.

"You be careful out there, sir," Wildstrike said. Her voice was laced with genuine concern. Ultra Magnus nodded in acknowledgement. Wheeljack smirked, something Ultra Magnus noticed and immediately found odd.

"What is it?" He asked the Wrecker.

"You don't notice it?" Wheeljack asked. His voice was low, ensuring that Wildstrike would not hear. "You've been working with her for this long and you still haven't picked up on it, huh chief?"

"Picked up on what?"

"The way she looks at you. Can't you see it?" He glanced behind them, towards Wildstrike who looked up from the terminal and set her gaze on the rear of the Autobot Commander. "She's even looking at you right now." Wheeljack turned his head back towards Ultra Magnus, keeping his voice low.
Ultra Magnus had a feeling about just what Wheeljack was referring to. It was not something the Wrecker had any business bringing up, certainly not now and certainly not at any other time. Wildstrike was a subordinate. She respected him, viewed him as a friend. Trust Wheeljack to see what is not there.

"Wildstrike is an able soldier and friend," Ultra Magnus replied. Ahead of them, the ground-bridge opened, the shimmering green swirls of energy casting an almost neon glow across the four Cybertronians. "What you see from her in regards to me is respect. That's all."

The four Autobots started into the green haze, the room behind them slowly fading from view. Wheeljack maintained his smirk.

"I think you're missing out, chief," he said.

Ultra Magnus did not reply. His mind was more focused on the mission at hand. Small-talk, particularly talk about whatever relationship he had with any of his subordinates, was not something he wished to waste time on. Thankfully, Wheeljack did not press the matter further as they crossed the ground-bridge. Even so, some small part of the Autobot Commander's mind pondered what had been said and in turn it considered the possibilities. He quelled this part of his mind fairly quickly.

 

Asset

The Special Reaction Taskforce had a centre of operations not far down the road from Hoover Dam. At this hour, with evening having since fallen, dark shadows had fallen across the rocky and barren desert. Above, the sky was only partly cloudy, the moon a large silvery disk. The compound from where the SRTF operated from was a fairly large and unassuming set of fenced-off structures, rundown at first appearance. Secrecy was the name of the game here, so making their base of operations appear to be nothing more than a truck depot had been a deliberate decision. Armed guards patrolled the perimeter, clad in black uniforms. A helicopter pad was hidden within one of the more squat, wider structures. The roof there would slide open to allow access.

Jack had spent the last six months working at this place at the request of Colonel Carver. It had been a fairly interesting diversion from the usual routine of Unit-E, back at Dreamland. The people here were mostly military, with very few government agents on the premises. The bureaucracy, as a result, did not have the same hold here as it did for Unit-E. If Colonel Carver wanted something done, he had it done with little delay. For Unit-E, if Fowler or Jack wanted something done, they had to fill out forms and call certain individuals depending on the task. To be free of the red-tape had been refreshing. Jack had never considered, when he had been a sixteen year old who had simply fallen in with the Autobots, that he would end up bored with his work at Unit-E. The war between the Autobots and Decepticons had ended nine years ago. That was all well and good, but it had also made his life less interesting as a result.

He strolled through the front gate of the compound, flashing his identification at one of the guards who waved him on by. The air was cold, as was typically the case for a desert: hot as an oven during the day, as cold as a freezer when nightfall came. He brought his jacket around him as a cold breeze wafted through the compound, whistling audibly between the nearby buildings. He approached the largest of the squat metal and brick structures, coming to a metal door locked with a keypad. He punched in his code and pushed it open, finding some relief from the elements from the warmth inside. It was a fairly expansive room, built like a squat and lengthy hangar. A few black Hummers were parked nearby, typical Taskforce transports. Jack had been given an office towards the end of the structure, tucked away in the corner. It looked like a small box in the large room, complete with its own windows. Much like Unit-E, the Taskforce had given him 'consultant' work but they had, on occasion, given him the opportunity to tag along with one of their patrols. He had seen them take down three Decepticons during the past six months. It was this sort of work that reminded him of what it had been like when he had been sixteen, when the Autobots had been on Earth fighting the Decepticons. It was a life that had been dangerous, certainly, but had been far more fulfilling than sorting out paperwork. The Taskforce even had their own resident Autobot.

Deadeye tended to hang around here. Sure, he could go anywhere else within the compound and even go for a drive outside the base as long as he maintained secrecy, but mostly he amused himself on the compound through whatever means available. He was a fairly bulky Autobot, perhaps slightly taller than Bumblebee and mostly blue in colour with a silver trim. Seated, he was naturally only half as tall as usual, though Jack still had to tilt his neck back to look at the Autobot's face. His optics were a bright blue. There was a small crest on his head, comprised of a fin at either side in a manner reminiscent of Optimus Prime and Ultra Magnus. He had fairly rugged features in general and even a few scorch marks and dents from battles fought in the past. His gaze was directed towards the small television set a few metres in front of him, placed upon a wooden table with a cable running from it, across the floor and to a power socket in the wall. Jack stopped by the television, able to hear numerous gunshots and shouts from the speakers.

"What are you watching?" Jack asked. The Autobot glanced towards him, smiling at him upon seeing the familiar face.

"It's a Death Wish movie marathon." Deadeye seemed fairly engrossed in the movie that was playing. "I'd like to meet this 'Charles Bronson' guy someday."

"Yeah, that might be difficult." Jack found the Autobot's interest in human entertainment fairly amusing. Bumblebee had been similar, though not quite to the extent that Deadeye was. This was often how he spent his spare-time on the base, watching movies or playing video games. It seemed odd, how an Autobot could be living an easier life than he was. At least Deadeye did not need to fill out all manner of paperwork.

"Why's that?" Deadeye asked.

"He's dead."

"Huh. So he survives all this and dies of old age?" Deadeye frowned slightly. "That's a shame."

"It's not real, you know," Jack replied.

"That was just a joke, Jack." Deadeye stated this drily and eyed Jack with a disappointed frown. "I'm not stupid."

Jack sighed. There were still a few things about this Autobot he had trouble working out. In particular, it was hard to tell when he was actually joking.

"They'd never make this sort of thing on Cybertron," Deadeye continued. "Not that they ever did before the war. You humans, now you make some quality entertainment. I mean, you have seen these movies, right?"

"Not for a long time..."

"Like, one part has this gangster hold a ghetto blaster up to his face like this," Deadeye said, bringing both hands up in front of him with several inches between them, as if he were indeed holding the ghetto blaster in question. "He thinks it'll protect him from bullets, right? And then Charles Bronson just shoots him straight through it!" He chuckled then, lowering his hands as he did so. "It's hilarious!"

"Yeah...you have a strange sense of humour," Jack replied. Sometimes he wondered if the Taskforce had gone out of its way to employ the strangest Autobot they could find.

"You'd never see that sort of thing in any of the holo-vids back home," Deadeye added. "I doubt most of those old things even exist anymore. They probably all got blown up during the war." He did not sound too displeased with this possible state of affairs. Jack had never heard him speak much about the war, not that he had ever asked. It had seemed inconsiderate. It still did, despite Jack's curiosity as to how Deadeye had ended up working with the Taskforce. He had heard there was a good deal in it for him, likely involving energon. Of some of the paperwork that had crossed Jack's desk, he had seen mention of energon mining here on Earth. There were still plenty of deposits of the stuff scattered around the planet. It was not a stretch of the imagination to think that the Taskforce had sought to take advantage of them.

"Do you like it here, Deadeye?" Jack asked. "It's an honest question."

"Why? You think I don't?" Deadeye sounded surprised. "I wouldn't be here if I hated the work. Compared to those chumps back on Cybertron, I'm living the dream."

"So you have no intention of leaving?"

"Never. This," he began, using both hands to gesture around himself towards the room at large, "This is all I need. I got entertainment, I got people I can actually rely on, such as yourself for instance, and I get to go out and help you people hunt down Decepticons." A commercial break had started on the television, allowing Deadeye to move his gaze off of the screen fully as even he found the advertisements annoying. Some things, it seemed, were universal. "And, in return, the Colonel gives me a healthy share of whatever energon his boys have dug up. His guys have a nice refining system in place here."

"A system you helped set up," Jack added. Deadeye had been on Earth for about a year and had helped to set up a small but functioning energon refinery in one of the buildings at the back of the compound. It was primarily for selfish reasons, though Carver had been more than happy to play along.

"Yeah, it was the least I could do." Deadeye sounded genuine about all of this. "I like it here. I like the work."

"You don't want to go back to Cybertron?" Jack was curious to hear the Autobot out. "Don't you want to be among your own kind?"

"What for? So they can put me to work on rebuilding Cybertron? That isn't something I want to do. I put that place behind me a long time ago. I don't want to become a builder. I want to remain a soldier. A free spark, so-to-speak."

"You want it easy," Jack said. Wheeljack had been like that, at first. A self-styled loner at heart, only to change his tune when he finally admitted that he could not do everything by himself.

"I like the work here. You must as well," Deadeye said. "You accepted the Colonel's offer to work here. It probably beats whatever you were doing beforehand."

"I'm going to be leaving for good soon," Jack replied. He had given the matter plenty of thought over the last few weeks. As refreshing as it had been to work here, for the Taskforce, he had a responsibility with Fowler and Unit-E. He could not just desert that work, not when Fowler was due to retire in a week. Someone would have to take charge once he was gone and Jack had known for a few years now that he would be that 'someone'.

"Really?" Deadeye raised his brow-ridge. "For good? If that's the case, then I'll miss you, Jack." He smiled again. "Well, I'll probably get over it after a day or two. Just saying."

Once again, Jack was not too sure if Deadeye was making a joke or not. The way he was grinning now seemed to indicate that he was.

A set of footsteps became audible from nearby, booted feet pacing loudly upon the cement floor. Jack turned around, watching as a tall and well-built man approached the pair. He was in the black uniform of the Taskforce, the insignia at either shoulder displaying his rank as 'Captain'. He wore a red beret, his face clean-shaven and his hair black. He had a pair of light brown eyes, both of which displayed very little emotion as he approached. In a holster at his waist was a hand-gun, a sort outside the standard-issue that other Taskforce members were assigned. Whereas the standard sidearm was a SIG P228 chambered for the 9mm round, this particular Captain had opted to carry his own Colt M1911 utilising the more powerful .45 ACP round. The pistol had been customized with a black metallic finish and wood-grain grip. Captain Van Cleef served as Colonel Carver's second-in-command and was usually the man who lead the Taskforce while out on the field while Carver oversaw the operation from the base.

"Agent Darby," Van Cleef said, his voice carrying a distinct South African accent. He was, if what Jack had read was correct, formerly a part of a South African Special Forces unit. Apparently Carver hired his guys from more than just the United States military. "The Colonel asked me to find you." He looked over to Deadeye, his expression taking on a more disdainful look. "As for you, Deadeye, haven't you got anything more important to do than to watch television?"

Jack, through his fairly limited interactions with the Captain, had learned some time ago that the man was very by-the-book. He yelled at his subordinates frequently, chewing them out for even the slightest misstep. Jack had thankfully been exempted from this, as he was not technically part of the Taskforce and had a civilian role, so he was not quite under the Captain's jurisdiction.

"Could you be quiet? The commercial break's ended." Deadeye waved a four-digit hand dismissively in the Captain's direction.

"You work here, don't you?" Van Cleef asked. He approached Deadeye, getting right up close despite how much bigger the Autobot was. "Then you should haul your weight around a bit more, china."

"You're not my boss," Deadeye replied. His attention was fixed on the television screen. "The Colonel is. If he tells me to 'haul my weight' then I'll do it. You, on the other hand, annoy me. I'd probably have blasted you away months ago if I wouldn't get in trouble for doing it." Finally, he looked down at the Captain and smiled in a blatantly condescending manner. "I work here because I want to, not because you tell me to. I could get up and leave any time I want."

"What did the Colonel want from me?" Jack interrupted. "Is he in the compound?"

"He's still at Unit-E headquarters," Van Cleef answered, turning to face him. There was some visible annoyance in his expression.

"I don't have to go back there now, do I?" Jack would not be surprised if he had to take the lengthy drive back. That sort of to-and-fro came with the line of work. Still, that did not make it any less inconvenient and annoying. "I have a report here that needs finishing."

"It's up to you, Agent Darby," Van Cleef said. "He thought it would be worth notifying you that a group of Autobots just arrived."

Deadeye looked towards the Captain then, visibly curious.

"Oh yeah? Who?" He asked.

"Ultimate...Ultron...Ul..." Van Cleef paused for a moment, having given up on trying to recall the name. "The boss one. Whatever his name is."

"Ultra Magnus?" Jack suggested.

"Yeah. Him. He's over at Unit-E HQ with both your bosses." Van Cleef was of course referring to Fowler and Colonel Carver. Jack could only wonder how those two were getting along. He doubted Fowler would appreciate finding out that a group like the Taskforce had been working behind the scenes on the sort of thing Unit-E had been created to do. However, times changed and so did the people who were even higher-up than he was. Unit-E was used to deal with the Cybertronians diplomatically, whereas the Taskforce was the latest answer to any alien aggression directed towards Earth. Jack could understand, with the distinct lack of Autobots on Earth, that the defence of the planet was very much in the hands of the human race. Yet, despite the work he had done for both Unit-E and the Taskforce, he found himself reminiscing with increasing regularity how it had been years before, when the Autobots had been on Earth and more than able to respond to any threats. To him, the Taskforce was necessary. They could not rely on the Autobots. Humanity would need to learn how to deal with potential alien threats on its own. Of course, he realised that maybe Carver's regular talks had influenced his thoughts just a little bit too much.

Times sure do change, he thought absently.

"Hard-ass Magnus?" Deadeye asked, recognizing the name. "The chief? I can't stand that guy. He's about as much fun as the Cybonic plague."

"You know him?" Jack asked.

"Hardly. I sort of made it a point to avoid him."

"It doesn't matter what you think of him," Van Cleef interrupted. "He's arrived at Unit-E headquarters, along with a few friends of his."

"Count me out of this," Deadeye said. He shifted his gaze back towards the television. "I'd rather watch Charles Bronson slaughter street thugs. Hanging out with Ultra Magnus is hardly as 'fun'."

Jack found Deadeye's attitude amusing and somewhat understandable. If what the Autobot had told him in the past, he was more of a 'loner' and had spent much of his time after leaving Cybetron wandering the galaxy. One thing that Jack recalled from what he had been told, was that Deadeye's ship had been totalled when he had crash-landed on Earth. Given his arrangement with the Taskforce, he did not seem bothered by the fact that he was stuck here, even if there was a ground-bridge to Cybertron available at Unit-E headquarters.

"You're free to go, Agent Darby," Van Cleef said.

"I have a report..." Jack began, but the Captain interrupted him.

"The Colonel said not to worry about it. Go and meet your old metal friends. I think Carver would prefer it if you were there for the negotiation, anyway."

"If that's the case, I guess I'll go." Jack looked over at Deadeye, noticing that his optics were fixed on the television screen. "Should I tell Magnus you're here? I'm sure he'd love to meet you." Jack grinned slightly when he saw Deadeye's face adopt an almost disgusted expression.

"Hell no," Deadeye snapped. He glanced over at Jack, his jaw clenched. "Don't you dare. He'll probably come over here and try and talk me into joining him. Either that, or he'll order me to go to Cybertron." He paused for a moment, holding up one metal finger. "Now, Jack, don't disturb me again. I'm reaching the end of Death Wish 3. That's the best part of the movie."

"All right, Deadeye, your presence here is a secret safe with me," Jack replied. He turned towards Van Cleef, who regarded him with his usually stern expression.

"You go have fun, Agent Darby," he said. The sarcasm in his voice with clear.

"I take it you're not into diplomatic talks?"

"Talking can only get someone so far," Van Cleef replied. "If it were up to me, I'd blow that Decepticon General away. But he wants to talk, and the Colonel agreed to it. I'll follow my orders, even if I don't like them." After a brief but awkward silence, he turned around and started to walk away, presumably to tend to whatever other business he had here at the compound. Jack did much the same, bidding farewell to Deadeye. The Autobot did not even look up from the television.

"Enjoy yourself," Deadeye said, though he did not mean it.

Jack strode out of the building shortly afterwards, emerging back out into the cold night air. He found his way to his car, a fairly ordinary black sedan, agency issue (one of the many perks of working the sort of job he did). The agency had even been kind enough to help pay for his house, an ordinary single-storey affair located on the outskirts of Jasper. It was not often he was there, as his work was the sort where he would spend a great deal of his time at either the Unit-E headquarters or more recently, the Taskforce compound.

The cell-phone in his jacket pocket began to vibrate. He pulled it out, immediately seeing the name of the caller flashing upon the touch-screen display. There were other duties he had, outside of work, among them a certain female friend of his who he had not seen for a while. He would likely get a mouthful because of that. Tapping the 'accept call' button, he put the phone to his ear whilst his free-hand removed his car keys from a pocket in his trousers.

"Hey..." The voice on the other end was quick to interrupt him. He let her go through the usual tirade, all the while his self-respect began to diminish. Finally, he found an opportunity to respond. "Look, I can't help it. You should know that." He opened the door to his car and climbed inside, keeping the phone to his ear as he settled into the seat. He would be the first to admit he was neglecting his family duties, but that sort of thing came with this line of work. "Tomorrow? I can't. Something big has come up." With his other hand, he stuck the appropriate key into the ignition and turned it. The engine thrummed into life. All the while, a very agitated female voice barked into one ear.

"I'll try and make it there by the end of the week," Jack said. "A promise? Yeah, sure, I'll make that a promise. I have to go, you know what they say about talking on a phone while driving...I love you, all right?...What, no, don't be like that. Damn it." As much as he regretted it, he hung up, silencing the voice but not the self-doubt it had stirred within his mind. There was a fine line to be walked, when it came to work and family. Sometimes he knew that he had crossed it too far into the former. Other times, he needed his other half to remind him of what was most important. That was usually achieved by a call much like the one he had just brought an end to.

He slipped his cell-phone back into his jacket and focused his attention on driving. It was a lengthy drive back to Unit-E headquarters. He hoped that the trip would be worth it. And he hoped that when he called her tomorrow, Miko would not chew him out again. Of course, that last one was unlikely.

 

say what ? Miko and Jack are........ ?!

 

Living together.

Not need to worry about it too much if you disapprove, as it isn't something I'm going to spend much time on. Call it "background dressing", if you will.

 

Earth Vacation

It had been some time since Ultra Magnus had last been on Earth. Unlike some of the other Autobots, he did not come by for the occasional visit. His connection to the people of this world was not quite as strong when compared to someone like Bumblebee, who had formed close bonds with the few humans who had helped them during their time here in the past. Even so, Ultra Magnus found the change of scenery welcoming. The grey, metallic vistas of Cybertron had their own kind of unique beauty but the sweeping deserts in this region of Earth never failed to inspire him. The ground was softer under his feet, the air smelled fresher, more natural, with only some traces of fossil fuels amongst it. Even inside the Unit-E hangar his senses were accosted by all manner of smells, ranging from dirt to dust and aviation fuel. Cybertron may have been his home, but in terms of sheer diversity Earth had it beat.

Agent Fowler was how he had last seen him, with greying hair and a wearier look to his face. His usually stern but zealous demeanour had only faded slightly with his ever-advancing age. That was one thing Ultra Magnus found unfortunate in regards to humans. Their life-spans were short, fleeting things that must have been one impetus for the determination many of them had to make something of themselves. Humanity had spread all over this planet, settling its people into some of the least hospitable regions despite the risks. Ultra Magnus could admire such tenacity.

Nearby, Agent Fowler stood on a walkway running along one side within the hangar, the door to his office a short distance from him. He was in his usual grey suit with white shirt and tie. Ultra Magnus could only assume that the human had several sets of the same outfit, or maybe even just the one he washed frequently. He was leaning against a railing, looking towards Ultra Magnus and the other arrivals with a friendly smile, although the look in his eyes indicated that there were significant doubts on his mind that belied whatever warmth he displayed.

Wheeljack and Bumblebee stood nearby. Wheeljack had come through the ground-bridge expecting to see at least one familiar human other than Fowler, only to come away disappointed. None of his old friends were here. Chances are they had gone their own ways during the intervening years, even more so in regards to humans as their life-spans were short. They matured quickly compared to Cybertronians and went out into the world to find their purpose in life far sooner than any Cybertronian fledgling would. Bumblebee stood to Wheeljack's right, surveying the room with his large blue optics. The hangar had changed very little since Ultra Magnus' last visit a few years before. It still had the same warm, yellowish glow over everything, supplied by the many lights fixed into the ceiling above. Through the windows that lined the upper sections of the walls, it was dark. Night had fallen across Nevada, yet the lights here made it almost as bright as day within the hangar.

Knock Out was pacing around, looking over every inch of the place. He was one Cybertronian who had made very few return visits to Earth since his departure. Ultra Magnus watched the former Decepticon doctor stop by one of the larger Cybertronian computer monitors situated nearby. He switched it on and began to tap away at the panel, presumably in an attempt to amuse himself for a while.

"I'm glad you're here, Magnus," Fowler said.

"Judging from what Ratchet told us of the situation, it was imperative we come," Ultra Magnus said.

"I didn't believe it myself." Fowler's doubt was clear in his voice. This 'negotiation' with the Decepticon 'General' was something they were all having trouble accepting. Ultra Magnus preferred to remain at least optimistic, as a successful negotiation with a warlord would certainly help ease tensions back on Cybertron and, he figured, improve relations with the natives of Earth. The Autobots had only kept a small presence on the planet since Cybertron's restoration, with Ratchet serving as their 'Bot on the ground here. Since the Decepticons had done very little in the nine Earth years since the restoration, Autobot contact with Earth had become sporadic at best.

"I don't think I believe it," Wheeljack said from where he was standing nearby. "The 'Cons don't negotiate unless there's something in it for 'em. That, or they want to set up an ambush."

"I'm just as sceptical as you are, Wheeljack," Fowler said. "But even the President wants us to see this through. And from what I've been told, this Decepticon 'General' and his goons aren't in much of a state to fight. They're low on supplies, energon especially."

"And they want mining rights for the deposits on Earth, I take it?" Ultra Magnus had not considered mining the energon deposits on this world. Cybertron, since its restoration, had had plenty of energon to go around. It was the refining of it that needed work, hence the rationing in Iacon.

"Most likely."

"What about the guys you told me about?" Bumblebee stepped forwards, looking towards Fowler with a curious gaze. "This 'Taskforce'?"

"Like I told Ratchet, they're the ones who were contacted by this 'General'," Fowler replied. "They hunted and killed one of his scouts. I guess he figured it was best to make nice with us humans after they did that to one of his goons."

"They killed one of his scouts?" Wheeljack raised a brow, surprised. "No offence, Bill, but you humans always had trouble even taking down Vehicons, let alone an actual Decepticon scout. What does this 'Taskforce' have that you don't?"

Fowler shrugged. Ultra Magnus was certainly curious to find out more about this 'Taskforce'. If they were able to take down Decepticons without Autobot assistance, then they could very well be a threat to the Autobots. From what he had been told of the human organization 'MECH', they had had similar capabilities through utilising reverse-engineered technology. However, unlike MECH, it seemed that this 'Taskforce' was somewhat more official.

"We have the determination, for starters," an unfamiliar voice called from further along the walkway. Ultra Magnus looked towards the source, his gaze meeting with that of a tall man in a black military uniform. His understanding of Earth's militaries was adequate enough that he noticed the lack of any real noticeable marks on the man's uniform jacket. He did wear a peaked cap, one that bore a small silver emblem of a pair of snakes coiled around a sword. He stopped a few metres from where Fowler stood, regarding the Autobots with a fairly straight expression. There was some curiosity in his eyes, as he had never seen these Autobots before. Ultra Magnus realised that they were probably the first ones that this human had seen in person.

Wheeljack watched him carefully, as did Bumblebee. Knock Out walked over from where he had been fiddling with one of the computers, his red optics eyeing the new arrival with a scrutinising look. Curiosity was noticeable among both parties, but the human did a far better job of making it subtle.

"This is Colonel Jerome Carver," Fowler said. He gestured with one hand towards the human in question. He did not sound especially keen in regards to the Colonel. The distrust, subdued as it were, was something that Ultra Magnus noticed immediately. He may not have been around humans a great deal, but he knew their cues, both through body language and their voices. "He's the man in charge of the Special Reaction Taskforce."

Wheeljack walked up to the ledge, his brow narrowed. Despite the Autobot's size and the two katana-like blades he wore at his back, Carver stood his ground and returned Wheeljack's look in turn.

"You took down a Decepticon scout?" Wheeljack asked.

"We took down thirteen other Decepticons in a thirty-month period." Carver stated this matter-of-factly, as if it were common knowledge. There was no pride in his voice and his face had become a nigh-unreadable mask. To the Colonel, actions spoke louder than words. There was no need to boast about his group's achievements.

"You underhanded Unit-E through doing so," Fowler said, turning to face the Colonel.

"Underhanded?" Carver shook his head. "That's doubtful. Unit-E has become a diplomatic connection to Cybertron. The Special Reaction Taskforce serves as a line of defence between Earth and alien aggressors, whether they be from Cybertron or elsewhere. It was our work that prompted the Decepticon General to contact us and request negotiation." He paused and Ultra Magnus saw Fowler's face scrunch up slightly, as if the man's sheer presence here was enough to make the Agent's anger flare. Ultra Magnus supposed such hostility was to be expected from Fowler when faced with the man who had been under-handing his efforts.

"I would have preferred to leave you out of this, Agent Fowler," Carver continued. "But the Autobots, Ultra Magnus in particular, are required for this negotiation." He looked towards the Autobot Commander, his mouth forming a friendly if subdued smile. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Commander. We can't forget the pleasantries, can we?"

"No, we can't," Ultra Magnus replied. He was not sure how to regard this human, whether to be impressed by his group's credentials or not. Fourteen dead Decepticons was no small feat and Colonel Carver did not seem like the type of person to lie. In fact, Ultra Magnus was reminded of himself in some way as he watched the Colonel. "My escort, Wheeljack and Bumblebee..." He would have continued the introduction, but the Colonel cut him short.

"I've read the files on each of your group, Commander," Carver said. "Wheeljack, the Wrecker and former scientist. Bumblebee, the scout-turned-warrior and finally Knock Out, the defector." He had likely memorised the important details from each of the files in question. He recited the basic facts without pause. "All very good at what they do, from what I've learned."

"I'm glad you feel that way." Knock Out was the one to say this, a smirk forming at his mouth.

"Except for you," Carver stated. "Turncoats are the lowest of the low. You'll have to do a lot more than keep your finish buffed to a sheen to impress me, Decepticon."

Knock Out's smirk faded. He looked almost hurt. Ultra Magnus did find this somewhat amusing, not that he showed it. Wheeljack, on the other hand, chuckled loudly.

"And what about this Decepticon who wishes to negotiate?" Ultra Magnus narrowed his optics. The Colonel nodded in acknowledgement of the question. Despite the unusual situation, he seemed completely content, as if this sort of thing was nothing new to him. Ultra Magnus, on the other hand, found it odd but understandable. Some of the Decepticon warlords who were still at large would likely be getting desperate, especially without the organization that Megatron's leadership would have provided.

"You really buy it?" Wheeljack asked. "Because I don't."

"Of course, in regards to the Decepticon warlord, or 'General' as he prefers to be called, we have to tread carefully." Carver's tone was level, with only a slight hint of concern. "However, judging from my interactions with the General so far, he does seem genuine. He would have little reason to betray us. We have the means to fight him effectively, even more so now that the four of you are here. By attacking us, he would also incur the wrath of the Autobots on Cybertron. After all, the Treaty we have with your race states as much."

"Yet you killed fourteen Decepticons without our help," Ultra Magnus said. "You didn't even tell us they were here."

"We didn't need to," Carver replied. He was quick to answer, likely having anticipated such questions. To Ultra Magnus, the Colonel seemed almost too sure of himself. He was a military leader, in charge of this 'Taskforce', so it was likely he simply carried himself the way he did as part of his job. He had to look strong to his subordinates. Ultra Magnus could certainly relate. It appeared this particular human did almost too good a job of it.

"We've made some progress technologically when it comes to fighting alien intruders," the Colonel continued. "We can't rely on you Autobots to fight our battles for us. That's why the Taskforce was created."

"And no one bothered to tell me about it," Fowler said, abjectly. He looked over to the Colonel, his tone sour. "It's like you forgot what was written in the Treaty."

"The Treaty is hardly my concern, Agent Fowler," Carver replied. "We shouldn't need to call in the Autobots whenever there's a Decepticon incursion. Humanity can't be so dependent."

"How do you fight them, then, Colonel?" The question was one Fowler delivered fairly incisively. Ultra Magnus and the other Autobots could sense the hostility between the two, even if most of it came from Fowler. Carver, on the other hand, did not appear very concerned. "What weapons have you and your boys cooked up to battle the Decepticon menace?"

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say," Carver said.

Fowler rolled his eyes. He let out a dejected sigh and looked back to Ultra Magnus.

"This is the sort of nonsense I have to deal with," he said. "Red-tape, secrecy, being left out of the loop. I remember when you and the other 'Bots were here, staying on Earth. It was so much simpler then. Now I've got to deal with Agent Smith over here." He nodded in the direction of the Colonel.

"Who?" Ultra Magnus was not too familiar with human popular culture. Such references were often lost on him.

"Never mind."

There was a brief silence amongst the group. It was an awkward one at that, especially where Fowler and Carver were concerned. Agent Fowler's distrust of Carver was readily apparent. It even rubbed off on Ultra Magnus, to a degree. Still, he could relate at least a little towards Carver. The man was a leader who aimed only to protect his species. He had made a valid point, how humanity could not be so dependent upon the Autobots. The secrecy was also fairly understandable. Ultra Magnus had fought in many secret missions, particularly when he had been placed in charge of the Wreckers. Keeping secrets from other branches of the military was standard practice, especially during a war. Fowler's contempt for the Colonel in response to this was not a surprise.

"I've contacted the Decepticon General," Carver said. "I told him about your arrival. He should be here within the hour."

"That's kind of short notice," Bumblebee said.

"I suppose he'll have an escort?" Wheeljack asked. He crossed his arms over his chest and regarded the Colonel with some disdain.

"Well, since Ultra Magnus has an escort, it's only reasonable that the General has one as well." Carver checked the silver watch he wore at his left wrist, partially concealed under the glove there. "You four may wish to get ready in whatever way it is you Autobots prepare for a negotiation. From what I've been told, the General may ask for safe passage to Cybertron. Maybe even a chunk of land to settle his soldiers down."

"We have standards," Wheeljack countered. "We don't just let any old 'Con settle on Cybertron."

"Of course, I understand. Working out that sort of thing is what negotiations are for, am I right?" Carver looked up from his watch. Ultra Magnus noted the pistol he had in a holster at his waist. It was large and silver, catching the light of the hangar with a significant glint. Even from this fleeting glance, Ultra Magnus could see that it looked to be almost impractically large for a side-arm.

"Does this Decepticon 'General' have a name?" Ultra Magnus asked. Despite all that they had been told, they still had no idea as to the genuine identity of the Decepticon in question. The Autobot Commander had figured that it was likely a trumped-up Lieutenant who had found himself in a position of leadership after Megatron's disappearance. There were not many of the old guard sorts left, with Starscream dead and Shockwave missing. Any other well-known Decepticons were either dead or elsewhere in the galaxy. Who could this 'General' possibly be?

"He didn't tell me," Carver said.

"He can't be keeping secrets from us if we're going to meet him." Bumblebee was the one to say this. He made a good point, even if it was too late to demand the 'General' reveal his true identity. "I'd like to know who I'm going to be meeting with."

"You may recognize him," Carver suggested. "I've only met him in person once. Our other communications were either through his Lieutenants, or over the phone."

"How quaint," Wheeljack quipped. "Are you two best buddies or something?"

"Far from it. This situation is as strange to me as it is to you. That's why you were brought in."

Ultra Magnus was certainly curious to meet the Decepticon 'General'. He was not sure on what to expect, nor would he trust anything the Decepticon said. The war was still being fought in some regards, especially where these rogue warlords were concerned.

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

Wheeljack had considered getting in touch with Jack and Miko. He had not seen them for some time, as his trips to Earth had been sporadic at best. However, he figured he would not get much of a chance to do that, given the fact that the Decepticon 'General' was apparently on his way here. Wheeljack had no desire to be caught up in the negotiations, but Ultra Magnus had dragged him here and had even had the gall to suggest that it might have a positive effect on him. As if playing nice with a 'Con will make me feel any differently about them, he thought.

Fowler had gone back to his office while Carver had wandered off, heading outside. Wheeljack assumed he had gone to wait for the Decepticon 'General' to arrive. The Wrecker had no real liking for that human, he might have carried himself with confidence (perhaps too much confidence) but there was something almost slimy about him. The fact that his 'Taskforce' had been operating in secret for three Earth years and had only brought in Unit-E now, when faced with this unusual situation, said much about their true nature. This was an inconvenience for the Colonel, Wheeljack figured.

He made his way over to where Knock Out was. The former Decepticon had been fiddling with one of the Cybertronian computer terminals, although as Wheeljack neared him he saw that Knock Out had been merely browsing the worldwide web. The doctor turned around as he heard Wheeljack approach.

"What are you looking at, Knock Out?" Wheeljack asked.

"I was simply searching for a newer vehicle mode," Knock Out replied. "My current vehicle mode is almost obsolete in Earth terms."

"Is that why you decided to come along? So you could play dress-up?" Wheeljack frowned. The Decepticon doctor's slick exterior did not fool him. Underneath this veneer was nothing more than a coward and a 'turncoat', as the Colonel had put it. That was a new coin of phrase that Wheeljack found to be very apt.

"I came along because Ultra Magnus requested it," Knock Out replied. "I might be able to shed some light on who this 'General' is."

"Oh yeah?" Wheeljack found this unlikely. "Who is he, then?"

"Well..." Knock Out paused for a moment, giving the matter some thought. "I haven't really got much to go on, do I? At least ask that question after he's arrived?"

"You have no idea, then?"

"I'd say he's someone vain, since he's calling himself a 'General'. It's very unlikely that's his real title."

"Vain?" The Wrecker smirked. "You and he have something in common already."

Knock Out frowned, his enthusiasm gone.

"I wouldn't say I'm 'vain', that's too strong a word," he said, after a brief pause. "Unlike you, I actually take some pride in my appearance. I wouldn't expect a Wrecker to understand what it takes to look good."

"Maybe because I've got other priorities."

"Like what?"

"Like resisting the urge to flay that shiny finish off of you," Wheeljack replied, straight-faced. He may not have been completely serious with this statement, but the way Knock Out's optics widened made it worth it. "Piece by piece. Wouldn't be the first time I've cut up a 'Con."

"I would never have expected a scientist to be so violent," Knock Out said.

"I stopped being a scientist a long time ago." At least, that had been up until recently. Now Ultra Magnus expected him to resume his work in science to help rebuild Cybertron. It was a jarring change from the life of a soldier he had come to enjoy. "I don't think I can go back to being one. Not easily."
"And would you really cut me up, Wheeljack?" Knock Out eyed him with an inquisitive expression. "I don't think the Commander would appreciate you dismembering one of the few experienced doctors on Cybertron."

Wheeljack may not have been entirely serious with his threats against the former Decepticon. Still, all it would take would be one sign of betrayal from Knock Out and Wheeljack would not hesitate to end him. In the meantime, making him feel uncomfortable made for an amusing diversion.

"If you'll excuse me, Wheeljack, I have some catching up to do in regards to certain Earth movie genres," Knock Out said. He turned around, bringing his attention back to the computer terminal. "I've missed a great deal during my absence."

Wheeljack found his gaze going towards the door at the far end of the hangar. A familiar figure had walked in, a human, one whom he recognized immediately. Sure, the human in question had grown a bit and had gained a fair amount of muscle mass, but Jack Darby was someone whom Wheeljack was actually glad to see. He was wearing a dark business suit with white shirt and tie, an outfit that was apparently standard for the sort of work Jack had found himself in during the last few years. It was not the sort of thing Wheeljack was used to seeing him in.

"Jack," Wheeljack said. Seeing a familiar face, other than Fowler, was a welcome change.

"Jackie," Jack said, stopping a few metres ahead of him. He glanced over at Knock Out, a funny look crossing his face. He turned back to Wheeljack and gestured in the doctors direction. "Why'd you bring him along?"

"I didn't. The chief did." He nodded towards Ultra Magnus. He stood some distance away and was speaking to Agent Fowler, who had just re-emerged from his office.

Bumblebee approached from nearby and greeted Jack with a smile.

"Hey," he said.

"It's been a while, Bee," Jack replied. "I heard you were here a few days ago, but I couldn't make it here to meet you. I got caught up in work."

"Moving up through the world, eh kid?" Wheeljack smirked and Jack raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"I don't think I'm quite a 'kid' anymore," Jack said.

"Tell me that when you hit my age."

"And what would that be?"

Wheeljack shrugged.

"I have no idea," he answered. "Aside from that, it's good to see you again. I mean, I always envisioned you as becoming a..." He trailed off. "What exactly is it you do here, kid?"

"Same sort of thing Fowler does," Jack explained. "I help him oversee Unit-E's operations. Usually, anyway. Past six months, I've been working with Colonel Carver's Taskforce."

Wheeljack was surprised to hear this.

"You've been working for him?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I only just met him and already I think he's an ass. He reminds me too much of Magnus. All that stern, authoritarian B-S. At least Fowler's got a personality. Heck, even Magnus has more of a personality than Colonel what's-his-face."

"Don't let him hear you say that," Jack said.

"Why? Is he gonna beat me up?" Wheeljack scoffed loudly, perhaps more so than he had intended.

"He doesn't beat people. I've rarely heard him yell at anyone. He's very good at keeping his cool." Jack said this very matter-of-factly. There may have even been a hint of respect in his voice.

"What about Miko? How's she?" Wheeljack asked him. He had not seen the girl for even longer than he had not seen Jack. Sometimes, while he worked in his workshop on Cybertron, his mind wondered to thoughts of Earth and the fleshy friends he had made there. Sometimes he thought about Miko, the 'honorary Wrecker'. And sometimes he pondered returning to Earth and staying there with Ratchet, as Cybertron was becoming even less like he had thought it would. The constant work, much of which restricted him to his workshop, had left him feeling drained some days and downright depressed on others. Not that he would tell anyone that, certainly not explicitly.

"She's as you would expect," Jack answered. "Feisty as ever."

"Good to hear. I might go by and see her, once this business with this 'General' is done." He made his disdain for the current, if unusual, situation clear in his voice. Negotiating had never been something he had found himself very interested in, especially if it involved Decepticons. "You know anything about our 'guest'? This 'Con warlord?"

"No. I've never seen him. The Colonel did not even tell me about it until recently."

"The whole thing stinks," Wheeljack added. "'Cons don't negotiate. Not unless there's something big in it for them."

"I was told they're short on supplies," Jack said. "That might explain why they haven't gone elsewhere. They know they can get to Cybertron from Earth and they probably haven't got the resources to fly there the old-fashioned way."

"I'm sure we'll find out what their problems are when they arrive," Bumblebee advised. "We shouldn't go jumping to conclusions. That goes for you, Wheeljack." He eyed the Wrecker carefully. "You really think they'd betray us? When we could easily bring in far greater numbers through the ground-bridge?"

Wheeljack was not sure what to think. He did not like being so conflicted, especially since he had been so certain that Decepticons were never to be trusted. No Decepticon warlord would 'negotiate' unless they were certain they could get what they wanted and it was likely to be something fairly significant that they were after. Some had surrendered in the past, only to be accepted onto Cybertron and Wheeljack had always been vocal in his opposition to that practice. 'Cons brought trouble and that was one thing Cybertron, and Earth for that matter, had had plenty of. Still, if Knock Out could genuinely switch sides it was not a stretch to think that other Decepticons could do the same.

"The whole thing's just off," Wheeljack said, finally.

"You should ease up, once in a while," Bumblebee suggested. "You've been on edge a lot recently."

"I've got a lot on my plate. This business with this 'General' is just something more I have to deal with. Forgive me if I don't believe he's going to come here to 'negotiate'." He paused, eyeing Bumblebee carefully. "Did you bring your weapons? I have my blades and my on-board cannons. I prefer to be prepared."

"How about we just wait and see, before we start preparing for the worst?" Jack asked. Wheeljack looked towards him, thinking that maybe he was being a bit too paranoid, but Bumblebee had been right about him being a bit on edge in recent months. All the work he was assigned had taken up every minute of his time. By the end of a typical day on Cybertron, he had been doing nothing but work. At least the war had not been so routine, so dull. And, to top it off, he had got to thinking about his potential future on Cybertron. 'Settling down', as Knock Out had called it during their talk earlier that day, was something that he had not considered much before. Now, it was an idea that had been nagging away at the back of his mind like a parasite. He had never thought he would reach this point, actively thinking about a peaceful future for himself. He had always assumed he would go down in a blaze of glory.

"If you expect me to sit down and have a nice, friendly chat with this 'Con warlord, you're mistaken," Wheeljack stated.

 

The General

Ultra Magnus watched as the Colonel pulled a lever by the hangar entrance. The large double doors that took up the front end of the hangar began to slide open slowly, groaning loudly on their gears. Outside, it was late in the evening, the sky above dark and cloudy in places. A runway was beyond the hangar doors, one of a few that ran the length of the air force base. A pair of guards milled by on patrol outside. Another set of hangars were located across the runway, a few of which were closed. Further down the runway was a set of administration buildings, squat and mostly rectangular compared to the hangars, an American flag flying high above them. Finally, there was a control tower, located by the administration area. It was the tallest point on the base, covered in blinking lights that denoted its position to any aircraft that were coming in for landing. The runway itself was lined with similar white lights that glowed brightly in the dim evening light. A few more guards moved into the hangar, taking positions along the walls.

It had been about two hours since Ultra Magnus and the others had arrived here. That made the Decepticon 'General' an hour late. The Autobot Commander did not find himself surprised by this turn of events.

Jack and Agent Fowler waited nearby. Fowler looked understandably bored. He was leaning back against a wall with his arms crossed, his expression dour. Knock Out had taken to amusing himself on the nearby Cybertronian terminal while Wheeljack, apparently unconcerned with the sensitive nature of the situation, had pulled out one of his blades and now sat nearby wiping it clean with a cloth.

"Looks like this guy's a no-show," he said. He held out the katana-shaped blade in front of his face, eyeing it carefully as he searched for any imperfections. "Can't say I'm surprised."

"He'll be here," Colonel Carver said as he made his way back from the door controls. "I don't think it's much of a surprise to anyone here that a Decepticon, of all things, is intentionally making us wait."

Wheeljack barely managed a glance at the human, his disdain for him apparent. He slid his katana into place at his back and stood up from the bench he had been seated upon. He looked over to Ultra Magnus and gestured in the direction of the ground-bridge terminal.

"How about we head back, chief?" He asked.

"We'll wait, Wheeljack," Ultra Magnus answered, his tone stern.

"Can I at least go? It's not like you'll need me. The last thing you'd want me involved with is a 'negotiation'." He said this last word with blatant scorn. "This waiting game is killing me, chief. I got enough to do back on Cybertron. Wasting time here is just going to make those things take even longer." He paused and raised one brow-ridge. "Half those things are tasks you assigned me."

Ultra Magnus hated the waiting as much as Wheeljack did, though he was certainly not one to show it. Sometimes the life of a soldier was a boring one, waiting around was sometimes part of the job. Not that he would expect Wheeljack to tolerate that particular aspect of their work.

Ultra Magnus did not get an opportunity to respond, as he and the others became aware of a distant whining noise, one that increased in volume quickly as its source neared their location at a considerable pace. The whining was soon back-grounded with a far louder and deeper roar. The ground underfoot began to vibrate and the light fixtures in the ceiling of the hangar behind them rattled audibly within their housings. A shadow was cast over the windows of the hangar and an alert siren sounded across the base. Ultra Magnus started for the hangar's entrance, stepping outside while being followed by the other Autobots. Several human soldiers were out and on alert now, their gazes directed skyward. Ultra Magnus did much the same, looking up to see the recognizable form of a Decepticon scout-ship descending over the runway. It was a large and visibly modified ship, with a set of two bulky engines on the rear and four smaller ones near them, each one glowing brightly with blue energy. It was vaguely disc-shaped, but bulky and asymmetrical from the modifications that had been made. The bridge was visible as a dome protruding from the top centre of the craft as it descended, about six large landing pads extending from the underbelly of the ship to support its touchdown. For a scout-craft it was far larger than the typical model, likely a result of the added sections and weapons turrets that had been built into it. It was a hulking black metal shape, visibly armed and the diameter of the width of the runway it landed upon. Several of the human soldiers nearby raised their weapons, training them on the alien craft. A trio of open-top Jeeps came to a halt nearby, each of their mounted guns being trained onto the ship.

"This General's not big on subtlety, is he?" Bumblebee said from where he stood, just off to Ultra Magnus' right.

"You think this is all he has?" Wheeljack asked, his voice low. He stood to Ultra Magnus' other side and watched the scout-craft land with a careful gaze. "Or is this just his personal yacht?"

"What makes you think I know?" Ultra Magnus countered. He had not been expecting the Decepticon 'General' to arrive quite in this manner. Then again, he had not known what to expect. Nearby, he saw that Colonel Carver watched with as much concern as Wheeljack. That is to say, very little. He had probably seen this ship before, during whatever past interactions he had shared with the Decepticon 'General' and his soldiers.

The landing ramp on the underside of the oversized scout-ship began to lower, hitting the tarmac of the runway with a subdued clunk! White smoke plumed from the hydraulics in the landing gears, wafting around the walkway. Ultra Magnus found his attention drawn to the middle of the smoke, where he could hear footsteps. They clanked loudly upon the metal of the ramp and as the smoke cleared, Ultra Magnus could make out the figure from which the steps originated. He was tall, perhaps as tall as Ultra Magnus. His Cybertronian form was recognizable right away, even through all the smoke. The mostly black and purple finish certainly alluded to his status as a Decepticon and the large wings folded at his back indicated that he was a jet-former of some kind.

Then Ultra Magnus saw the Decepticon completely as he emerged from the hissing smoke. It took him a moment to remember where he had seen that face before, where he had seen those blazing red optics that were now looking at him in a fairly scrutinising manner.

"Cyclonus," Ultra Magnus muttered.

"Who?" Wheeljack glanced at him, one brow-ridge raised.

'General' Cyclonus stepped off of the landing ramp and stopped for a moment to take in his welcoming party. About twenty human soldiers were scattered around ahead of him, all with their weapons trained on him. He barely gave them another glance before he focused his attention upon the four Autobots standing at the entrance of the hangar. An oddly friendly smile appeared at his mouth and he opened his arms, as if welcoming old friends.

"Ultra Magnus," he said. His voice was booming, confident. "How long has it been? How many cycles since we last met on the battlefield?"

"Not enough," Ultra Magnus commented. He considered drawing his weapon, if only for a moment. Cyclonus appeared to be unarmed, at least visibly. He likely had some form of on-board weaponry.

"As for your friends, I am not familiar with them." He eyed Wheeljack, Bumblebee and then Knock Out in turn. "Save for that last one. I've seen you somewhere before, Decepticon."

Knock Out smiled sheepishly.

"I couldn't forget you, Cyclonus," Knock Out said. Ultra Magnus looked at him, shooting him a stern glance that very much indicated that he wanted an explanation. Knock Out turned to him, still looking sheepish. "I treated Cyclonus' battle injuries once, a long time ago."

Ultra Magnus turned back to Cyclonus. There was a very deep scar across the Decepticon's left optic. The eye itself was intact, if a lighter shade to his other eye. It was likely a replacement he had received, as his previous left optic had presumably been torn to shreds by whatever had left him with that scar.

"Knock Out, is it?" Cyclonus stepped forwards. He watched the human soldiers tense up, their weapons still aimed at him. His attention momentarily shifted to Colonel Carver. "Tell these men to stand down, Colonel. I will not harm them, nor these Autobots."

Carver gestured with one hand to the soldiers and they lowered their weapons, though most were visibly anxious. Ultra Magnus could certainly understand why.

"I never thought I'd see you again," Ultra Magnus said.

"You know this guy?" Wheeljack asked.

"Hardly. He used to be one of Megatron's top Lieutenants. I fought his soldiers a few times."

"And what has become of my dear old friend, Megatron?" Cyclonus asked. On the landing ramp behind him, another two Decepticons appeared. They stopped at the base of the ramp, their hands clasped behind their backs. One looked fairly bulky, with a mostly purple and brown finish. His head lacked a discernible mouth and his optics were covered over by a yellow visor. As for his friend, he was more along the lines of a typical Decepticon, slightly taller than his friend and mostly grey and black in colour, with jagged armour plating that reminded Ultra Magnus of Megatron's armour.

"We don't know," Bumblebee replied, stepping forwards.

"He gave it all up," Wheeljack said. "Threw in the towel, as the humans would say. Turned over a new leaf. Went to wander the galaxy like a hobo."

"He's fallen far," Cyclonus commented. He smiled again, bearing a set of jagged steel teeth. "He was the one who tore out my left eye." He pointed to the slightly mismatched optic in question with one hand. "I failed him once, you see. And if it weren't for Knock Out, I'd have no depth perception. I regret not having the opportunity to return the favour to my dear old friend Megatron. As the humans would say, 'an eye for an eye'."

"And the whole world would go blind." Fowler was the one to say this, catching a cold glare from the large Decepticon. "You here to negotiate or what?"

"You must be Agent Fowler," Cyclonus said, peering down at the human curiously. "Colonel Carver told me about you. I understand you helped the Autobots in their battle against my old commander?"

"Yeah. I did my part." Fowler then nodded over to Jack, who had been standing to his right. "And so did Agent Darby here."

"Another one of the Autobot's human allies," Cyclonus said. "You're so small, so fleshy, yet so tenacious. Colonel Carver proved as much when his soldiers eliminated one of my scouts."

"We were just doing our jobs," Carver replied.

"Indeed," Cyclonus added. He did so through a visibly clenched jaw. Apparently the death of one of his own had struck a nerve.

There was a brief silence amongst the group. Ultra Magnus did not know what to expect from this particular Decepticon. If their interaction so far was anything to go by he got the impression that Cyclonus was somewhat vain, perhaps more so than Megatron had been.

"What's with the 'General' title?" Wheeljack asked. He sounded unimpressed. "I didn't know Megatron had any 'Generals'."

"I was his only one," Cyclonus answered. "And then I failed him once too many times. I even think he was concerned I would try and kill him, put myself in charge of the Decepticons. Honestly, that 'betrayal' business was always more Starscream's thing." He paused and then gestured towards his ship. "If we are to negotiate, as is the purpose of this meeting, then we can do so on board my personal transport. It is far more comfortable in there."

"Go on board your ship?" Knock Out asked, the scepticism evident in his voice.

"And your human friends can come aboard as well," Cyclonus said. "I'm not going to take off with all you on board, if that is what you're concerned about. You may have your doubts as to my true intentions, and that is understandable, but I assure you that I am being genuine."

Knock Out managed another sheepish smile and clasped his hands anxiously. He looked over to Ultra Magnus, who simply nodded when faced with Knock Out's uncertain gaze. They were here to negotiate in a friendly manner. Going along with Cyclonus seemed the best choice at the moment, even if Ultra Magnus did not feel entirely confident in the matter. He started towards the landing ramp, with Cyclonus turning around and walking ahead of him. Slowly and somewhat reluctantly, the other Autobots began to follow. Both of Cyclonus' escorts parted to either side to allow the group to make their way past without hassle before they, in turn, followed the Autobots onto the ship. Jack, Fowler and Carver were the last to board the transport. As for the human soldiers nearby, they remained on guard.

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

"You know what they do to deserters, eh?" Skywarp leered at her, the glee clear on his face. Skystreaker responded by spitting a large glob of energon fluid into that very visage. Skywarp took a step back and wiped it away with one hand, a chagrined look crossing his face.

"You shouldn't waste energon," he said carefully.

Skystreaker did not reply. It was hard to concentrate when she was hanging upside-down, her legs bound together by a sturdy metal cable. Her arms dangled underneath her, her fingers just able to scrape the grey metal floor below. The interior of the long-range scout-ship was surprisingly spacious, but it made sense from a design standpoint. A ship like this had been built to travel the vast distances of space whilst supporting a small crew. The large central room was practically a requirement, preferable over the usual cramped confines of a ship like this. It would help make the trip more comfortable than it might usually have been. The walls were a dark grey metal, painted black in places, with sleek curved columns spaced along the walls. Skystreaker had found herself in bad company and strung up like big game animal, albeit one that was still alive and kicking. Skywarp stood ahead of her, bulky for a jet-former. He was mostly black in colour, his form marred with scars and dents acquired from past battles.

"The General will certainly make an example out of you," Skywarp added. His voice was rough and, from Skystreaker's past interactions with him, his intelligence was minimal at best. He stepped towards her again, prodding one finger into her chest. He slowly traced it along one of the gashes that had been scraped into her frame, sending a stinging pain through her torso. She clenched her metal teeth and worked to keep a straight face.

"Deserters get worse than death," Skywarp continued. "They get taken apart, piece by piece, ever so slowly. Death by a thousand cuts." He paused, taking his hand off of her chest, a smile forming at his mouth. His top row of jagged metal teeth became visible. It was not a particularly attractive sight.

"It almost makes me sad, Skystreaker," he said, though his mocking tone indicated he was not entirely serious with this statement. "You and I have so much in common. Our names, for one. The times we flied together. You enjoyed the fighting as much as I did. We were even friends for a while, weren't we? Even more than that, at one point in time..."

"Don't remind me," Skystreaker said, interrupting him. "The thought of your chassis anywhere near mine makes me physically ill." She swung herself slightly upon the cable that kept her attached to the ceiling. It was very sturdy, yet flexible. She could swing herself, maybe grab his neck and attempt to tear his head off. He had already beaten her a few times, leaving her aching all over and low on energy. Hanging upside-down made it difficult to get any rest, as was likely Skywarp's intention.

One of the lights in the ceiling flickered as the door ahead slid open. A slightly shorter Decepticon strolled in, another Seeker jet-former like Skywarp. He had a typical Seeker missile launcher attached to one arm, as well as a pair of folded up metal wings at his back. This Decepticon would have to be Skywarp's slightly more intelligent brother Thundercracker, a Decepticon whom Skystreaker had only had limited interaction with, compared to her more thorough interaction with Skywarp in the past. Skywarp turned his head to watch his brother enter, his face contorting into a scowl.

"Shouldn't you be reading a data-pad or something?" Skywarp asked. "Better yet, shouldn't you be flying this ship?"

"I switched the auto-pilot on," Thundercracker replied. He stopped a short distance away, one optic brow-ridge raised. "You haven't been treating her too harshly, have you? The General would prefer we get her alive."

"Just so he can have her taken apart?" Skywarp seemed amused by the thought. "He wants her alive, he didn't specify the exact condition."

"It's about time you gave her some energon," Thundercracker noted. He was definitely the more reasonable of the two, this much was apparent. Skystreaker wondered why she had to fall in with bad company, in this case Skywarp, more so than anyone she might have been able to genuinely get along with. "We don't want her starving into stasis lock before we get back to the General, do we?"

Skywarp walked over to the dispenser on the far wall. With one hand, he pulled the lever there. The trickle of unclean energon that flowed out of the dispenser was a fairly pathetic sight in its self. Skystreaker was sure that the two Seekers had access to far cleaner reserves elsewhere on the ship, not that they would give her any of that stuff. Skywarp placed a small metal bowl under the trickle, filling it about halfway before he pushed back on the lever and shut off the flow.

Skystreaker watched as he walked over to her with the bowl in one hand. Stopping in front of her, he leaned down and shoved the bowl against her mouth, forcing the rim past her teeth before tipping the sickly and slightly blackened energon down her throat. The taste was, unsurprisingly, revolting. Much of it simply fell down her face, given the fact that she was upside-down, and trickled over her optics and crest. Skywarp stood up and tossed the bowl aside, letting it clank loudly against the wall nearby.

Skystreaker hated being vulnerable like this. Where most others would have understandably been fearful, perhaps even terrified of what their captors may do to them, Skystreaker instead found herself angry. Incredibly so, the rage threatening to spill out of her at any moment. Flailing about on the cable did very little, except maybe incite the delivery of another few punches and scrapes from Skywarp. They may have fought side-by-side on the battlefields in the past, but Skystreaker's choice to leave the Decepticon ranks had completely altered Skywarp's view of her. Thundercracker, on the other hand, did not appear too concerned with her. She was just an assignment to him, nothing more. However, he had been the one to strip her of her onboard weaponry, leaving her defenceless. Not that Skywarp would have been able to do such a thing. Technological proficiency was something he lacked. Beating someone into submission, on the other hand, was something he was very good at and greatly enjoyed.

"That's awful," Skystreaker croaked, spitting out what polluted energon was still in her mouth.

"Good to hear," Skywarp replied. His red optics lit up then when a thought occurred to him. Skystreaker figured this was a rare occurrence for him. This thought made her smirk. "Since we're taking you to your death, surely you have some last wishes?"

"Like what?" Skystreaker asked.

"Anything."

"Well if that's the case, my last wish is that you untie me," Skystreaker said. It was probably the wrong thing to say, despite the joking tone she spoke with.
Skywarp narrowed his optics at her. Thundercracker chuckled audibly from nearby.

"She's a fiery one, isn't she?" Thundercracker looked to his brother. Said brother did not return the gaze. "She's got bearings."

"Or she's just stupid," Skywarp countered.

"We'd have a lot more in common if that was the case," Skystreaker said. Skywarp did not hesitate to punch her in the stomach for that reply. The blow itself was fairly average, however it simply exacerbated the gashes that marred her torso. Each one of them erupted into a brief but excruciating wave of pain that worked its way through her entire body. She felt herself tense up in most places, grunting in response. She eased out of this state fairly quickly given the fleeting nature of the pain.

"I could cut you up even more," Skywarp said. "Maybe take off a few plates, even tear off your wings. All things the General and the others will likely to do you anyway, but I'd be happy to save them the trouble."

"You'd risk putting her into shock," Thundercracker interjected. "An unconscious prisoner is not what the General wants. He'll probably give her a mock trial or something, knowing him. She needs to be completely conscious and functioning for all that."

"What makes you think you can hold me?" Skystreaker asked. It was a serious question. "No Autobots who got hold of me kept me for very long."

A beeping noise from a nearby terminal caught the trio's attention. Thundercracker walked over to it and Skystreaker heard a vaguely familiar voice speak through it.

"Hunters, this is Vortex," the voice said. "Your ship has appeared on our scanners. Have you got the deserter?"

"This is Hunter One," Thundercracker said. "We have her. Tell the General we'll be at his location within the next few hours."

"There's been a change of plan," Vortex replied. "The General has important guests over. Place your ship into a stationary orbit over the dark side of this world's moon. Keep yourself out of sight. I will call you later, once the General is ready to receive you and the deserter."

"Guests?" Thundercracker took a moment to mull over what this might mean. So did Skystreaker, who took advantage of the distraction and tested the cable once again. Skywarp was within reach, although there was little she would be able to do to him from this position.

"Above all else, do not allow the Autobots to detect you. The situation down here is of a sensitive nature."

Autobots? Skystreaker was surprised to hear mention of them. What could they be doing on whatever backwater world this ship had arrived near?

"You want us to hold on to the deserter?" Thundercracker asked. "My brother here is keen to get rid of her, if you know what I mean."

"Keep him in check. I'll contact you later." The communications link was switched off abruptly then, leaving the three Decepticons to think over what they had been told.

Skywarp turned around to face his brother. This revealed the small blaster pistol he had held in place upon a magnetic clamp at his back. Skystreaker saw it and swung herself back as far as she could upon the cable. It would hopefully be just enough to get her to reach it. If she screwed this up, chances are Skywarp would do more to her than just beat her.

Thundercracker saw what she was doing but before he could say anything to alert Skywarp, Skystreaker came swinging forwards with her right arm outstretched. Her hand found its grip around the pistol's hilt and she tore it off of the magnetic clamp that had been holding it in place. Skywarp turned around and Skystreaker shot him square in the chest, sending a pinkish bolt of energy right through his core. There was a small puff of smoke and flame before he went stumbling backwards, his hands going to his newly received wound.

Skystreaker swivelled her arm and sent a bolt into Thundercracker, hitting him in the left shoulder. He stumbled a few steps but did not go down, so she fired again. The shot hit him in the neck and both his hands went to the scorched hole that had been seared through the metal there. Blue-white energon fluid spilled out as he fell to his knees. Skystreaker looked up and sent a shot into the cable above her, cutting it before it sent her falling head-first onto the floor. She landed on her side, only partially dazed before she stood up and considered her immediate options. She had maybe five seconds before the ship's Vehicon complement came pouring into the room.

Skystreaker walked over to Skywarp who was only just starting to rise to his feet. She kicked him in the side of the head, causing him to yelp in pain as he fell flat onto his face. She kicked him again in the back, just to keep him down a moment longer.

The nearby set of double doors slid open and about four Vehicons came running in, weapons drawn. Skystreaker raised her pistol and opened fire, diving to the floor as they sent a hail of energy bolts her way. She landed by Thundercracker, who was still alive even with the gaping and scorched hole in his neck. With one arm, she grabbed him roughly, rising back to her feet with him held in front of her. The Vehicons continued firing, even with their commanding officer being used as a shield. Thundercracker let out a few pained yells as bolts of energy connected with him, causing him to jerk about in her grasp. He took about a dozen hits before the Vehicons actually stopped firing, their overzealousness presumably to blame.

Skystreaker did not waste time shooting back, cutting down one of the Vehicons with about three shots to the chest. She looked down, only for a moment, to check what Thundercracker was carrying, if anything. The now lifeless Decepticon could still prove to be of some use, as the launcher he had at one arm was still workable. Skystreaker clipped the pistol to her waist before she raised the dead Decepticon's arm and aimed the loaded missile straight at the Vehicons. They saw what was coming and scattered. The room around them had a significant lack of cover and even Skystreaker had her doubts as to the soundness of this particular course of action. Nonetheless, she worked a finger onto the trigger mechanism and fired the rocket. It shot through the room at a quick pace, leaving a smoking white contrail in its wake. It missed the Vehicons and instead struck the far wall, causing a violent eruption of smoke and metal fragments. The entire ship shook violently and Skystreaker let Thundercracker's lifeless body hit the floor, his usefulness gone.

Skywarp was slowly rising back onto his feet, even with the gaping hole torn into the ship's hull behind him. What little atmosphere on board the ship vented quickly, throwing out a Vehicon in the process. Skystreaker started to run straight for the gaping hole, aware that power conduits nearby had started to overload, sending showers of sparks raining down throughout the room. Whatever she had hit with that missile, it had apparently been important.
Skywarp's optics went to his dead brother and then to Skystreaker. She bolted past him, knocking him aside before he had a chance to open his mouth in rage. A panel on the wall nearby exploded, sending a small column of flames shooting forth. Energon was leaking from ruptured piping by the hole. Skystreaker dived through the hole, propelling herself free of the ship and into the vacuum. A large, spherical planetary body was some distance away, a grey moon pock-marked with craters. And even further beyond that, a few hundred thousand kilometres away, was a blue-white sphere.

Autobots. I can get help from the Autobots. She sure was not a Decepticon anymore. With the energon fuel leaking from the pipes by the hole, sending globules of it floating into the void, Skystreaker had another 'bright' idea and turned herself around as she floated further from the ship. Pulling the blaster pistol, she took aim at one of the pipes and fired.

The chain reaction was pretty to look at, even if it did not last very long in the vacuum. Flames erupted forth from the leaking pipe, flowing down the rest of it and spreading to the engines at the rear. Something detonated violently and the concussive wave was enough to send her flying backwards, leaving her without control of her own movements for a moment. She caught a glimpse of one of the larger engines exploding into flames, only for those flames to dissipate suddenly within the airless void. As the scout-ship started on a downward arc towards the nearby moon, Skystreaker swiveled around to look towards the blue planet ahead. There was really no other place to go.

 

Negotiation

The interior of Cyclonus' personal 'yacht' was fairly spacious. In Cybertronian terms, the place was luxurious, something that Ultra Magnus found to be only more evidence of the General's vanity. There was still much of the typically grey Decepticon design within, but it had been offset by the addition of mostly purple decor, much of which was located within the large, circular central hall that Cyclonus took the group into. Here, a vast rectangular table was located, built out of what looked to be solid marble. It was certainly sturdy (as it would have to be, for Cybertronian use). There were a few dispensers in the middle, marked in the Decepticon language with the names of whatever substances they would release when their levers were turned. The floor underfoot was carpeted, an odd sight to see in any Decepticon construct, and the carpet itself was distinctly purple in colour. Upon the far wall, behind the end of the table, was the Decepticon seal. It was large and gleamed brightly in the white light emanating from the fixtures set in the ceiling above. A pair of Decepticon soldiers stood guard, one at either side of the room. A short distance from the table upon a raised bench were a few smaller chairs, no doubt intended for use by the human guests.

Ultra Magnus had not seen such luxurious decor for a long time. Much of what had been on Cybertron had been stripped during the war and after the world's abandonment. Even after nine Earth years worth of restoration work, the city of Iacon was still very much utilitarian. They did not have the resources to waste on something as lavish as Cyclonus' personal scout-ship. The General himself had likely procured the materials throughout his travels, perhaps even from Earth itself if the carpet was anything to go by.

Ultra Magnus followed Cyclonus into the room, with Wheeljack, Bumblebee and Knock Out walking a short distance behind him. He was surprised by just how much room there was, unlike most ships this size there appeared to be no cramped, claustrophobia-inducing corridors and rooms on this one. The Autobot Commander stopped by the table and took a good, long look at his surroundings. Two Decepticon guards, as well as Cyclonus and his two Lieutenants. Other than them, there were no other potentially hostile individuals in the room with them.

"Nice place," Wheeljack said as he entered, though his voice lacked any sincerity. His optics were narrowed, his face bearing an expression of scrutiny. Walking on board a Decepticon ship had likely set him on alert, driven by his combat instincts that had not at all waned since the war had ended. Ultra Magnus looked over to a display case on the opposite wall, a large one at that with several shelves spaced at varying heights within it. There was a strange alien skull on one shelf, one that was larger than Ultra Magnus' own head, complete with tusks and four eye sockets. Bumblebee wandered over to there, eyeing the skull carefully.

"Something I killed on my travels," Cyclonus said, getting the yellow Autobot's attention.

"Whereabouts?" Bumblebee asked.

"Some backwater desert world, far from here,' Cyclonus replied. "The sort of world that doesn't even have a proper name on our star-charts.'"

"And those?" Bumblebee tapped one finger gently against the glass, pointing it in the direction of the old paper-bound books on the lowest shelf.

"Literature," Cyclonus said.

"You read?" Wheeljack asked this as he pulled a chair out from the table for himself. He sounded sceptical, as if he could not quite envision the General ever picking up a book or a data-pad.

"I'm currently perusing human literature," Cyclonus answered. He turned around to face the Wrecker before he stepped over to the head of the table.

Agent Fowler and Jack had walked in, followed by Colonel Carver. Behind them, the two Decepticon Lieutenants followed. Ultra Magnus watched the pair walk by, both of them stopping near the General before they sat down upon the seats closest to his.

"What interest would a Decepticon such as yourself have in human literature?" Knock Out was the one to ask this. He sat down in a chair across from Wheeljack's place at the long table. The Autobot Wrecker managed a fairly scornful glance in his direction, though Knock Out did not notice it. "I, personally, enjoy their television and cinema forms of entertainment."

"There is much to be gained from human culture," Cyclonus said. He motioned to Ultra Magnus and Bumblebee. "Take a seat, make yourselves comfortable. The same goes for your human compatriots."

"I don't think I quite expected this level of hospitality from a Decepticon," Fowler said. He started up the short flight of steps nearby that took him onto the raised bench where a set of human-sized chairs were located. Jack followed him up there, as did Carver. Colonel Carver was the first to sit down upon one of the chairs. As for Fowler and Jack, they sat down with some understandable uncertainty of the whole situation. Ultra Magnus could certainly empathise. This was not quite what he had expected when he had been told he would be 'negotiating' with a Decepticon.

"What is it that you read, General?" Ultra Magnus asked. He pulled a seat out for himself, sitting himself down on Wheeljack's left. This put him a single vacant seat away from the black-finished Decepticon Lieutenant, the one who was currently eyeing him carefully with a pair of blazing red optics.

"I did much research on the humans before I came here," Cyclonus said. "I found myself taken in by some of their classical works. Some of it is, admittedly, a great deal more fascinating than what our race has created. At least, in my personal view. Not to say the sagas of old Cybertron are bad, far from it in fact. But there is something that draws me in when it comes to the human works of old. 'All that live must die, passing through nature to eternity.'"

Ultra Magnus was not familiar with much human literature, certainly not to a significant extent. As a result, the quote was very much lost on him.

"Shakespeare," Colonel Carver said from his place on the raised bench nearby. "It's been a while since I read any of that stuff, but I recognize Hamlet no problem."

"What do you know," Wheeljack said, "A literary-minded 'Con." He did not sound convinced. Ultra Magnus was simply befuddled as to why a Decepticon General, of all things, would find himself fascinated by literature, especially that from a race most of the Decepticons saw as 'inferior'. He did not voice this confusion and simply retained a straight face.

"Stories of vengeance, betrayal, greed. Reminds me of those who once ruled our world, the self-styled 'Council' who squabbled for every last bit of power they could while millions of our own either starved or were forced into the gladiatorial pits." Cyclonus' tone took on a more passionate edge as he continued to speak. "It probably is no surprise that those oppressors turned our culture into one based on decadence." He looked towards the three humans seated nearby, one optic ridge raised inquisitively. "Are you familiar with Cybertronian history? I know much of your Earth history, I found a great deal of it fascinating. Some of it even paralleled our own."

"I'm afraid my understanding of Cybertronian history is sub-par," Fowler replied. He exchanged bemused glances with Jack.

"Ours was a very caste-based society," Cyclonus said. He looked to Ultra Magnus then, as if he expected him to voice disagreement. The Autobot Commander simply sat silent as he listened carefully, figuring it best to allow the Decepticon General to continue talking. We'll get to the 'negotiation' eventually.

"You were born into the role you were given," Cyclonus continued. "There was no moving up the social hierarchy, no matter how hard you worked. Decepticons such as myself were expected to labour our lives away whilst living off of what little scraps of energon we received in return. All the while those lucky enough to be sparked into a high-order of society lived in luxury. For thousands of years our society remained heavily regimented. The gladiatorial pits, the majority of them located in the city of Kaon, provided an outlet for the tensions that built among the lower classes. Many died, but the few that survived gained much prestige. Megatron was one of those, his great strength complemented by a cunning few others had."

"We know about Megatron," Jack said. "What about you?"

"My history, and that of Megatron, intertwine a great deal." Cyclonus paused for a moment, considering what next to add. Ultra Magnus felt like mentioning that they had actual issues to talk about, instead of hearing his life story. However, the Autobot Commander found himself curious about Cyclonus. He had only glimpsed the Decepticon General a few times in the past and had never had any significant direct interaction with him. All the information he was willing to give about himself would be most welcome for Ultra Magnus.

"He and I, we never saw eye-to-eye, as I mentioned previously." He pointed a finger to his slightly mismatched optic, where a long scar travelled across it and down to his mouth. "I was in a similarly low station as he was. I fought in the pits, killed my share of Decepticons. And I even fought Megatron."

Bumblebee noticeably leaned forward, intrigued. Ultra Magnus noticed that the others, with the exception of Colonel Carver, had reacted to this latest bit of information with piqued curiosity.

"You mustn't have won," Wheeljack interjected, somewhat callously. "I mean, bucket-head lived on after that fight. Then again, so did you. What happened?"
If Cyclonus felt any offence against Wheeljack's comments, he did not show it. Instead, he continued with his story, recounting his past with a passionate tone that Ultra Magnus found himself listening intently to. It was strange, he realised, to be so enraptured with this Decepticon's story-telling. Some of it was likely exaggerated, perhaps even fictionalised. Glancing over at Wheeljack, it would appear that the Wrecker was unconvinced.

"We fought each other to the point of exhaustion," Cyclonus said. "We used everything we could get our hands upon. Sometimes the arena masters would throw weapons into the pit, as bare-handed fights, especially if they were prolonged, would sometimes bore the crowd. It was a means to keep things interesting, so there would be blades, clubs, even a few old guns would be thrown within, though only with enough ammunition for one or two shots. I landed a few significant blows against Megatron. He did much the same to me, but otherwise we fought and we fought, the fight itself lasted hours. And then, at the brink of utter collapse, he bested me. I am not afraid to admit this, even to a group of Autobots."

"He beat you?" Wheeljack smirked.

"I beat him just as badly," Cyclonus replied. "But, in the end, he held me at sword-point, blade against my chest, right above my spark-chamber. He spared me that day, much to the chagrin of our masters. They only let it stand because the fight had been entertaining, more so than most that had come before it."

"That was it, then?" Bumblebee sounded unimpressed. "That was the only time you two had a fight?"

"That was shortly before the war broke out," Cyclonus said. "I was asked to join the Decepticon ranks, to fight for our freedom. Megatron recognized my skills and made me one of his Lieutenants. I believe now that he did not trust me, for I was vocal in my disapproval of his overall intention to place himself as supreme ruler of Cybertron. I was not in it for the power, you see. Certainly not to the extent that Megatron was."

"If you pardon my asking, General," Ultra Magnus said, getting the Decepticon's attention, "But is this why you were off the grid for as long as you were?"

"Megatron, when he departed Cybertron on board the Nemesis, assigned me and those I commanded to scour the further regions of space for Cybertronian relics. We found very little in that regard and, from what I've learned, Megatron found his way here and uncovered a great deal. I believe that he sent me away, along with those loyal to me, to avoid the inevitable conflict for leadership that would have occurred at some point between us. Putting me on a task that would take a great deal of time and net very few results was probably intentional on his part. It appears that now I shall not have a chance to look upon his like again, as much as I would like to. He is in exile, is he not? Or dead, a possibility that we would likely all prefer."

"All right, General, cut the scrap," Wheeljack said. "Is this why you brought us here? To tell us your life story? I thought we were meant to 'negotiate'." He spoke the last word in a deadpan.

"We have plenty of time for that," Cyclonus replied. "I think it's best we learn a bit about each other before we get down to the business of the matter. As I understand, Ultra Magnus here is the one currently in charge over on Cybertron?" He turned to look towards the Autobot Commander. "One of the finest Autobot warriors, from what I've been told. Your reputation precedes you."

"My position as the Autobot leader is only temporary," Ultra Magnus replied. Both of the Decepticon General's Lieutenants were watching him. He knew neither of them. "As for you, General, I'm curious as to the make-up of your forces. This ship is small, but heavily modified. Do you have another ship somewhere? A cruiser?" All reasonable questions, he thought. Cyclonus nodded slowly, a slight smirk appearing at his mouth.

"Why, Commander, I hope you're not treating this get-together as an intelligence gathering mission? We are friends here. I wish to keep it that way." He paused for a moment, one hand running across his chin as he thought over what to say next. Ultra Magnus did not trust this Decepticon, he doubted he ever would, no matter how affable he attempted to be. "I have many soldiers who are loyal to me." He gestured to the Decepticon seated to his left, the one with the yellow visor over his optics. "This is Vortex, one of my chief Lieutenants." And then he gestured with one hand to the slim, somewhat jagged Decepticon seated on his right. "And that is Shadowstriker, my other Lieutenant. He does not say much. He speaks only when he deems it absolutely necessary."

"He likes being the 'strong, silent type'," Vortex added, his tone a mocking one. He glanced across the table to Shadowstriker, who gave a brief and somewhat half-hearted frown as his only response.

"Vortex?" Wheeljack glared at him with recognition. "I might have heard about you. You're a Combaticon, right?"

"And you're a Wrecker." Vortex spoke bluntly, his expression unreadable through his visor and mask. "We might have something in common, Autobot."

"I doubt that."

The Combaticons had been a specialist unit in the Decepticon ranks, a bunch who had taken on the toughest missions for that side. Much like the Wreckers, Ultra Magnus thought. It was no wonder Wheeljack was eying Vortex with noticeable hostility. Vortex likely felt the same way.

"I understand, Ultra Magnus, that things on Cybertron are not quite as good as they could be," Cyclonus said.

"What have you heard?" Ultra Magnus did not wish to disclose any details until he was certain of what Cyclonus knew. There was no reason to go spilling the beans to a Decepticon General he had only just met, no matter how friendly he may appear to be. There was an almost sinister undertone to Cyclonus, likely a result of the scar on his face and the slightly mismatched optic he had. Ultra Magnus found himself wondering about how things might have gone had Cyclonus come to Earth when Megatron had been around. Would there have been conflict between the two, or would the two Decepticon warlords have worked together and caused far more trouble than Megatron alone had managed? It was naturally all speculation and Ultra Magnus found this train of thought interrupted by Cyclonus' words.

"I know that you are effectively in charge of the restoration effort there," Cyclonus said. "I am aware that Optimus Prime sacrificed himself to the Well of Allsparks in order to breathe new life into the world. However, even with that done there is a millennia's worth of war damage to repair. And there are old grudges carried by those on both sides, grudges that are unlikely to go away anytime soon."

"And what about you, General?" Wheeljack asked this question, watching Cyclonus carefully. "We were told you were in a sorry state. It doesn't look like that to me."

"Our supplies are low," Cyclonus answered. "The ship that brought me here lacks the fuel to travel outside of this solar system. Essentially, we are stranded and the energon-refining facilities upon my cruiser are no longer in working order. We have travelled the stars for a long time and, until recently, were very much convinced that the war was still raging. But, upon hearing of Cybertron's restoration and of the alliance the Autobots and the humans share, I have decided upon a course of action that I believe will benefit both sides the most. I called for this meeting, even if the humans, under Colonel Carver, terminated one of my scouts." He paused briefly then, glancing over at where the Colonel was seated. "That was an understandable response. You were simply defending your world from alien intruders. I would have done the same, in your position."

"The Special Reaction Taskforce was created with that express purpose," Carver said. "We are open to negotiation, especially since you were the one to contact us with that intent."

"And I mean it entirely," Cyclonus said. "I wear my spark upon my sleeve for you all." He gestured towards the dispensers in the centre of the table. "There is energon, among other things, available if you are feeling drained. Our supplies of the highly-refined variants have needed to be rationed, but as for the less pure..."

"Yeah, thanks but no thanks," Wheeljack said. "I don't accept drinks from 'Cons."

Ultra Magnus felt much the same way. He decided against helping himself to whatever beverages were on offer. As for Knock Out, he reached over to the dispenser nearest to him and filled a metal cup with some murky variant of energon that looked to be very much impure. Regardless, he downed the contents of that cup without hesitation. Looking at him, one might have been forgiven for assuming he was starving.

"As you wish, Wheeljack." Cyclonus leaned back in his seat. "I have wandered the stars for a long time and I wish to settle down, as do my soldiers. That is why we're here, to come to an understanding regarding where my soldiers can go and who, if anyone, will make use of the energon deposits here on Earth. It was the result of an attempt to take advantage of one that brought the Colonel's men after us, who in turn terminated the scout I mentioned. I wish to prevent something of that sort from happening again. Especially since it is clear that the Colonel and his soldiers have the means to fight us Cybertronians effectively."

Fowler glanced over to Carver then. Ultra Magnus saw the Agent's face was contorted into a distrustful scowl.

"Care to explain to me what you have to fight these guys with that I don't know about?" Fowler asked, his voice low. Carver raised one eyebrow slightly.

"That would be classified information, even to you," Carver said.

Fowler looked over to Jack.

"And what about you?"

"I can't really say," Jack replied. His tone was more uncertain and Colonel Carver was watching him carefully. Ultra Magnus saw that there was some sort of conflict there, between the three of them, although on Jack's part it was more of an inner conflict. Fowler, it appeared, was only just tolerating the Colonel.

"The energon deposits on Earth have been untouched since Megatron's defeat," Ultra Magnus explained. "We have only vague estimates as to their extent on this planet. Since Cybertron's restoration, we have not needed to make use of them. Energon deposits on Cybertron have been increasing in size for the past nine Earth years. It is the refining facilities, most of which were damaged or stripped bare during the war, that are the issue for us."

"I could conceivably take advantage of the deposits here on Earth for myself, then?" Cyclonus asked. Ultra Magnus sensed some slight elation in his tone. Wheeljack must have noticed it too because he audibly huffed. "Of course, I would need permission from the humans to do so."

"Well, you're not getting it." Fowler blurted this out in a classic case of 'speaking before thinking'. When all heads in the room turned to him he became noticeably uneasy for a moment and one hand tugged at his tie. This anxiety was quickly quelled by what strong feelings he had towards Cyclonus and his Decepticons. "I don't know about anyone else here, but I do not want a pack of Decepticons here on Earth, mining the very stuff they need to fuel their ships and their weapons and themselves. It'd be like having another Megatron around."

"Tiny's got a point," Wheeljack said. "I don't think you'd find many humans willing to have you guys around, General. I'm only just tolerating you 'Cons right now." He looked towards Cyclonus, his expression a guarded one. "Besides, General, how can we trust you, when you're asking us for energon?"

"You've got the soldiers," Bumblebee interjected. "With the energon to back you guys up, you could launch a full scale assault against the humans."

"And why would we?" Cyclonus asked. "What could I possibly gain from conquering this planet, or even at least part of it? You must overestimate me, Bumblebee."

"What brought you to Earth in the first place?" Ultra Magnus asked. From the way the others had been talking, it sounded like a full-blown argument might erupt. He did not want to start trouble, especially in this environment. A verbal altercation could easily turn into physical violence here.

"Megatron," Cyclonus said. "We were far out in space, but now and then we would send reports to Megatron. I already had some idea of where he had gone, it took some searching to pinpoint the exact location and by then he was gone and the Autobot presence on this world was diminished."

"And so you thought you could take advantage of the energon reserves here," Bumblebee said. "Until Colonel Carver and his Taskforce intervened."

"I had the well-being of my soldiers at spark," Cyclonus replied. "The journey to Earth was a long one and we had a number of setbacks along the way. Our refining facilities aboard my cruiser ceased functioning, for one. We lack the spare parts to repair such a sophisticated system. Our energon supplies began to run low and morale was diminishing. To chance upon the energon reserves on this world, a backwater according to our star-charts, was the break we needed." He spoke in a level tone, carrying an authoritative edge to his voice. Ultra Magnus figured him for a good orator, he had the kind of voice that would stand out amongst others, the sort that would grab one's attention almost right away. "If I am guilty of anything, it is attempting to ensure the survival of my soldiers. Energon is our life-blood, after all."

"The General understands that he has far better opportunities through civilized negotiation," Carver said. "He may have attempted to plunder an energon deposit from under our noses, but at least he is willing to admit this error in judgement. That's not something you'd get from most Decepticons."

"And I'd have nothing to gain from launching an attack upon human civilization," Cyclonus added. "I would only bring upon myself the wrath of the Autobots who are only a ground-bridge away. They have sworn to protect this Earth, after all. Isn't that right, Ultra Magnus?"

"Indeed." Ultra Magnus pondered how to respond to this situation. Did Cyclonus want to remain on Earth and utilise the energon deposits here? Because if that was really his desire, it was very unlikely the humans would play along.

"And that treaty that binds the two worlds together, Earth and Cybertron, is up for renewal, as I have heard," Cyclonus said.

"That's part of why I'm here." Ultra Magnus had almost forgotten about that little matter of the treaty. "It's only a formality. The ties between Cybertron and Earth are strong enough without it."

"The histories of both worlds are intertwined, are they not?" Cyclonus asked. This was certainly a rhetorical question so Ultra Magnus did not bother to answer. "That is what drew Megatron here, after all. The relics, Unicron, the energon. Two worlds so different, yet still closely related. In terms of natural beauty, Earth has Cybertron beaten."

"I don't think we'll be able to reach an agreement about the energon deposits here," Ultra Magnus said. "If you have been keeping up with recent events, then you'd know that we've been drawing as many Cybertronians as we can back to Cybertron. Autobot, Decepticon, it doesn't matter what side you might have been on during the war. We're rebuilding Cybertron and we're creating a freer society through that action."

"A freer society for yourself and your fellow Autobots, or for everyone?" Cyclonus leaned forwards in his chair, eyeing Ultra Magnus curiously. "Or are my fellow Decepticons still being used as labourers whilst being fed promises of something more?"

"We're all labourers now," Ultra Magnus replied. "Even I've done work at the construction sites spread throughout Iacon. Everybody has been doing their part. You and your soldiers could do a lot of good."

"Or cause a lot of trouble," Wheeljack said. Ultra Magnus shot him a stern glance but he either did not notice it or did not care. He did, however, look straight at the Autobot Commander and after a brief pause, he spoke carefully whilst he kept a straight face. "If General Cyclonus here is such a big-shot, then he's the exact kind of 'Con that others will rally around. I'm no politician and following that business is the least of my concerns, but I'm thinking that with the way things are now, with workers disputes and all that scrap, then bringing Cyclonus back to Cyberton could mess things up even more."

"Your friend is partially correct, Ultra Magnus," Cyclonus said. "I would certainly have considerable influence over some of the other Decepticons, much in the same way you have over the other Autobots. However, I have no desire to add fuel to whatever problems you are currently facing on Cybertron. I want to see our home-world returned to its former glory, albeit with a far freer society than the one it had before the war. I do not wish to instigate another one, if that is really what you think I intend."

"What is it that you want then, General?" Ultra Magnus asked. He realised he might have sounded sterner than he had intended, but he figured it best to get to the gist of the matter before the increasingly hostile atmosphere in the room reached a tipping point. Wheeljack looked as if he was about to pull out both his blades. Vortex's gaze was fixed on the Wrecker and the pair had seemingly entered some kind of staring contest, though Wheeljack was at a disadvantage given the fact that the Combaticon's optics were hidden underneath a yellow visor. It was nearly impossible to tell what he was thinking.

"Sanctuary," Cyclonus said. "Energon. A place where my soldiers can stay without being hassled by either Autobots, or humans. If you would have us on Cybertron, so be it. However, I wish to settle somewhere outside of Iacon."

"Iacon is the only city on Cybertron being repaired," Ultra Magnus explained. "Our current population doesn't make settling any further areas practical. It will be a long time before we have enough citizens to warrant expanding. There is still plenty of work needed to be done to make Iacon complete again."

"That is the Autobot capital, Commander," Cyclonus said. He did not sound impressed. "Again, I ask you what kind of society are you building. One free for yourselves, or free for all?"

"Where would you settle?" Ultra Magnus asked. It was becoming clear to him now that Cyclonus had a very particular set of things he wished to gain from this negotiation. "Kaon? Crystal City? There is nothing beyond the walls of Iacon but a wasteland. You are certainly free to rebuild, but why not help us do so in Iacon?"

"He's wasting our time, boss," Wheeljack said. Ultra Magnus turned to face him, feeling some annoyance at the interruption. "Isn't it obvious what the General wants? He got here, found himself a whole lotta energon, and now he wants it all for himself. He's just unlucky that the Colonel over there killed one of his guys." He nodded in the general direction of Colonel Carver. Ultra Magnus was not entirely convinced of this. Cyclonus may not even be sure of what he wanted himself, yet why would he have them brought here if he was just going to waste their time like this?

"My soldiers are in no real state to fight anyone, human or Autobot," Cyclonus said. "I do not wish to fight, not anymore. If other Decepticons can settle on Cybertron and aid in the rebuilding effort, then so can I and so can my soldiers. That is why I reached out with peaceful intentions..."

"Only after one of your scouts died," Bumblebee interrupted. "If that hadn't happened, we wouldn't be here and you'd be mining this planet clean of energon."

"The General's words are true," Vortex said. He looked towards the yellow Autobot and Ultra Magnus saw, despite the visor he wore, that his gaze was one of hostility. "He did not bring you all here just so you could accuse him of ulterior motives. None of us wish to settle within Iacon, not with the Autobots and not with the history of that place. The energon deposits on Earth are of no use to you, so why would you disallow us from making use of them?"

Cyclonus raised a hand, looking towards Vortex. It was a signal to stop and the Combaticon did just that.

"I don't want a pack of Decepticons on Earth," Fowler said, raising his voice. He sounded understandably upset. Ultra Magnus had a feeling that any intention of having a 'peaceful' negotiation had been all but killed by this point. "You can't stay here, I don't care if your ship's broken down. This is Earth, not some kind of Decepticon gas station. And who's to say we don't need that energon? We might be able to make use of that stuff one day. Technology's always improving, you know."

"I have to agree with tiny," Wheeljack said. "This whole meeting's just so the General here can avoid having half the Autobot military come down on his aft for what he's done. It's a damn waste of time." He turned towards Ultra Magnus. "What do you say we leave, huh Chief?"

Ultra Magnus would have preferred to sort things out now. It was clear to him that the somewhat friendly atmosphere of before had given way to something far more hostile. They would not be able to 'negotiate' anything like this and though he would have liked to have seen a peaceful solution to the matter, he realised that he did not trust Cyclonus much either. The General's intentions were still very muddied, save for the obvious desire for energon.

"We should leave," Ultra Magnus said. He rose out of his chair, with Wheeljack doing the same thing within a few seconds of him. "We can sort this out another time, maybe in a few days, once everyone here has calmed down." Starting a conflict with Cyclonus on Earth was the last thing he wanted to happen, yet the Decepticon General had said little to convince him of his overall trustworthiness. Wheeljack may have a point, regarding Cyclonus' intentions. He had tried to take advantage of Earth's resources and had been faced with a surprisingly effective human resistance in the form of Carver's Taskforce. Suing for some kind of peaceful compromise had become his only option. This implied, at least to Ultra Magnus, that Cyclonus was sincere when he spoke of the desperation he had for supplies, energon in particular.

Knock Out and Bumblebee rose out of their seats. Fowler and Jack did the same. Carver soon followed despite looking somewhat disappointed.

"We're going to have to reach a compromise eventually," he said aloud.

"I'll have my guards show you off of the ship," Cyclonus said. He stood up, motioning to the two Decepticon guards standing at the far end of the room. "If you wish to speak with me again, notify Colonel Carver. He'll notify me in turn and we can arrange something from there."

"Yeah, sure, we'll do just that." Wheeljack's sarcasm was blatant. He barely managed another glance towards the Decepticon General and instead strode out of the room, brushing aside one of the Decepticon guards.

"Remember, Autobots," Cyclonus called out, as the group filed out of the room. "Nothing will come of nothing. A compromise is needed, for both sides."

Ultra Magnus followed Wheeljack down the landing ramp, stepping back out into the cool night air of the runway. He caught the Wrecker by one shoulder, turning him around whilst Bumblebee and Knock Out stopped nearby. Once the humans had stepped off of the ramp it began to retract, with the two Decepticon guards who had followed them retreating back inside the heavily modified scout-ship.

Wheeljack looked at Ultra Magnus was obvious contempt.

"You dragged me here for that?" He asked. He was quick to shake himself free of the Commander's grip. "You can't seriously buy into all that? This Cyclonus guy is a whack-job."

"He could help Cybertron," Ultra Magnus said. "The Decepticons are lacking in strong leadership. If we could convince him to..."

"To what? You want that guy leading the Decepticons?" Wheeljack shook his head. "He's Megatron 2.0."

"He could stabilise the political situation."

"Or make it worse."

"Probably the latter," Knock Out interjected. He had stopped nearby, listening carefully to the exchange the two Autobots shared. "I don't know a great deal about the General, except that he's only slightly more sane than Megatron ever was."

"Yeah, and Megatron was good at playing 'Mister Nice Guy' when he had to," Wheeljack said. He raised an optic ridge, looking over to Knock Out inquiringly. "You can't seriously think this guy is any better? He dragged us out here to waste time, maybe throw us off what he really wants."

"I think your personal feelings are making you paranoid in this matter, soldier," Ultra Magnus said. "I don't trust the General a great deal, as we only just met, but I find it hard to believe that he's after anything more than what he told us he wanted. Energon, supplies, a place to live."

"And you'd bring him to Cybertron?" Wheeljack sighed. "If you're having trouble with the 'Cons now, they'll only get worse when a big-shot like Cyclonus shows up."

"Old grudges don't go away easy," Bumblebee added. Ultra Magnus was not sure whether he was referring to the Decepticons or to Wheeljack. Probably both, he realised.

Behind them, the ship's engines had started in earnest. The landing pads slowly retracted and the craft itself began to hover in place. The Autobots and the humans standing near them watched as it began to ascend slowly, rising over the runway and the hangars before shifting into an eastbound direction. It travelled slowly, gaining more and more altitude as it moved.

"I wonder what air traffic control's going to think," Fowler said as he watched the ship leave. He, Jack and Carver were standing close-by. Carver had pulled out a mobile phone and was talking into it, his voice low and drowned out by the noise of the ship's engines. He lowered the phone for a moment and looked up at the Autobots.

"I have to go," he said. "It was a pleasure meeting the lot of you." He put his phone back into his jacket and turned around, starting on his way down the runway and in the direction of the main gate. Ultra Magnus watched him leave, unsure of what to make of that particular human.

Knock Out turned around and smiled towards his Autobot companions.

"Aren't you glad you brought me along?" He asked. Wheeljack scoffed.

"No, we're not."

"Well, you mustn't realise that I slipped a small homing tag aboard that ship," Knock Out replied. "Thought it might do us some good."

Ultra Magnus heard this and his first reaction, on any normal set of circumstances, would have been to scold the former Decepticon for such an underhanded action. Knock Out revealed one of the tags in question, about the size of one of his fingers, slim and easily concealable. Ultra Magnus realised what the presence of one aboard the ship would mean. Regardless of any stealth systems the scout-craft had, the presence of a beacon on board would enable them to keep track of it regardless.

"I want to see where that ship's headed," Wheeljack said abruptly, having reached the same conclusions.

"He could be heading into orbit for all we know," Bumblebee replied.

"If anyone's going to follow him, it's not going to be you, Wheeljack." Ultra Magnus watched the Wrecker carefully. Reconnaissance was the last sort of mission he would send Wheeljack out on. He did not want him going out and doing something reckless, not when the situation was a sensitive one.

Wheeljack scowled at him but did not move any further. He usually obeyed orders, even if he did not completely agree with them.

"Bumblebee, see if you can keep track of that ship," Ultra Magnus said, turning towards the yellow warrior. "Follow it as far as you can. I want to know where Cyclonus is operating from. That ship is only part of something much larger."

Bumblebee nodded. He was the sort of Autobot whom Ultra Magnus could probably trust with this sort of mission, as he was far less likely to do anything outright reckless.

"On it," the Autobot replied. He quickly shifted into his vehicle mode, that of a yellow and black sports car, and promptly started driving for the nearest exit from the compound. Far in the distance, hovering over the rocky hills and mesas of the Nevada desert, Cyclonus' ship appeared as a sizeable black blob against the deep purple-blue of the night sky.

"What about the rest of us, chief?" Wheeljack questioned. "You want me to wait around, maybe watch some TV?" Once again, he made his sarcasm as obvious as possible.

"We'll wait here," Ultra Magnus said. He was not sure exactly what they would do in the meantime. He considered sending the others back to Cybertron, as they were probably not needed anymore. Wheeljack had already proven just how 'well' he could operate in a negotiation with a Decepticon. Sending him back home might have been a good idea, but on the off-chance that Cyclonus was not being truthful he would want someone like Wheeljack here with him. "I'm sure there are people here on Earth you'd like to catch up with, Wheeljack. Take the opportunity to do so."

Wheeljack's expression lightened up, if only by a little. Ultra Magnus, meanwhile, would wait until Bumblebee reported back. He was sure he could find something to do during the downtime. Thinking over improved means of 'negotiation' was one thing that sprang to mind.

 

Night in Nevada

"How you been holding up?"

Jack sat back in the passenger seat of the mostly white sports car. Next to him, the steering wheel and the accelerator and brake pedals operated themselves. Sitting in the driver's seat while Wheeljack 'drove' himself had not felt right to him.

The Autobot insignia was a bright blue crest set within the centre of the steering wheel, glowing in the dim light. Outside, the desert highway they travelled along was illuminated only by the headlights of Wheeljack's vehicle mode and the moon high above. It was always sort of eerie, driving through the desert in the dead of the night. Jack was beginning to feel the result of this very long day and found it hard to keep his eyes open. Wheeljack's voice had cut through the silence abruptly enough to jolt him from his half-asleep state.

"Maybe I didn't phrase that right," Wheeljack said. "How's life been, Jack? I could tell you all about my last nine years, if you're interested in being bored half to death."

"Is Cybertron that bad?" Jack asked. He cleared his throat then and rubbed his eyes. Despite the cool interior of the vehicle, he had slipped off his jacket and taken off his tie.

"Bad? It's not 'bad'. It's home."

"Home is where the heart is," Jack replied, only to mentally slap himself for saying something so trite. "You know where you're headed, right?" He had given Wheeljack the location prior to leaving with him. He had assumed the Autobot could use whatever scanners or positioning systems he had to pinpoint the location.

"I'll get you home, Jack. Don't you worry." He paused briefly, before adding, "So, you want to talk or you going to sleep? I don't mind either way. I could do with a bit of quiet. Might give me a chance to think about my own life."

"You make it sound like you're having a mid-life crisis."

"Maybe I am." Wheeljack gave a short chuckle. Apparently the idea amused him. "Everybody's talking about settling down, over on Cybertron. I guess that's all anyone wants to do in peacetime."

"And you?" Jack had found himself missing the Autobot Wrecker, even if their interactions in the past had been fairly sporadic. Wheeljack had never stayed for long until the final months in their fight against Megatron. Even so, he had become just as much of a friend as the other Autobots had.

"I got my job," Wheeljack said. "Believe it or not, Jack, but I used to be a scientist. More of an engineer, but sometimes I'd dabble in the really complex stuff. The chief gave me that old job. We've got a shortage of experienced engineers and scientists, so I guess he thought it'd be a good idea to make me one."

"You were a scientist?" Jack had heard this before, though not with any details. "You don't seem the type. No offence."

"I get that a lot," Wheeljack replied. The highway ahead shifted onto a far more elaborate set of freeways. Further up ahead, jutting out of the barrens was the brightly-lit and unmistakable sight of the Jasper 'skyline'. The tallest building was probably only about ten floors total, the town itself no more than a tiny dot upon a map. By the road leading into town, a fairly dusty sign stood: WELCOME TO JASPER, POPULATION 7,567. The outskirts were where most of the town's suburbs were located, fairly flat neighborhoods with houses that looked alike and immaculately cut lawns that stood in stark contrast to the surrounding dry desert sands.

"I got dragged into the soldiering business when they found me wandering around some ruins in a daze," Wheeljack continued. "This was a long time ago. Apparently I'd been held captive by Shockwave, but if that's true I can't remember it. I became a Wrecker not long after."

"And now?"

"Now I spend most of my time fixing other people's problems," Wheeljack said, his voice laced with disdain. "Someone breaks something, they call me. I'm the 'fix-it' guy now, apparently. And the chief keeps giving me things to do, even when I've already got enough on my plate. It's not what I thought peacetime would be."

"I think some old war veterans feel that way," Jack said. "A lot of soldiers coming back from the First World War, often with post-traumatic stress disorder, would find themselves without work and sort of lost in life, I guess. It happens to a lot of war veterans, even to this day."

"I don't see myself settling down," Wheeljack replied. He drove onto one of the quiet, suburban streets of Jasper, slowing down as he did so in order to obey the speed limit. Only the streetlights were on at this hour and the roads themselves were devoid of traffic. "There's still a lot of 'Cons out there. Cyclonus is just one big-shot, there are probably more like him doing whatever it is a 'Con does when they're not fighting in a war."

"And what would that be?"

"Why are you asking me? I've got no idea." Wheeljack brought himself to a halt outside of a modest house at the end of the street.

"You don't think you're cut out for peacetime?"

"I can put up with it," Wheeljack replied. "But I don't see myself playing along with it for much longer. I guess I always saw myself as going down during the war, usually in a blaze of glory. Living through it was a surprise, I guess."

Jack nodded slowly. He could understand the sentiment. Some of the things Wheeljack had done in the past, in their fight with the Decepticons, had seemed to indicate that he had had either a death wish or was simply so sure of his own abilities that he took risks very few others would take. It was probably a bit of both, Jack thought. The door on his right swung open then and Jack climbed out. From one jacket pocket he pulled out a remote for the garage door ahead, pressing the appropriate button that brought the door creaking slowly open. It was loud enough to wake the neighbours. As it opened, Wheeljack closed his passenger side door and headed for the garage. Getting out of vehicle mode was something he would not do out on the streets, while at least in the garage he would have the room and the privacy to do so. He certainly did not want to start a panic in his neighbourhood through bringing an alien robot home with him, even if it was the dead of the night.

Jack followed Wheeljack into the garage before he pressed the button on the remote again and brought the door down. As soon as it was down, Wheeljack literally unfolded himself from his vehicle form, squatting down in the mostly empty garage. There were some shelves nearby, a few cabinets as well, while the whole room itself carried the distinct smell of timber.

"So, where's Miko?" Wheeljack asked.

"The garage door probably woke her up," Jack said, looking up at Wheeljack. "She probably won't be so happy that she was woken up in the middle of the night, but I'm sure her mood will change as soon as she sees you."

"So, you two, uh..." Wheeljack trailed off, scrunching up his face in uncertainty. "Well, I guess the word would be 'together', if you wanna put it lightly."

"You could say that," Jack replied. "We have our ups and downs. My work keeps me away from home for long periods. She has family in Japan, so she goes away a fair bit too. It's a tricky business, but it's working. Sort of, anyway." He did not feel the need to divulge any more details to Wheeljack. The atmosphere within the garage had become a bit awkward, a sensation that Jack would have far preferred to have avoided.

Suddenly, Jack's cell-phone began to ring and vibrate within a trouser pocket. He pulled it out and glanced at the display. It was the Taskforce.

"What is it now?" He said aloud. Wheeljack peered over, curious. Jack hit the 'decline call' button before pocketing the phone again. "Not now. It's like Colonel Carver thinks I don't need to sleep."

"Huh. Even I need to 'sleep' once in a while."

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

Deadeye had not expected to be called out on action at such a late hour. Nonetheless, he took his time getting ready, taking the opportunity to buff the silver and blue finish at his chest and arms. He also checked the television guide, noticing that if he were to leave now he would likely miss out on Shaft's Big Score that was due to be aired on one of the cable channels. The Taskforce had been kind enough to give him access to just about every channel available in the United States, a means to keep him from getting bored and to increase the chances of having him stay around. He could leave at any time, he knew this much, but he liked it here. Sure, there were humans like Captain Van Cleef whom he did not find much to like about, but others, like Jack Darby, had very much become friends to him.

Deadeye had been called into action by the Captain, who strode into his hangar and told him that they had detected a possible Decepticon in the region. The Autobot, once he was sure he was ready, his finish immaculately buffed and the television set to record the movie he would likely miss, made his way outside and onto the grounds of the Taskforce compound. It was close to one o'clock in the morning and a cold wind blew. About twenty Taskforce soldiers were sorting into several Hummers and SUVs, some with machine guns mounted on the top. It was standard preparation when faced with a potential Decepticon threat. The Captain was standing nearby, overseeing the soldiers into their vehicles.

"What can we expect?" He asked him.

"We have no real details," Van Cleef replied. "Only that it could be a Decepticon. It was detected flying into the region, so if we want to intercept it we'll have to take it by surprise. We don't want it flying off."

"Where is it now?"

"An old scrap-yard about fifty kilometres from here. Fall in with the rest of the convoy and we'll move out."

Deadeye nodded in acknowledgement. He checked over both of his pistols, ensuring that they were both charged up and ready for combat. He tucked both back into his forearms before shifting into his vehicle mode, that of a mostly blue two-door muscle car. Kicking the engines into gear, he watched as the other half a dozen black vehicles, three SUVs and three all-terrain Hummers, started their engines and began making their way towards the compound's main gate. Van Cleef caught a ride in the last vehicle, with Deadeye trailing closely behind it. The main gate of the compound slid open as the convoy approached. In coordinated movements, the six vehicles drove out of the compound with Deadeye a short distance behind. They travelled along a short dirt road before turning onto a desert highway, heading northwards.

The trip was uneventful, giving Deadeye time to think. He knew why the other Autobots had come to Earth, though he had no desire to meet them. Nor did he have any interest in getting mixed up with this Decepticon 'General' he had heard about. He acted mostly for his own self-interest and he knew full well that this was the case. The Taskforce gave him what he wanted and now and then they would want his help in bringing a Decepticon intruder down. It was these occasions that actually gave him an opportunity to exercise his combat skills and he often found a thrill in fighting, despite its inherent dangers. The war with the Decepticons was mostly over, from what he had been told, it was the renegades and the stragglers that remained. He certainly had no desire to go to Cybertron and be put to work on some construction site.

They don't call me 'Deadeye' for nothing, he mused. Best sharp-shooting scout on Cybertron.

He began to flick through radio stations, settling on something he had heard before and found that he enjoyed. When it came to entertainment, the humans had a wide variety of it at one's disposal. All the more reason for him to stay on Earth and enjoy himself.

"There's some dudes in a bar with busted heads and broken jaws. What hit 'em?/ Truck Turner!"

Time passed and the convoy went off of the highway, turning onto a bumpy dirt road that took them towards a set of old buildings that were more or less located in the middle of nowhere. It was a rusted, fenced-in compound that took up a surprising amount of ground. The hulks of vehicles, most of them lacking wheels, were piled on top of one another within the scrap-yard's perimeter. There was one large building near the partially open main gate, with another one comprised of a pair of garages at the far end. The convoy halted at the gate and three of the vehicles parted from it, one heading left and two heading right. Captain Van Cleef emerged from the vehicle in front of Deadeye, followed by a pair of armed Taskforce operatives in black combat gear. Van Cleef opened the back of the vehicle, revealing several computer monitors and connected panels within. He put a finger to his ear-piece and spoke, his voice crackling through Deadeye's comms.

"Deadeye, can you hear me?" He asked.

"Yeah," Deadeye replied.

"Connection's good, then. You take position at the main gate but don't head in until I give the signal."

Deadeye drove up to the main gate. He was unable to see past the main building and the tall piles of scrap metal up ahead of him. There was a narrow dirt path that wound through it all, heading by a large conveyor-fed crusher that was situated in the centre of the scrap-yard. It was rusted in places, jutting out above the rest of the scrap-yard like a thorn.

This whole place is like some bizarre charnel house, Deadeye thought. He shifted out of his vehicle mode, shutting off his radio as he did so. Pulling out both his pistols, he waited by the gate, crouching down as he did so. The other cars had moved to the flanks of the scrap-yard, keeping watch on each of the exits. Deadeye heard the unmistakable sound of chopper blades and turned his head, looking across the desert plain. Stark against the night sky was the piercing white light of a helicopter searchlight beam. The rest of the helicopter flew into view, almost as black as the night, its curves catching the moonlight from above. It hovered in place nearby, going no further over the scrap-yard. Van Cleef watched the camera feeds from it on the monitors in the back of the nearby Hummer.

"We have visual contact," Van Cleef said into his ear-piece. "There's a heat signature by the large bus wreck near the crusher." He motioned to the operatives standing near him. They started jogging by Deadeye, heading into the scrap-yard with their assault rifles held at the ready.

"Air cav, move in and prepare the grapples," Van Cleef said. He waved up at the helicopter and Deadeye watched as it moved over the scrap-yard. "Deadeye, head in but keep a low profile. If it sees you it'll probably make a run for it."

Deadeye nodded in reply. Slowly, whilst keeping low, he moved through the main gate, clutching his pistols tightly in his hands. There was a pounding in his chest, the pulsing of his spark betraying his calm exterior. He would have liked nothing more than to rush in and blast the Decepticon away, but the Taskforce usually operated in a more low-key manner. They were more cautious when dealing with Decepticons, an aspect of them he did not always appreciate.

Deadeye moved around a pile of scrapped vehicles, finding himself with a fairly unobstructed view of the crusher in the middle. There was a wrecked bus there, as Van Cleef had mentioned, but he could see no Decepticon. The human operatives nearby spread out and he saw about half a dozen more walking into the area from up ahead. He sensed movement by the hulking structure that was the crusher. Something silver shot across his peripheral vision and he raised both pistols, taking aim in its direction.

"I saw movement," he said into his comms. Above, the helicopter moved in, flying low. There was an operative manning the grapple gun at its side, seated behind it with one hand on the trigger. There was a similar gun on the opposite side, each loaded with specially made grapples that were both magnetic and armour-piercing.

"Keep the men back," Deadeye said. He could hear Van Cleef giving orders through his comms. He had stopped nearby, followed by a pair of operatives. One of them was carrying a fairly long metal case and he laid it on the ground nearby. Deadeye watched as the operative opened it, revealing the long black-metal weapon within. He had never seen that sort of gun before, so his curiosity was naturally piqued.

The operative pulled the hulking gun out of the crate. It looked like an oversized sniper rifle at first glance, with a large rectangular scope and a long, thick barrel fitted with a bipod underneath. The operative placed a large, boxy magazine into the bottom of the weapon, just ahead of the trigger-guard. The length of the gun itself was at least two-thirds the height of the operative, who stood at about average human male height.

"What the hell is that?" Deadeye asked. Van Cleef looked up to him, his mouth forming into a smirk.

"The newest toy at the Taskforce's disposal," he answered. "Taipan Anti-Material Cannon. Thought now would be a good opportunity to take it out for a proper field test."

"Looks like your guy can barely hold it," Deadeye said. The operative wielding the hulking rifle tucked the stock against one shoulder, with his other hand going underneath the weapon where it found a grip just in front of the magazine. He jogged over to a nearby wreck and set the weapon onto the rusted trunk of the car, using its bipod for stability.

"Keep a look out," Van Cleef said. "The target's hiding somewhere. Our fellahs in the chopper can't seem to get a fix on it."

Deadeye looked towards the crusher ahead, surveying the area. If a Decepticon really wanted to hide here, it could do so amongst all the wrecks if it was especially desperate. He started forwards, passing the operative with the 'Cannon'.

"Where are you going?" Van Cleef barked in his direction.

Deadeye ignored him and continued onwards towards the tower structure of the crusher where he stopped by one of the motionless conveyor belts. Again, he glimpsed something silver move behind a pile of scrapped vehicles past the tower. He stood up and pointed both his guns in its direction, running his scanners over the area in the hope of catching some sort of reading. Decepticons could often hide their life energy signatures, as could the Autobots, but in such close proximity such systems were unreliable. That, and this Decepticon did not seem to be bothering with such precautions. He picked up its signal through the wrecks and sent a few shots its way, the blue bolts of energy leaving a few smoking holes in the rusted metal. The Decepticon stepped into few, winged and noticeably feminine in appearance. It returned fire with a volley of pink energy blasts, causing Deadeye to duck. One of them hit the top of the conveyor near his head, briefly filling his eyes with bright pink light.

"Move in, move in!" Van Cleef motioned to the operatives to rush ahead. A grappling cable shot out of the helicopter above, landing a hit on the Decepticon's left arm. This yanked it away from her, causing her to stumble while the operatives rushed ahead with their guns raised.

The operative working the Taipan Anti-Material Cannon took aim and fired, the shot sending a loud crack echoing throughout the scrap-yard. The shot travelled fast, leaving a wispy white contrail behind it before it connected with the tower near the Decepticon. The whole bottom of it exploded violently, causing Deadeye to stumble slightly as the concussive wave and heat hit him suddenly. The entire bottom section of the crusher blew out from underneath it, raining searing metal fragments all around.

Deadeye recovered quickly and rushed ahead, watching as the female Decepticon struggled within the grasp of the cable. He did not hesitate to run towards her, pointing both his guns her way. Her red optics looked at him and she went to point her blaster towards him but Deadeye was on her in seconds, kicking the weapon free of her grip before pressing the barrel of one of his pistols between her optics.

"Dead or alive, you're coming with me." He took a closer look at her. The Decepticon insignia was emblazoned within the centre of her chest. She had a mostly silver and grey finish, with some black at the shoulders and stomach. She carried a fairly slim frame, one geared towards speed and agility rather than brute force. Unlike most Decepticons Deadeye had run into on these operations, this one surrendered surprisingly quickly.

"Hey, easy big guy, I was just defending myself," she said, speaking in the Autobot dialect of Cybertronian. Deadeye was surprised to hear this, although he was quick to assume that it was typical 'Con procedure when faced with imminent death: act friendly and hope your opponent let his guard down.

"Shut up," he said in English. "And when you're on Earth, you'd do well to learn the native languages."

"I know them too," she replied in English, raising an optic ridge as she spoke. Nearby, Van Cleef and the operatives had gathered, surrounding the Decepticon with their weapons raised.

"I did my research," she added.

"What's your name?" This was Van Cleef who asked the question. He stepped forwards, followed by the operative wielding the Anti-Material Cannon. The Captain put aside his submachine gun and gestured to the operative to hand over the Cannon. He did so and Van Cleef had no trouble getting a grip on the bulky weapon. He pointed the long barrel straight at the Decepticon and peered through the scope. Deadeye took a step back, figuring that aiming his gun at the Decepticon's face was no longer needed.

"Answer the question," Van Cleef said, his tone completely level. His finger hovered over the trigger of the hulking rifle.

"I'm called 'Skystreaker'," the Decepticon replied. "And I surrender. Completely and utterly." She smiled up at Deadeye. He did not appreciate the look for he detected something slimy underneath it. "I'm not like the other 'Cons."

"And how is that?" Van Cleef asked. He did not sound convinced. Deadeye felt similar.

"That's a long story," Skystreaker said.

"Well, you'll have plenty of time to tell us it when we drag you back to headquarters." Van Cleef lowered the Anti-Material Cannon. He looked over to the operatives standing around him. "Prep this one for transport."

"She could easily transform," Deadeye warned. "She's a jet-former. Those are hard to catch."

One of the operatives approached Skystreaker with a long metal prod tipped with an armour-piercing point. Deadeye had seen the device before back at the compound, but he had never seen it in action, nor had he thought to ask what it was. The operative forcibly jabbed the device into Skystreaker's stomach, finding a point between the armour-plating where he could work in the end of the prod. Almost as quickly as this had happened, the operative pulled it away, leaving a small silver disc where the prod had connected.

"That'll disable her T-cog for a while," Van Cleef said. "Enough time to have us drag her back to headquarters." He looked at Skystreaker, who had an understandably pained look on her face. "We have a whole hangar designed to keep someone like you locked up tight." He smiled as he said this, receiving a venomous look from Skystreaker in return.

"What other toys do you have that I don't know about?" Deadeye asked. He narrowed his optics, feeling both curiosity and concern that the Taskforce had something that could actually disable a Cybertronian's mean of transforming, even if only for a limited time.

"Nothing you have to worry about, china," Van Cleef answered. He smiled at him, the sort of smile that Deadeye would not trust from anyone, let alone Captain Van Cleef.

 

Reconnaissance

Cyclonus' ship rose to a high altitude as it travelled over the Nevada desert. Bumblebee, as per his orders from Ultra Magnus, kept it on his scanners whilst working his way along the desert highways and occasionally heading off road. It was almost pitch-black on some of these lonely roads at this time of night, with only the moon and the stars providing any real illumination. Not very many people travelled along these highways this late at night and Bumblebee had so far only had three other vehicles pass him by, all of them trucks presumably moving loads while operating on tight schedules.

The trip had given him plenty of time to think. He had paid a visit to Rafael on his last visit to Earth a few days before. He had been glad to see that young man moving up in the world, working on becoming a physicist on a scholarship program no doubt aided by his connections to Unit-E. As for this business with Cyclonus, Bumblebee felt no trust towards the Decepticon at all. However, unlike Wheeljack's more blatant dislike of the Decepticon, Bumblebee preferred to keep an open mind. Even if Cyclonus was being genuine in wanting peace, it would take a lot of convincing for Bumblebee to buy into it. He was more than happy to see wherever it was Cyclonus had decided to set up camp here on Earth and so he was relieved that the lengthy drive, with the Decepticon General's 'yacht' a small dark blob against the night sky, would likely come to an end soon as the modified scout-ship began to descend. It moved down gradually, taking itself beyond a row of rocky hills in the distance that were very literally situated in the middle of nowhere.

He sent a ping along his comms letting Ultra Magnus know his status and of the ship's descent. Once this was done, he shifted gears and took himself off of the desert highway, kicking up a plume of dirt behind him as he crossed onto the barren desert plains. Dried vegetation was crushed under his wheels as he sped in the direction of the ship. He switched off his headlights as he movied, a means of keeping as low a profile as possible, leaving him to rely more on his sensors for navigation. The beacon Knock Out had slipped onto the General's ship enabled him to keep track of it despite the distances involved and the ship's stealth systems. According to that beacon, the ship had settled somewhere beyond the hills ahead. He was certainly curious to see what kind of operation Cyclonus had made for himself here on Earth and just how many soldiers he had at his disposal.

It took another fifteen minutes for Bumblebee to reach the base of the rocky hills. He transformed, rolling out of his vehicle mode before starting up the nearest hill ahead of him. It was a fairly easy climb, no trouble for a warrior such as him, and he came to the top of it in short order. Ahead, he could make out a large valley below, spreading out for some distance. Within it was Cyclonus' scout-ship, parked at the very bottom with a few Decepticons milling about it on patrol. As for any larger ship or base, Bumblebee could not see any sign.

Is this all he's got? He mused, both surprised and somewhat underwhelmed. He had half-expected to come across an entire legion of Vehicons or something of that sort, as if General Cyclonus was plotting an all out assault against humanity. Maybe he had been telling the truth? For a General he apparently had very few soldiers at his command.

Bumblebee heard rocks crumble behind him. He turned around, seeing a few small chunks of dirt and rock go rolling down a slope to his left. No one was there, though he knew better than to get complacent. He readied the plasma cannon at his right arm, shifting his hand there into the form of the sleek cannon, one with a short barrel that glowed a brilliant blue. The darkness was thick out here and he found himself relying more on his scanners than his normal eyesight. Any Decepticon with half a brain could have easily thwarted the most basic scanners, but the Autobot had little else at his disposal.

At that moment, a voice rang out from somewhere very close by. He did not recognise it, although it sounded very much like a Decepticon. Raspy and masculine, its tone was a mocking one.

"Is the little Autobot lost?"

Bumblebee looked around, tensing up as he prepared himself for the expected attack. He doubted Cyclonus would take kindly to an Autobot following him all the way back to his encampment. His gaze went to a small slope a short distance to his right where a figure had appeared, one that struck him as strangely familiar. Nothing showed on his sensors and the figure itself was almost as dark as the night.

"Who's there?" He called. He pointed his plasma gun at the figure and stood his ground. Until he knew more about what kind of situation he had fallen into, he would hold back on pulling the trigger. He did not want to jeopardize the possibility for actual negotiation with Cyclonus if that was indeed what the Decepticon really wanted.

There was a glint of something shiny and the figure seemingly disappeared. Bumblebee took a few steps forward, his optics searching around for any trace of the Decepticon (at least, that was what he assumed it was). Like a phantom, the Decepticon had vanished. Am I going crazy?

"You coming here will save me a lot of legwork." The Decepticon spoke again, this time from somewhere close behind him.

No, I'm not going crazy. Bumblebee swivelled around and found himself face-to-face with Shaodwstriker. The Decepticon was about a head taller than him and far bulkier than he was. He leered down at Bumblebee with blazing red optics and a malevolent smirk, with one slightly curved silver blade clutched in one hand. Bumblebee had little chance to react, surprised that this Decepticon had snuck up on him so easily. I must be losing my touch.

He had no chance to fire, since the Decepticon swung the blade with lightning speed. It cleaved the plasma cannon and the rest of Bumblebee's right forearm clean off of his body. The pain was excruciating and the young warrior let out an involuntary yelp, stumbling backwards while his hand and the cannon it had wielded hit the dirt below with a subdued clunk. Bright blue energon fluid gushed out of the cleanly-cut stump like a geyser, dribbling down his arm and trickling onto the ground where it stood a stark contrast to the sand around it. Aside from his optics, it was probably the brightest source of illumination here.

Bumblebee's senses were almost overloaded by the pain. His spark pounded rapidly in his chest yet even now he was beginning to feel a little woozy. Losing so much life-fluid so quickly could to that to a 'bot. As for Shadowstriker, he sheathed his sword at his lower back and grabbed the Autobot by the neck. Bumblebee was faced with the malevolent red optics and for a fleeting moment was convinced that they would be the last thing he saw before he died.

"No death for you," Shadowstriker uttered, as if reading his mind. With his free-hand, he plunged a finger into the stump at Bumblebee's right elbow, sending a shot of agony up his arm and straight into his head. He pulled the finger free quickly, only now it was covered with the bright blue of Bumblebee's energon. The young warrior watched through the haze of pain and wooziness as the Decepticon placed the finger in his mouth, practically licking it clean.

"A single strand of CNA," he said. He dropped Bumblebee to the ground where he fell onto his knees, his gaze floating back up to Shadowstriker. The Autobot watched, both fascinated and disgusted, as the Decepticon's entire form began to visibly shift. The grey and black armour plating began to fall away, with yellow and black taking its place. Parts of the Decepticon landed around Bumblebee, smeared with traces of energon. Shadowstriker's red optics turned blue and increased in both size and circularity until, within seconds, Bumblebee saw himself looking up into his own eyes.

Shadowstriker had become the spitting image of the Autobot down to the optics, face, colour-scheme and just about everything else.

He spoke again, his voice a perfect emulation of Bumblebee's own.

"Do you like the new me?" He asked. His leering smile was all the more disconcerting, now that he was doing it with Bumblebee's own face. Before the Autobot could say anything in response, Shadowstriker delivered a swift and powerful kick across Bumblebee's head, rendering him unconscious.

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

It was peaceful out here. Wheeljack sat against the side of the Darby house, watching the night sky above. The backyard was fairly large, comprised mostly of a lawn, a narrow winding brick path and rows of bushes by the fences. A shooting star streaked across the sky overhead, fading almost as quickly as it had appeared. Wafting in across the surrounding desert plains was a gentle breeze, one that rattled the leaves of the nearby shrubs. Wheeljack actually found himself enjoying the quiet for once. Even on Cybertron he had not had much chance for peace such as this. Here on Earth, away from the constant work of reconstructing Cybertron or the threat of Decepticon attack he could sit back and actually enjoy doing nothing. He was usually not one to idle in this manner but for tonight, he could make an exception.

The more he sat here, he realised, the more he wanted to actually stay on Earth. It was funny how things worked out, that when he had been here fighting the Decepticons he had always been keen to leave, to go his own way and fight the Decepticons on his terms. Now, with all that over with and a life of work during peacetime ahead of him, he found himself longing for the way things had been. It was foolish, he thought, to actually want the war back. He had lost enough friends the first time around. Maybe that Taskforce is hiring? It was a fleeting thought, a possibility that he might have been able to capitalise on, that if Decepticons were still showing up on Earth then joining the one group who was fighting them directly might give him something really interesting to do. Then he remembered Colonel Carver and found that he had no desire to work with that man.

He heard the back door of the house swing open and close. Jack came walking up to him, still in his work clothes. Wheeljack looked over to him, smiling warmly.

"Hey, kid," he said.

"Funny how you keep calling me 'kid'," Jack replied, returning the smile. "Now that you mention it, I may only be twenty-five, yet I'm already feeling nostalgic for my childhood. The world's changed a lot since then. Things were simpler."

"Yeah. That's about right." Wheeljack gently pulled one of his katanas from his back, twirling the blade around in one hand while he admired the view over the white fence a short distance in front of him. Beyond it was the very edge of Jasper, Nevada. Nothing but hills and desert and dry vegetation no higher than his ankles.

"You know, the neighbours might see you," Jack said.

"At this hour?" Wheeljack spun the blade about in his hands, juggling it expertly between both. "Unlikely. Everyone's in bed, as you should be."

"You going to be all right out here? Not bored or anything?"

"I'll take a nap," Wheeljack replied. Clutching the sword in one hand, he gently thrust it forward into the empty air in front of him whilst remaining seated. He imagined impaling a Decepticon right there. Dreadwing sprang to mind, a Decepticon he had very much liked to have killed himself given what he had done to Seaspray.

"I'll wake myself up in the morning," he added. "And then I'll take you and Miko out some place nice."

"That's if work doesn't call me," Jack responded.

"Always on call, huh?"

"Yeah. It wasn't like that when I was sixteen. I wasn't part of any 'Unit' or 'Taskforce' then. I'd go in and out of the Autobot base whenever I felt like it."

"Like you said. Things change." Wheeljack slid the katana into place at his back. "Sometimes for the worse."

"Sometimes for the better."

"Usually for the worse," Wheeljack countered. There was a brief silence between the two of them then. Wheeljack wondered what was going on with Bumblebee and the others, whether the young warrior had uncovered any interesting information as to Cyclonus and his location. A seemingly vain Decepticon 'General' would likely have some kind of grand ship or headquarters somewhere. The inside of his modified scout-ship had certainly spoke to what lavish tastes he had. At least Megatron had gone more for functionality instead of aesthetics when it came to his ship design.

"How's Arcee been?" Jack asked. "Do you two see each other a lot?"

"She's like she's always been, kid," Wheeljack answered. He had not seen too much of the Autobot female for some time. Their different lines of work tended to keep them apart. "We work different jobs. She's training recruits while I'm down in the bowels of Iacon putting everything back into working order. But what I do see of her, she's doing well. She'd visit more, if work didn't get in the way."

"Work always gets in the way," Jack said. "For you and for me."

"That makes it even more of a problem when we're on different planets. I've only been back here a day and I'm already liking it more than Cybertron."

"You said earlier it wasn't that bad." Jack's voice was laced with doubt. Wheeljack knew that he may have been making a bigger deal out of the matter than it really was, but sitting here now with no other Autobots around, left to his own thoughts, he found himself leaning more and more towards the more extreme view.

"Maybe not," Wheeljack said after a pause. "I was a soldier, kid. A Wrecker. Not an engineer, not a scientist and sure as hell not a diplomat. The chief dragged me here because he thought this 'negotiation' might help me change my view of the 'Cons. I'll tell you right now it hasn't. You might even say it's had the opposite effect."

"I don't trust Cyclonus either," Jack said. "Neither does Fowler. Not even Colonel Carver thinks he's being genuine, he just thought it'd be better to try a diplomatic solution. But what if Cyclonus is being genuine, Jackie?"

"Then things have changed so much it's like I'm living in a dream-world."

"You'll adapt. We all have to."

Wheeljack nodded. Adapting and improvising was one thing he had prided himself on, the ability to face any situation and tackle it accordingly. However, that was very much in the realms of combat, not diplomacy and certainly not the dirty work he was being given over on Cybertron.

There was a ringing noise then, somewhat muffled as it emanated from a pocket in Jack's trousers. Wheeljack watched him pull out a cell-phone and place it to his ear. Jack listened to the voice on the other end for a moment, one eyebrow becoming raised in some slight bemusement.

"Deadeye?" Jack said into the phone. Wheeljack did not recognize the name, nor was he certain if it even was a name. It sounded like something a Cybertronian might call themselves, he realised, but not any Cybertronian he knew. "You know you're not allowed to call me on this number..." He trailed off as whoever was on the other end interrupted him. "A Decepticon? Alive?"

"They caught a living 'Con?" Wheeljack understood the implications immediately.

"I'll be there as soon as I can." Jack ended the call then, sliding his phone back into his pocket. He looked up at Wheeljack, who's curiosity had been suitably piqued upon hearing what had been said.

"Who's Deadeye?" Wheeljack asked.

"That's...an awkward question," Jack answered.

"And he caught a 'Con? Is that what happened?"

"Apparently so." Jack shook his head then, as if he could not quite believe it himself. Wheeljack sensed that maybe that was not the reason for his reaction, if the way he furtively glanced over at the back door of the house was anything to go by. "I need some sleep."

"You can take a nap on the way," Wheeljack said. "I want to meet this 'Deadeye' character."

"That may not be a good idea."

Wheeljack raised an optic ridge. Why was Jack being so secretive all of a sudden? He had thought that their friendship enabled them to be a bit more open to one another.

"Why's that?"

"It's a Taskforce thing," Jack replied. "That's all. They captured a Decepticon and are keeping it detained within their compound."

"And let me guess," Wheeljack said. "They don't want an Autobot like me interfering? Are they gonna interrogate this 'Con or what? Dissect it, even?"

"Dissect it?" Jack shook his head. "That's unlikely."

"You're not giving me much to go on, kid."

"I don't know much about the situation myself. But it's a big enough deal that I'd like to go check it out."

Wheeljack smirked. Jack had, under the assumption that he would have at least one day to himself, brought Wheeljack home and had left his actual, non-Autobot car back at Unit-E headquarters. The sudden change in plan had left Jack in an awkward position, according to what Wheeljack could gather.

"Look, I'll lay low if you want me to," Wheeljack said. "I'll drive you to the compound, drop you off. We can meet up at another time."

Jack nodded in agreement. It was a sound enough plan, though secretly Wheeljack had no intention of 'laying low'. He wanted to check out this 'Taskforce' and see whether or not they were all that they were cracked up to be.

"I'm just worried about what Miko might think," Jack said. "We had plans for tomorrow."

"I'm sure she'll understand." From what Wheeljack had seen of the pair of humans, there was some degree of hostility between them. Maybe 'hostility' is too strong a word, he thought. 'Tension' is probably better. They were not married, but they had been living together for a few years now. Jack's near constant work schedule had put some strain on their relationship. When it came to that sort of thing, Wheeljack was very much out of his element. Long term relationships of that sort were not something he was with. They were usually more trouble than they were worth.

"You go wait for me out front," Jack said. "I'll go tell Miko where we're headed." He started walking for the backdoor before managing one more glance back at Wheeljack. "Wish me luck."

Wheeljack smiled at the comment, yet part of him would have liked to have seen the pair getting along a bit better than they were. Still, his attention was set more on finding out about this business with the Taskforce. Capturing a Decepticon alive was always an interesting, sometimes illuminating, event. It may even shed some light onto Cyclonus' true intentions, something that Wheeljack was certain the Decepticon General was intentionally hiding. Never trust a 'Con.

 

Detainment

"How about you let me out of here? You and I could have some fun."

Deadeye watched the captive Decepticon with narrowed optics. Before him was the detainment area, comprised of a large partitioned section of one of the hangars on the Taskforce compound. Solid steel and cement walls were to either side and to the back, while the front was taken up with force-field emitters that the Taskforce had cobbled together with some input from Deadeye. He had no qualms about helping the humans construct such devices if it meant keeping Decepticons like the one in front of him locked up, or better yet, deceased.

The hangar had been overhauled from its original use, with the windows near the ceiling replaced with concrete and metal pylons. The detainment area took up about three quarters of the hangar, with two narrow entrances at the front of it that were both shrouded over by rippling bars of blue energy. There was nothing within the detainment area save for the captive Decepticon, the female known as Skystreaker. Even with her flight capabilities, she would be hard-pressed to bust out of there. The walls were steel and concrete, constructed out of some of the strongest alloys that existed upon this planet. It had been put together with the express purpose of keeping Cybertronians locked up.

One thing Deadeye had found odd about this particular Decepticon was that she had already been stripped of her on-board weapons systems. The old throwback blaster she had carried with her had been her only weapon. Deadeye had it in his left hand now, taking the opportunity to look over the old-model energy weapon. He had always had an affinity for pistol-weapons, he believed that they required a great deal of finesse to operate compared to the larger rifles and cannons that so many others like him used. That was why he carried two pistols at all times, both guns he worked to keep in as good condition as possible.

"Where did you get this?" He looked towards Skystreaker, who stood on the other side of the rippling pylons of energy. Nearby, powerful generators hummed audibly, working hard to keep the energy fields in place. "This is an early-war model. It's outdated."

He was not alone with her. There were four guards standing at the large double doors behind him, two on the inside and two on the outside. The doors in question were only partially open, left in such a way that he could squeeze in and out.

"Not to say it can't kill," Deadeye added. "You Decepticons must be getting pretty desperate if this is what you've taken to carrying." He paused for a moment, before adding: "So, what's your story?"

"Just on the run, you know, that old tale," Skystreaker said. She sounded remarkably calm despite her situation. She leaned by the side of the doorway of the detainment area, her red optics gazing at him between the pylons of rippling energy. "My father died, you know. Not too long ago."

"I'd say I was sorry," Deadeye replied. "But he was a Decepticon, right? Can't say I've ever felt sorry for a Decepticon dropping dead."

"That's where you're mistaken, handsome," Skystreaker said. She added the last part with a smirk. Deadeye could feel her eyes taking him in from top to bottom. It was likely just an attempt to make him feel uncomfortable, maybe even coax him into letting her loose. From past interactions with Decepticon females, some of them were like this. They would use their feminine wiles to get the better of their foes, especially if it meant saving themselves.

"My father was an Autobot," Skystreaker continued. Deadeye was only slightly surprised to hear this. Unions between certain Autobots and Decepticons were not unheard of, although they were understandably looked down upon given the fact that the two sides had been at war for so long. "You could say I was pressed into becoming a Decepticon."

"Yeah, I'm sure you've got a whole sob story," Deadeye said, waving one hand dismissively. He noticed her expression scrunch up slightly. "Poor little girl gets 'forced' to be a Decepticon. I bet your Autobot daddy wasn't so happy with that."

"He was so unhappy he got killed for it," Skystreaker replied. Her voice had taken on a more hostile tone. "I'm not a Decepticon anymore."

Deadeye scoffed. He nodded in the direction of her chest where the Decepticon logo was emblazoned upon the centre, glowing a faint neon purple against her mostly silver and black frame.

"Could have fooled me," Deadeye said.

"I'm a deserter," Skystreaker replied.

Deadeye used the magnetic clip on the hilt of the old blaster to attach it to his lower back. He would keep it with him for now, three guns was better than two after all.

"Look, I'm well past my bedtime," Deadeye said. "I'll be back here to talk to you tomorrow. You can save me the sob story until the proper interrogation then. In the meantime, you should just sit back and relax, eh? I'm sure you can find something to do in your empty cell." He smiled. There was something satisfying about having a Decepticon in a position of vulnerability. He started for the hangar's doors, glancing back at Skystreaker as he left. She was watching him carefully, likely plotting out an escape in her mind. She was unlikely to get out of the detainment area.

Deadeye was looking forward to talking to her in further detail tomorrow, but for now he had the partake in the Cybertronian equivalent of sleep.

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

Wheeljack had taken Jack to the main gate of the Taskforce compound. It was late, about half past two in the morning, so there were few guards on patrol and those that were out looked either tired or bored. Wheeljack remained in his vehicle mode as he brought down the driver's side window to allow Jack to pass his ID to the guard at the gate. Despite the flashy white sports car with the green and red decals that Jack had rolled up in, the guard seemed unconcerned, giving Jack's ID a once-over before gesturing to the soldier seated in the guardhouse nearby. That guard ran his own ID card through a slot on the panel in front of him and the gate slid open. Wheeljack started into the compound, heading for the nearby parking lot.

"So, who's this Deadeye guy?" Wheeljack asked. Jack, who had spent most of the drive asleep in the seat, rubbed his eyes and shrugged.

"He's a friend," he answered.

"Odd name for a friend."

"Yeah, it's almost as strange as 'Wheeljack'." Wheeljack would have rolled his optics in response, had he not been in vehicle mode. He opened the driver's side door and Jack climbed out. The cold breeze must have hit the human hard since he was quick to pull on his jacket, closing it up to provide some relief from the harsh temperature.

Nearby, a pair of patrolling guards stopped. One of them pointed to the car, something that Wheeljack noticed. Had he been made? He had no idea what kind of technology these Taskforce guys had at their disposal. Still, even if they knew what he was, what were they going to do? Arrest him? He almost laughed at the thought.

Jack nodded in the direction of one of the larger hangar-type structures.

"They've got a detainment area in there," he said. Wheeljack found this statement a little odd. Had the humans put together a cell specifically for Cybertronians? Given the nature of the Taskforce, he found himself relatively unsurprised by the development.

Wheeljack looked over to the two guards at the other end of the parking lot. The lot itself was mostly empty, with about five other cars scattered nearby. The guards had a fairly open line of sight. Such a thing went both ways and Wheeljack was able to watch one of them pull a small black box from one of the pouches at his waist. There was a pair of antennae on it and the guard began to manipulate the dials and buttons upon the device's front.

What do you know, they've got their very own energon detectors. He continued to watch the pair of guards. The second one began to speak into his ear-piece. Jack, meanwhile, had started to walk for the hangar when Jack called out to him.

"Hey, kid, I think I've been made." He stated this calmly, finding himself mostly unconcerned with what these humans might have in store for him. However, he did worry about what kind of effect this may have on Jack, as he had been the one to bring him here. At my request, no less, Wheeljack thought. Looks like I'll be the fall guy in this one.

"I'll talk to them," Jack said. The two guards began to approach, one working the device while the other readied his assault rifle.

"Yeah, I'd say I've been made." He transformed out of vehicle mode quickly, flexing his limbs and joints once he stood complete in biped form. He watched the reaction on the two guards, both were quick to raise their weapons rather than elicit any significant surprise. They were certainly well disciplined even when faced with a Cybertronian, a trait he could admire. In the nine Earth years since Megatron had disappeared, the humans had clearly worked hard to improve their defences against potential alien hostiles. He gave the two guards the slightest of smirks, narrowing his optics towards both.

"I don't take too kindly to strangers pointing guns at me," he said. He realised Jack was watching him, one hand to his face while he shook his head in dismay. Several other guards had come running over, their weapons at the ready. Wheeljack could have easily made a run for it but that would have likely caused more trouble. So, somewhat reluctantly, he raised his hands in the universal sign of surrender.

"I'm not here to hurt anyone," he explained. "I'm just here to, uh..." He trailed off. What had he come here for? To satisfy his curiosity and nothing more? That was a fairly flimsy excuse, but it was essentially the truth.

"I'm an Autobot," he said. "I'm on your side. I heard you had a 'Con problem and I thought you could use a hand." He felt some relief at his quick thinking, having cooked up a plausible sounding reason as to why he had come here. The Taskforce's line of work had certainly caught his interest, even if he did not entirely trust Colonel Carver.

"Stay right there," one of the guards ordered. Wheeljack had no real choice in the matter, judging from the way the group of guards had moved to surround him. He doubted their weapons would cause him any significant damage if they did start shooting, although he did wonder as to what else may have been at the Taskforce's disposal. They had killed a bunch of 'Cons in the past, according to the Colonel, and capturing one alive was no easy feat.

The guard who had given the order was speaking into his ear-piece. Wheeljack looked over to Jack, who was watching the whole scene with a grave expression.

"Something the matter, kid?" Wheeljack asked him.

"I don't think the Captain's going to be very keen on having you here," Jack answered.

"Who?"

"The Colonel's second-in-charge. Pik Van Cleef. He's a real, well..." Jack trailed off then and shrugged. "You'll know what I mean when you meet him."

"Uh-huh." Wheeljack was already bored waiting here for the humans to get organized. He started walking across the parking lot, ignoring the calls from the guards to remain where he was. What are they going to do? Arrest me? They would not shoot at him. That would cause a diplomatic incident, one that Ultra Magnus would certainly not take kindly to. As for where the Autobot Wrecker was headed, he had started for the building Jack had pointed out to him earlier, the one that contained the 'detainment area'. It seemed as good a place to start as any. Glancing behind, he watched with some amusement as the guards ran after him.

There were a few other guards out and about. All of them watched him stroll through the compound, some standing their ground while others readied their weapons. That would have been more of a precautionary measure, Wheeljack figured. He stepped into the building ahead, entering a hangar-like expanse where his gaze immediately fell upon the rippling beams of energy at two Cybertronian-sized doorways up ahead. Both looked in on the same large but empty detainment area. Wheeljack moved forwards, his curiosity taking him to one of the doorways. There, he was surprised to have his gaze met by a striking silver and black Decepticon. He was even more surprised when he saw that this Decepticon was very much female, judging from the agile frame and sleek curves. She had an optic ridge raised and her arms crossed over her chest. Her boredom had apparently been broken by his arrival.

Wheeljack had some (battlefield) experience when it came to female Decepticons. From what he had learned over the years, most were the manipulative sort, as if it were some kind of trait they were born with. As for this one, the way she was looking at him, with a mix of curiosity and amusement, implied that she might be much the same. The human guards from outside had followed him in, scattering about behind him.

"Who might you be, handsome?" The Decepticon spoke in a sultry tone. "You here to break me out?"

"Afraid not, sweet-spark," Wheeljack replied. She was certainly attractive, for a Decepticon, and very young. However, he was not so easily swayed by appearances, especially from a 'Con. As for his recent 'interactions' with the opposite sex, it was probably unsurprising that a fair few impressionable Autobot females back on Cybertron had become enamoured with a Wrecker. After all, he was a war hero. That was one perk about it being peace-time.

He turned around, watching as a tall guard in a black uniform entered the building. He wore a red beret and his uniform carried the insignia of a Captain. He stopped a short distance ahead, looking up at Wheeljack with a guarded, if scrutinising, gaze.

"It's not every day we have an Autobot break in," the man said. His voice carried an accent of some kind, whatever it was, Wheeljack's knowledge of such a thing was fairly limited. This Captain had likely grown up somewhere other than the United States.

"Your guards let me in," Wheeljack replied. "I didn't have to break anything."

Jack walked in at that point. He weaved his way between a few of the guards and stopped a short distance from the Captain. His attention went to the Decepticon standing behind the pylons of energy past Wheeljack.

"That's probably the first time the detainment area's been put in use," he commented. The Captain turned to him, his face scrunching up into a scowl.
"Agent Darby, you wouldn't happen to have had an involvement in this?" He gestured towards Wheeljack with one hand. "Allowing an Autobot onto the premises?"

"He's an Autobot, so I fail to see how it could be a problem," Jack replied. He raised an eyebrow. "And I didn't have a car."

"Why are you even here, Darby?" Van Cleef asked. "I thought you were taking the day off tomorrow?"

"I was. Then Deadeye called me."

"Deadeye called you?" Van Cleef narrowed his eyes. "You mean to say that idiot actually called you? Told you about the capture he helped make?" He nodded in the direction of the Decepticon prisoner.

Wheeljack found himself feeling a little lost in this conversation. He was practically standing on the sidelines, some of the finer details unknown to him. Being left out of the loop was enough to make anyone annoyed, most of all him.

"I want to meet this 'Deadeye' guy," Wheeljack said.

Van Cleef turned to him. He was keeping a straight face now, even if the look in his eyes belied the frustration he was feeling.

"I ought to have you thrown in there with the Decepticon," he said, no doubt referring to the detainment area behind Wheeljack.

"Sounds like it could be fun," the Decepticon in question added.

Wheeljack found the human's reaction a little extreme. He could understand that he had come here uninvited, but this sort of response was something he would expect from an enemy, not an ally. Then again, this 'Taskforce' seemed the sort of organization that would throw its fellow human being under a bus if it meant getting ahead. Either that, or this was the just the way Captain Van Cleef reacted to problems like this. Regardless, Wheeljack found a strong dislike for the man brewing inside him.

"I'll have to let the Colonel know about this," Van Cleef said, looking back at Jack. The younger man did not seem fazed. "If your Autobot friend here causes any trouble, you'll have to answer for it. Is that understood?"

Jack smirked and exchanged looks with Wheeljack.

"Jackie," he said. "Do you promise not to cause any trouble?" This was an obvious joke, one that Wheeljack had no problem playing along with.

Van Cleef glared at the Autobot Wrecker who gave a short, mocking bow and put on his best smile.

"I promise not to cause trouble, tiny," Wheeljack replied, looking straight at the Captain. The way the man's eyes widened with anger made the remark worth it. However, despite his anger, Captain Van Cleef was very good at keeping it under control.

"While you're here you'd do well to adhere to protocol." Van Cleef spoke through gritted teeth. "That includes using the appropriate titles."

"All right then, ti--I mean, Captain." Was this human really going to boss him around? Wheeljack found it amusing at best. He was not one to take orders from humans, certainly not from one he had only just met and already disliked.

Van Cleef turned to the guards and pointed at two of them.

"Keep an eye on him," he ordered. "Everyone else, return to your posts."
With that, Van Cleef marched out of the hangar, followed by most of the guards.

"What's up with Captain Hard-ass?" Wheeljack asked. He looked towards Jack, who approached him and stopped a short distance away. Jack gave a shrug in response.

"I don't know," he said. "He's some kind of ex-South African Special Forces guy or something. Treats most of the soldiers here like shit."

"He reminds me of an Autobot officer I worked with once, during the war," Wheeljack said. He leaned back against the wall behind him, only vaguely aware of the Decepticon female hanging around in the room at his back. "He was sort of like that. I guess it was no surprise that no one liked the bastard."

"What happened to him?"

"You could say he was killed by 'stray bullets'." He made air quotes with his fingers for the last two words. The implication was clear and the Autobot noticed Jack's inquisitive, if somewhat uncertain, expression. "Hey, don't look at me, kid. It wasn't my fault."

"What a fascinating topic of conversation." The female voice from behind him caught his attention, especially the sarcastic tone it carried. Wheeljack swivelled around and found himself facing the female Decepticon again. She was standing right at the energy beams, just short of getting herself singed upon them. "What other war stories do you have for us?"

"You want war stories, babe?" Wheeljack nodded. "I can give you war stories, if you want. But I don't even know your name..."

"My name's 'Skystreaker'," the Decepticon replied. "And you would be?"

"I'm Wheeljack. A Wrecker."

"A Wrecker?" Skystreaker put her hands up in front of her face, putting on a mock show of horror. "Oh, take a step back everyone, we have a Wrecker on the premises!" She lowered her hands, her narrow red optics eyeing him curiously. "I can't say I've heard of you, Wheeljack."

"That really puts a dent in the old ego." Wheeljack was surprised that the Decepticon was acting the way she was, given her situation. Most 'Cons rarely reacted well to being locked up in a cell. The airborne ones even less so. Those ones tended to get incredibly anxious the longer they spent cooped up in an enclosed space. He could admire Skystreaker's tenacity, to keep it cool even when she was locked up.

"What brings a 'Con like you to this backwater?" Wheeljack had come here to satisfy his curiosity and that was exactly what he would do. He noticed a few surveillance cameras up on the walls and wondered if they had microphones. They likely did, meaning that the humans would be listening to everything he said to their captive. They're probably taking notes right now.

"I heard about how nice the beaches were here and thought I'd drop by," Skystreaker said. Her snarky tone gave away her lack of honesty. "What do youthink brought me here, Wrecker?"

"I don't know." Wheeljack shrugged. "Maybe you got lost? Or maybe you're in with Cyclonus? Or maybe, just maybe, you're on the run from someone?"

Skystreaker's demeanour changed noticeably. Wheeljack knew he had struck a nerve and so decided to press on it a bit more. Behind him, Jack watched carefully, finding the exchange an interesting one.

"Who are you running from, girl?" Wheeljack tilted his head slightly as he spoke. "Is there a big bad 'Con out there someplace who wants to do bad things to you? If that's what's going on, then you don't need to worry about him any longer because I'm here."

"Can't say I feel more at ease," Skystreaker said. "Besides, you're a bit off the mark there. I'm a deserter. I'm on the run from every Decepticon, not just one."

Wheeljack nodded in acknowledgement. He knew the Decepticon policy towards deserters, partly because it was fairly simple. Deserters were killed, maybe tortured beforehand but the result was always the same. Sometimes, on the rarest of occasions, a deserter may have been taken in by the Autobots. Such occurrences were few and far between.

"You've come to the wrong planet then," Wheeljack said. "You see, there's a big bad Decepticon General here. Cyclonus. He's trying to play nice with us Autobots, reach an agreement, but I figure if he finds out you're here he'll probably try and kill you." He recited this all off matter-of-factly. Letting this 'Con know the score was the least he could do. "I'd tell you to get off Earth, but it looks like you're not in much of a position to do anything."

"Where else would I go?" Skystreaker asked. "I've got no ship. I might be able to fly, but space is big. I'd run out of energy before I got out of this system."

"Then it looks like you're here to stay," Wheeljack said.

"Yeah, it looks that way. You know, you're the second Autobot to stand out there and gloat."

Wheeljack's curiosity piqued when he heard this.

"The second?"

"The first one left a little while before you arrived. Told me he was going to get some rest."

"Deadeye?" Jack was the one to ask this, stepping forwards and catching the Decepticon's attention. Skystreaker looked down at him and nodded.

"That's him," she said.

Wheeljack turned to Jack. There were some questions buzzing about in his mind that he wanted answered.

"Jack, again, who's Deadeye?" He realised his tone sounded a bit too forceful, but he was getting a bit tired of all the secrets when it came to anything relating to Carver's Taskforce. "He's an Autobot, isn't he? I figured as much, with a name like that."

"I promised him I wouldn't tell any other Autobot about him being here," Jack said. He sounded disappointed, more in himself than anyone else. "I'm a man of my word, Wheeljack. He's a good guy. He made it pretty clear why he wants to be left alone."

"And he lives here?" This compound looked fairly mundane from the outside. That was probably intentional. Still, it did not seem like the sort of place an Autobot would want to live in, of all things.

"Pretty much."

"And he gets to fight 'Cons?"

"Sometimes. Why?"

Wheeljack nodded. An idea was forming in his head, one that he might not have normally considered but circumstances had changed, especially since the war had ended.

"Is the Colonel hiring?" He asked Jack. The human gave him a funny look. "I'm serious. I need some excitement back in my life. If I can live here and fight 'Cons I'd be doing more good than if I stayed on Cybertron."

Skystreaker scoffed loudly from inside the detainment area.

"You're going to live with the fleshlings?" Her tone was dismissive. "I'd expect better from a Wrecker."

"It's all in the name, sweet-spark," Wheeljack said as he turned back to her. The beams of blue energy over the doorway rippled sporadically, casting an eerie neon glow on the floor at either side. "And I'm not doing much 'wrecking' back on Cybertron. If this Deadeye guy can stay here and hunt down 'Cons, then I figure he could use some help."

"You might want to meet Deadeye first," Jack suggested. "I don't think he'd take too kindly to another Autobot being here. I think he sees himself as more of a 'one-man show'."

"That much we have in common already." Wheeljack may have been acting a bit brash, but the opportunity of staying here and being able to better utilise his combat skills was one he would not pass up. It made sense, to leave a detachment of Autobots here with the humans who were working to defend Earth. It was something he would probably have to ask Ultra Magnus about, as much as he disliked having to report everything to that particular Autobot. Even so, there was still the matter of the Colonel and the Captain. Working with them did not strike him as very appealing. It was the actual work itself that had caught his attention.

 

Disciple

Deadeye was having some difficulty getting to sleep, or as it was probably more accurately known, 'recharge'. Cybertronians dreamed much in the same way humans did, a means for their subconscious to make sense of the day's events in its own abstract way. Deadeye's most recent dreams had not been pleasant ones and so he sat on the edge of his oversized metal bunk, alone in the small but adequately sized room the Taskforce had given him. It was a mostly metal building, with a few windows near the ceiling and a sliding door large enough for him to walk through. There was room for him to transform and a rack nearby where he had placed his pistols, including the older one he had taken from Skystreaker. He did not trust that Decepticon, deserter or not. That, and he had seen right through her seductive facade. There was a frightened youngster underneath, no doubt left in a situation that was far beyond what she would normally be able to cope with.

Deadeye had his gaze set on the television set across the room from where he sat. He was flicking through channels, although the human-sized television remote was far from practical for his large metal hands. As a result, he had been able to key his comms systems into the antenna and could flick through channels by altering the tuning on his very own comms. It was not as if any other Cybertronian was going to contact him through them.

As the channels flicked on by, Deadeye's mind wandered.

"–secrets, cover-ups, corruption; you think you know the whole story, think again–"

He flicked to the next one, the images from his latest dream playing in his mind. He paid the television set only the barest amount of attention.

"–and in world news, the President of Carbombia survived an assassination attempt earlier today–"

Again, he flicked over to the next channel. He could see the ruins of Crystal City in his mind's eye, yet he could not see himself. He could not remember being there, yet at the same time, he had. What had happened to him to make him forget so much?

"–I don't deal with psychos, I put them away–"

There he was, in one of the seedier establishments in Kaon. A few very friendly Decepticon females were in close proximity. Why would he be there? He could not remember for the life of him what had brought him to that place. Yet he saw these things in his dreams, over and over again. He changed channels once more.

"–Coming up next, the classic eighties cult film 'Miami Connection'–"

Deadeye rose to his feet and walked over to the rack of weapons near his berth. He picked up Skystreaker's blaster, spinning it around in one hand, doing his best to distract himself from the uncertain thoughts that danced about in his mind. His dreams of late had left him with doubts he could not so easily shake, giving him more reason to immerse himself in human entertainment. He had always considered himself a loner, it came naturally to him. He had never played well with others.

He swivelled around then, stopping to face the door to the building whilst he raised the blaster. The door slid open and an Autobot about his height but with broad shoulders and a mostly white finish stepped inside. He eyed the blaster pointed his way carefully before looking towards Deadeye.

"You know, I don't like it when people point guns at me," the Autobot said. Deadeye noticed the Autobot logo on his chest, emblazoned there in bright red. He had narrow grey fins at his back and shorter ones either side of his head. The hilts of two swords jutted from his upper back, both weapons sheathed.

"Who the hell are you?" Deadeye lowered the blaster.

The Autobot slid the door closed behind him as he walked inside.

"I'm Wheeljack," he said. "You must be Deadeye." He took a look around the somewhat bare room, the only notable objects being the television, the gun rack and the computer terminal in the far corner.

"You're an Autobot."

"So are you." Wheeljack nodded towards the Autobot logo set in the centre of Deadeye's chest in a shiny blue colour. "I hear you've been doing work for these Taskforce people."

"Yeah. What's it to you?" Deadeye had not met another Autobot in person for a long time. For one to simply stroll into his home was not what he had been expecting. He wondered how closely connected Wheeljack was to the main Autobot group, the one that was currently on Cybertron attempting to rebuild the ruined world. He hoped this was not some attempt to convince him to go there.

"I'm just curious, is all," Wheeljack replied. He stopped a short distance in front of him. "You do a lot around here? Or do you just watch TV all day?"

"I do what I can," Deadeye said. "Again, Wheeljack, what's it to you? Why are you here?" He paused briefly, thinking over what to add. "I've no interest in going back to Cybertron. That place is dead. Here, I'm comfortable. The humans give me energon and they give me work to do."

"Sounds real nice," Wheeljack said, although he did not sound very convinced. However, what he said next did surprise Deadeye somewhat. "You're kind of right about Cybertron, you know. The chief's doing what he can to bring back order, but it's a lot of work. We even have some Decepticons helping us out."

"Really?" Deadeye frowned. "Who's the 'chief'?"

"Ultra Magnus."

"Huh." Deadeye knew of the Autobot Commander. He also had no desire to meet him, as past interactions with that particular Autobot had resulted in the pair not being on very good terms. "He's the big boss now, is he?"

"I don't think he likes the work." Wheeljack gave a half smirk. "Neither do I. That's kind of why I'm here."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

Deadeye narrowed his optics. First impressions counted for a lot and he was yet to be impressed by this Wheeljack character. He racked his memories for anything relating to him, as he was sure he had seen the Autobot's face somewhere before. It must have been a long time ago, since he could not place the face to any specific memory no matter how hard he thought about it. The name did seem vaguely familiar, if only to compound this issue.

"I might have heard of you," Deadeye said, uncertain.

"I'm a Wrecker." Wheeljack might have carried the slightest hint of pride in his voice, though it was gone very quickly. "Probably more like a 'Builder' now."

"You sound disappointed."

"It's been nine years since the fighting stopped. I thought the change would be a good one, but I just..." He trailed off, losing himself in thought. "I don't know."

"You feel like you don't belong," Deadeye said. He understood this sentiment all too well. "You feel like your talents would be put to better use on the battlefield, instead of on a construction site." Wheeljack's optics lightened up noticeably as he spoke. "That's how I felt, Wheeljack. That's part of why I came here."

"How did you get here, anyway?" Wheeljack sounded genuinely curious. "Didn't you get the call to go back to Cybertron?"

"I got it," Deadeye answered. "But I was already on my way here. My ship, an Autobot scouter, was having engine difficulty and I ended up crashing on Earth. I got some bad injuries, enough to put me in stasis lock for a while." He could remember the crash, but his memories beyond that were a bit jumbled. He had figured that this had been enough to mess up some of his older memories, probably even form part of the cause of the dreams he had been having lately. "Colonel Carver's people found me, helped get me back on my feet."

"And you work for them now?"

"Yeah."

"And it's nice work, huh?"

"Yeah." Deadeye knew that Wheeljack was looking for alternatives to his current lifestyle. "But I've always seen myself as more of a 'one-bot show'. I don't work too well with others."

"Humans?"

"Humans I have no problem with," Deadeye replied. "It's other Autobots I have difficulty with. I can understand how you feel, but I don't think the Taskforce needs another Autobot in its ranks. They get along fine as is. You should see some of the anti-Decepticon stuff they've been deploying out in the field."

Wheeljack nodded. He seemed to understand. His confident demeanour indicated some degree of cockiness, and judging from his sentiments it would appear that he shared a similar 'loner' attitude to Deadeye. However, Wheeljack beared some of the signs of having mellowed out from this attitude somewhat, likely through working with other Autobots on Cybertron. The fact that he had no snarky comments regarding Ultra Magnus was one implication.

"What's with the swords?" Deadeye asked, referring to the pair that Wheeljack carried at his back. The Autobot Wrecker pulled one out, holding it out so that the light from the ceiling glimmered along its length. "You seriously run into battle with something that archaic?"

Wheeljack looked insulted.

"This 'archaic' weapon could cleave you in two," he said. He spun the weapon about in his hand fluidly, his expertise apparent. "I've lost count of how many 'Cons I've brought down with this."

"The humans here have a saying," Deadeye countered. He held out the blaster and spun it around in one hand, back-and-forth. Wheeljack watched his movements closely, keeping a straight-face as he did. "Never bring a knife to a gunfight."

"You sure you can handle that piece, kid?" Wheeljack raised an optic ridge inquisitively. "Or you been watching too many of those human 'Westerns'?"

"I could shoot that blade out of your hands from a hundred metres," Deadeye said. "What would you do then, Wheeljack? When your weapon of choice is a melted puddle of steel?"

Wheeljack used his free-hand to pull out his other sword.

"I always carry another," he said.

Deadeye stepped over to his gun rack and put the blaster away before taking down both his personal side-arms. He turned to face Wheeljack again, spinning both around in his hands as he did so.

"You sure you could handle two?" Deadeye eyed Wheeljack carefully, awaiting the inevitable response.

"Can you?"

Both Autobots watched each other with narrowed gazes. Deadeye found himself enjoying this budding rivalry. Then again, it had been a while since he had interacted with another Autobot.

"Do you give any real thought to where you place yourself on the battlefield?" Deadeye asked. "Or do you just rush in? You don't seem the patient type."

"I like to get things done."

"If I were to place myself in the position with the least probability of receiving accurate weapons fire, do you think you would be able to get to me with those swords of yours?" The question was a serious one. Wheeljack looked a bit confused for a moment.

"What are you talking about?"

"I didn't get as I good as I am without doing a lot of research," Deadeye said. "I've studied fire-fights from the war and from the humans. In the end, it comes down to statistics. What positions are the least likely to receive accurate enemy fire? Where will the hostiles be located? I've got that shit all figured out, Wheeljack. You'd do well to do the same."

"Uh-huh." Wheeljack sheathed both his swords, his face a sceptical one. "You know, you're really full of shit."

"Not at all. I just do what I have to do to survive. I'm sure you can understand."

Wheeljack remained unconvinced of Deadeye's combat skills. The feeling was mutual, as Deadeye found it hard to believe that a sword-wielding Autobot would be any good on the modern battlefield. Archaic weapons might have had some degree of style to them, but no amount of style would enhance their effectiveness.

"If you're serious about working for the Taskforce, you would have to speak with Colonel Carver," Deadeye said. "And like I said, I'm more of a 'one-bot show'. I don't need help from you, of all Autobots, to do my job here." He thought he might have spoken a bit harshly, but if so, Wheeljack did not appear bothered by it.

"I'll think about it," the Wrecker replied. "Anyway, it was, uh, nice meeting you. I guess." He did not sound entirely serious about this last sentence. He turned around and walked for the door, pulling it open before stepping outside. Deadeye watched him leave, noting that he did not slide the door shut behind him, as he apparently lacked the common courtesy to do so. The younger Autobot stepped forwards and did this himself, glimpsing Wheeljack as he crossed the narrow road outside and headed for one of the larger hangar structures.

He'll be back, Deadeye thought. With that, he slid the door shut and turned his attention towards the television set.

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

"I just got a call from one of the President's aides," Fowler said. He stood on the ledge outside his office, looking over to Ultra Magnus who had been standing nearby. "He wants to renew the treaty as soon as possible. It's a formality, but the bureaucrats who run this country like to make things official through paperwork."

The hangar that served as Unit-E headquarters was quiet. Knock Out had fallen asleep in the far corner, spread out on a bench with his arms either side and one leg dangling off of the edge. As for Ultra Magnus, he had been waiting for Bumblebee's return. The Autobot Commander had found himself worried when Bumblebee's signal had dropped off of the monitors here, only for that worry to dissipate when that signal returned a short while later.

"Does that mean your President will be paying us a visit?" Ultra Magnus asked.

"At about one o'clock in the afternoon," Fowler said. He sounded tired, understandable given the early hour. It was still dark outside and Fowler, from what Ultra Magnus could tell, had fallen asleep in his office before the phone call had woke him up. "They want this matter wrapped up discreetly, as you can understand. We can't have you going to the White House. That'd probably cause a panic."

Ultra Magnus found the need for secrecy that these humans had oddly amusing, but understandable. The general human population did not need to know about the existence of the Autobots and their enemies. It seemed like it was for the best

"I'd like to get it out of the way myself," Ultra Magnus said. "With it done, we can focus properly on Cyclonus. I'd like to know what he's up to, if anything."

"So do I," Fowler added. "I'd like him to get the hell off of Earth in the meantime. But something tells me that's not going to happen."

The hangar doors partially slid open then, groaning audibly as they moved. Both Fowler and Ultra Magnus looked towards them, laying eyes upon Bumblebee who worked his way through the narrow gap he had pushed open. He strolled into the hangar, business as usual. Ultra Magnus stepped towards him.

"Bumblebee, you've returned," Ultra Magnus said. "Your signal dropped off our monitors for a while. What happened?"

Bumblebee stopped before the Autobot Commander, looking up at him from his relatively smaller statue.

"Cyclonus' ship vanished off my scanners," he said. "I followed it halfway across Nevada before it must have activated some kind of dark matter drive. It might have shot itself into orbit, I couldn't get a good look. Whatever it did, it scrambled my sensors in the process. That's probably why my signal dropped off the monitors here." He shrugged then, his optics moving to glance over at Fowler, who watched the pair from his ledge nearby. He then looked over to Knock Out, who had rolled over on the bench he had taken to resting on, his optics closed tightly.

"Where's Wheeljack?" Bumblebee asked.

"He's gone off to do his own thing, apparently," Ultra Magnus answered. He did not bother to hide the disdain in his voice. "He even shut off his comms. I was beginning to think you'd done something similar."

"Me? Huh. I always do as I'm told, sir." Bumblebee smiled broadly. It was an oddly unnerving smile, Ultra Magnus found. "If there's nothing else for me to do, sir, I'd like to get some rest. The drive was a long one and I could do with a recharge."

"Go ahead. You'll have to find somewhere else to sleep, since Knock Out's already claimed the only berth in the building." He nodded in the direction of the dozing former Decepticon. Bumblebee rolled his large optics and walked by, going for one of the far corners of the hangar.

"That reminds me," Fowler said. "I think I'll try to get back to sleep myself. Tomorrow, well..." He checked the watch he wore at his left wrist and frowned. "Well, it's technically 'tomorrow' already, but that means it'll be an even longer day than I thought it would be." He glanced over to Ultra Magnus. "You must be tired of all the waiting around."

"It's part of the job, Agent Fowler," Ultra Magnus said. "It took a lot of patience to get to where I am now."

"Do they have government bureaucrats back on Cybertron?"

"Yes, they do. And they're just as irritating there as the human ones you've got here." Ultra Magnus said this drily, getting a short chuckle out of Fowler in response.

"Some things are universal," Fowler commented.

Ultra Magnus nodded in agreement. Their two species did have plenty in common, despite their obvious differences.

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

Bumblebee had been alone in a darkened room for some time. That is, the real Bumblebee and not the Decepticon who had taken his form. The real Bumblebee had woken up a short while ago, finding himself in a dimly lit chamber with grey metal walls that carried distinctly Decepticon architecture, with the angled curves and pylons that had been an aspect of the interior aboard the Nemesis.

He was strapped upon a metal rack, his arms and legs bound in place by energon-powered restraints. The bloodied stump where his right forearm had been ached tremendously, although someone had sealed off the energon leak there. They had done it crudely, cauterising it closed somehow. Still, it ensured that the young Autobot would not pass out anytime soon. It also indicated that his captives wanted him to remain alive, something that Bumblebee found disconcerting at best. What would they want him for, beyond the obvious torture he knew would come? What did he know that they wanted from him?

It did not take long to realise just how much he could tell them. A pack of Decepticons, lead by someone like Cyclonus, could do an awful lot of damage if they wanted to. Bumblebee knew of Cybertron's defences, for one. If they forced that out of him they could strike against that planet with a very thorough knowledge of what they would be up against. There were a number of things that they could do to him. They would not even need to interrogate him, he realised; a cortical psychic patch would give them everything they wanted.

There was a door across the room from him. To his left, there was a monitor that displayed his vital signs. To his right, a metal bench with a variety of surgical implements spread across it. All shined in the dim light emanating from the fixture above, all of them carrying the sheen of a recently sterilised implement. To say Bumblebee did not like the look of his predicament was an understatement. Even so, fear was something he had been trained to control. Fear was a necessity for any sentient being, an element important to survival. That did not make it any more pleasant.

He lay his head back on the metal headrest behind him. Interrogation was another thing he had been trained to withstand. Of course, no amount of training could properly prepare someone for the real thing. He took a breath and gritted his metal teeth, teasing the energon bindings at his legs and his one good arm. They were tight, perhaps more so than was necessary, pressing him firmly against the rack. His captors did not want him getting out. They knew better than to underestimate him.

At that moment, the door ahead slid open with a hiss. Bumblebee looked towards the two figures who entered, both Cybertronians. One was short and thin, mostly purple in colour like most Decepticons. He carried a black trim and had a pair of bright red optics set upon an almost emotionless face. His mouth was concealed underneath a steel plate. Despite his lanky appearance, he had a fairly large chest, one that was spattered with dried energon stains. One of his legs appeared stiff, giving him an uneven, limping gait. Bumblebee glanced down to see a very poorly patched over wound at his left shin, a gaping hole that had been torn in at some point in the past before having a steel plate literally nailed over it. He looked back up at the Decepticon's face and realised, whilst doing his best to contain his horror, that this particular Decepticon was the resident 'doctor'.

I didn't think I'd ever wish for Knock Out to be here, Bumblebee thought, absently. His attention went to the second figure who had strode inside, the larger and far more imposing Cybertronian who had stopped a few metres ahead of him. This one was tall and broad-shouldered, carrying a similar build to Ultra Magnus. His head even carried a similar crest. His finish was a deep reddish-brown, mingled with silver at his less protected joints and he carried a red trim at his arms and legs. Bumblebee had to do a double-take, for his optics fell upon the Autobot insignia in the centre of his chest, its orange colour standing out starkly against the deep-red of finish. The blue optics of this Autobot were narrow, almost leering at him with what Bumblebee could only assume was hatred. His mouth was concealed under a metal battle-plate. His general demeanour, stoic yet exuding confidence, indicated that he held some amount of power here. Bumblebee had been expecting Cyclonus to walk in.

"Doctor," the Autobot said, looking over to the slim Decepticon. The 'doctor' in question turned to face him. "I do not want you to do anything drastic with our prisoner, regardless of what the General may have said." The Autobot spoke in a level tone, with very careful and precise enunciation.

The Decepticon 'doctor' shrugged.

"Don't you want to find out what he's thinking?" The doctor held up one end of the cortical psychic patch cable.

"We can do that anytime," the Autobot replied. He did not take his optics away from Bumblebee. Stepping forwards, he tilted his head slightly as he regarded the Autobot. "You must be wondering who I am."

"Yeah," Bumblebee said. He realised his voice sounded alarmingly weak, a fact that was probably not helping his case much. "Didn't think I'd see an Autobot in with these Decepticons."

"As the times change, one must adapt," the Autobot said. "I am not surprised that you are unfamiliar with me. Most of you degenerate young ones care not for the past. This much is clear."

Bumblebee was a bit confused by the statement but said nothing.

"My name is Star Saber. I am, or more precisely, was a pontiff of the Church of the Thirteen. Long before the war began, the Cybertronian people were guided by faith, their society a moral and ordered one. I was studying the works of the first thirteen Primes long before you were ever born." Though he did not spell it out, his disdain for the young Autobot was very much obvious. Bumblebee had not heard of this 'Church', nor had he ever heard of Star Saber. What troubled him in particular was how an Autobot was willingly working with the Decepticons. Traitors had been uncommon during the war and were usually despised by both sides, regardless of what their original allegiance had been.

"And then the decay set in. The amount of those who followed the faith waned over time. Our society became decadent, immoral, degenerate. It was no surprise, to me at least, that the war broke out. In fact, I had been expecting it to happen sooner. The humans of this world, they have had similar things happen throughout their history. Great civilisations that fell apart, not because of outside forces, but through suicide. And in many cases, the lack of faith, and the order it brings, has been the cause." He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in. "Now our civilisation is all but gone. There are certainly pathetic attempts being made to reconstruct it now, on Cybertron, but that would do us no good without the moral guidance that the Church would bring. History will repeat itself. I intend to prevent that."

"By working with Cyclonus?"

"We have a mutual agreement," Star Saber replied. He glanced at Bumblebee's stump of a right arm. "Cyclonus wanted you dead, but I persuaded him otherwise. You are, in my eyes, part of the problem with our species now. Young, impressionable, yet without faith. Prone to partaking in degenerate actions."

"I have faith," Bumblebee countered. "Faith in my friends. Faith in Optimus..."

"Optimus Prime is dead. The age of the Primes is over. And that is a tragedy in itself. The Church of the Thirteen would have sung that Prime's praises for generations to come, were it not for the fact that he started the war and ruined Cybertron by sending the Allspark into space. Optimus Prime was no better than the rulers who plunged our society into decadence, he simply brought about the end through a far more blunt fashion."

"That's all fixed now--"

"You are mistaken. The lack of faith is the largest issue here. The Church brought order, a moral foundation for Cybertronian society. One that was eaten away by the selfish, greedy rulers who sent our world to destruction. And the same will happen again, even more quickly this time since virtually none of those who are currently residing on Cybertron follow the true faith. Without a Prime to guide us, a true Prime, one who would spread the teachings of the Church like it was in the old times, our entire civilisation will fall apart and will likely remain a ruin."

It had not taken long for Bumblebee to realise he was speaking to a religious zealot. It's no wonder no one follows their Church anymore.

"What do you want from me?" Bumblebee asked. He did not allow his fear to seep into his voice, even if it had been building up significantly during the last few minutes.

"Everything." There was a sinister look in his optics, although the rest of his face remained stoic. "Nothing. I wish for you to see the error of your ways. To embrace the true faith and to renounce these 'friends' of yours as the atheist degenerates they are. They are part of the problem."

"And the Decepticons here? Do they follow your 'faith'?" Bumblebee managed a look over at the doctor. He had picked up one of the nastier looking implements, a pair of razor sharp clamps that he was currently giving a once-over. He tested them, clicking them open-and-shut a few times, apparently satisfied with their performance.

"Some do. Some do not. At this point, it does not matter. Soon, the reckoning will come. You should pity your friends, for they do not have the opportunity you do to repent." Star Saber put a hand to Bumblebee's stump of a right arm. "And maybe I may even have the doctor here build you a new arm."

"You really think I'll do everything you say?" Bumblebee looked at Star Saber in disbelief.

"No, I expect the opposite." He nodded over to the Decepticon doctor, who moved closer to Bumblebee and set the clamps upon one of the plates at his chest.

"And, honestly, I want you to resist," Star Saber added. "It makes for far greater entertainment."

 

interesting......Star Saber, Cyclonus' left eye ( I see MTMTE homage), getting fun