Here it is, the serious version of my silly AU. Any events that occur in this story can be considered canon to the comedy stories, but not vice-versa. Read at your own risk, as I have no writing schedule and it could be a year or more before chapter two gets done.

With that out of the way, this story uses characters from pretty much every TF continuity except the bayverse, and I'll leave notes at the end of each chapter as to which universe they're inspired by—for anyone who wants to know—so as to avoid spoilers. Constructive criticism, especially regarding grammar and spelling is much appreciated. Let me know if this too long, I'm thinking of splitting this into two chapters.

Here's some notes for those of you who care:

Nanoklik = About a second
Cycle = A minute and a half
Megacycle = Around two and a half hours
Solar cycle = About a day
Deca-cycle = 10 solar cycles/a Cybertronian week
Orbital cycle = 32 solar cycles/a Cybertronian month
Stellar cycle = 370 solar cycles/a Cybertronian year

Mechanometer = About a meter
Hic = About a kilometer

Standard unit = About a kilogram
Kilounit = 454 standard units

"Blah" = Dialogue
'Blah' = Thoughts
::Blah:: = Comms
Blah = Flashbacks
"Blah" = Flashback dialogue
*BLAH* = Sound effects

Disclaimer: Transformers is not mine, and neither are any of the characters in this fic aside from the random filler OCs, Comet, and Silverstreak, an OC I made ages ago before I knew that was an alternate name for Bluestreak.

-Chapter One-

"Stop him! He's got the plans!"

Jazz paid the roared command little attention as he busted through the latest of many roadblocks hindering his escape. The Decepticon stronghold was living up to its reputation of being near inescapable, but Jazz was one of the best when it came to espionage and gathering intelligence. Optimus Prime needed the information he'd downloaded onto the data chip, and he was not about to let his old friend down.

He slammed on the brakes when several Decepticons blocked the path ahead and skidded through the doorway off to the side, the laser fire from their weapons grazing his bumper. The angered shouts of the soldiers faded behind him as he worked his way back to top speed, glancing at his map to plot a new escape route. He was already on the ground floor; he just needed to get to the outside edge of the facility so he could blast a hole in the wall. His wheels squealed loudly against the floor while he made a hard left and activated his weapons, blasting at any unlucky Decepticons who happened to be in his way. Another left was made to avoid a mob of soldiers, followed by a right, the sound of enemy vehicles behind him growing louder. One final turn later, he loosed his missiles at the wall and drove through its remains, turning to avoid the rubble that littered the outside streets.

::Comet One to Glitch Mouse, what's your ETA?:: a voice inquired over a secure comm channel.

::ETA two cycles. Glitch Mouse has escaped the trap, requesting cover fire, over,:: Jazz replied, swerving to evade enemy bullets.

::Request acknowledged, Comets inbound.::

When a few bullets came a little too close for comfort—nicking his side—Jazz directed his guns backwards to return fire and scored a direct hit on one of his pursuers. The Decepticon spun out and collided with one of his buddies, the two vehicles slamming into the nearest building with a loud crunch.

"You'll pay for that, Autobot!" one of the others hollered. The white sports car that had been beside the neutralized Decepticons unleashed a new barrage of laser fire, causing Jazz to swerve again.

A white-hot pain seared through the circuitry of his side when he failed to dodge all the blasts, though despite the pain he managed to get back on course. He hadn't expected a Decepticon to be so vengeful for his comrades. It wasn't the usual reaction. He gritted his denta and shot back, willing himself to go faster. He was built speedy, but he wasn't built for speed. 'Scrap!' he cursed when he heard jet engines. Jetfire—AKA Comet One—was too far out to be there already, which meant that Jazz had more company. 'Fine then, Decepticreeps. You want to dance? Let's dance!'

Elsewhere on the planet, a gray seeker with red and blue accents was flying his way to Hyperious to await word from the Decepticon leader, with a stop in Forza on the way. As second-in-command of the Decepticon army, the jet answered only to Megatron, yet even that was too much. He wanted to be in charge. He wanted every Decepticon to heed his every word. Still, he could be patient. Now was not a good time to make his move, but one solar cycle, Megatron would fear the might of—

::Commander Starscream, sir!::

Starscream frowned at the voice cutting into his thoughts. ::What is it that couldn't wait until I arrived, Acid Storm?:: he snapped.

::The base has been compromised. An Autobot has stolen information on Project Trypticon! We're in pursuit of the intruder now, but—::

::An Autobot?:: Starscream interrupted, his tone deceptively calm.

::Yes sir,:: Acid Storm replied.

::As in one measly, single, solitary Autobot?::

::Err . . . Y-yes sir.:: The sudden stammering of the other seeker on the line implied that he'd figured out where Starscream was going with this.

::And am I to understand that you haven't caught this intruder?:: Starscream continued, a dangerous edge to his voice.

::. . . N-no sir. We're still in pursuit.::

::I see.:: Starscream fell silent for a few moments after that, increasing his speed to arrive at Forza sooner.

::. . . Commander Starscream? . . . Sir?::

::You IDIOTS! You outnumber this Autobot by over a thousand and you still can't catch him!?:: he shouted.

::H-he's very—::

::I don't want your excuses, I want results! You will catch that Autobot or I will have the head of the Decepticon responsible for this oversight, do I make myself perfectly clear!?::

::Y-yes, Commander Starscream sir! Acid Storm out!::

Starscream didn't bother to respond before the other Decepticon signed off. He had more important things to attend to. Like arriving at Forza before those half-wits managed to mess things up any further.

Jetfire's engines roared as he led his team to Forza. The hope had been that Jazz could get in and out without attracting attention and avoid the need for backup. Unfortunately, it seemed as though the Decepticons were in a perceptive mood. ::Comet One, requesting roll call,:: he stated when the ruined skyline of the city came into view.

::Comet Two, standing by,:: Silverbolt answered, the aerialbot easily keeping pace with Jetfire.

::Comet Three, standing by,:: said Slingshot.

::Comet Four, standing by,:: Fireflight chimed in.

::I thought I was Comet Four,:: Air Raid wondered aloud.

::No, you're Comet Five.::

::I thought Skydive was Comet Five. Y'know, because it rhymes?:: Slingshot interjected.

::No, no. I'm Comet Six,:: Skydive corrected.

::See, now I thought Fireflight was supposed to be Comet Six,:: Air Raid muttered in confusion.

::Can we focus, please?:: Jetfire groaned.

::Yo, Comet One, Glitch Mouse is getting pelted by seekers. Whenever you wanna show up, your help will be appreciated. No rush.::

Jetfire's attention snapped back to the city when Jazz's voice interrupted the aerialbots' confused chatter. ::Hang in there, we're coming,:: he said before switching back to the team line. ::Anyone have optics on Glitch Mouse?::

::I see him, sir,:: Skydive answered. ::He's about one hic to the right of the old crystal gardens, and approaching fast.::

::I count seven hostiles in the air,:: Fireflight added. ::Twenty six more ground bound.::

::Right.:: Jetfire opened the community comm line that connected him to the other three aerialbot teams. ::Star Team and Moon Team, cover the flanks. Everyone else, move in, over,:: he instructed before signing back into the Comet comm line. ::Slingshot, Air Raid, and Fireflight, strafe low and get some of those grounders off of him. Comet Two, Skydive, and I will engage the aerial offense, over.::

::Uh . . . Aren't we supposed to use code names?:: Air Raid inquired, changing his flight path to get low.

::We are, but you all can't keep your numbers straight, so proper designations it is,:: Jetfire retorted, gunning his engines to combat the enemy.

He, Silverbolt, and Skydive flew into the fray with their guns blazing, and Jetfire couldn't help the small feeling of smug satisfaction when one of the enemy seekers went down within nanokliks.

::It's about time, Comet One,:: Jazz quipped, taking advantage of the Decepticons' distraction to put some distance between them and himself.

::Hardy-har-har. Just get yourself to the hole in the wall,:: Jetfire deadpanned. He locked onto a bright green seeker's tail and followed him into a reverse scissors, careful to keep focused on the Decepticon's optic-searing paint job.

::Is that any way to speak to your superior officer?:: Jazz's voice was amused, which was hopefully a sign that he had gotten away. ::Just gotta shake one more 'Con, then this Glitch Mouse can get into his hidey-hole.::

::Copy that. I'll send Slingshot your way.::

::Slingshot? What happened to Comet Three?::

::Don't ask.:: Jetfire tightened his turns slightly and prepared to fire on his opponent. ::Slingshot, Glitch Mouse has one more 'Con on his tail. Take him down.::

::Roger that, sir.::

There. The opticsore was right in his sights. He just had to fire and—"Augh!" Pain shot through his sensory net when something smashed into his wings, his attention turning outwards to find the cause. "Starscream!" he growled. The Decepticon Air Commander had flown above him and transformed, landing on his wings.

"Jetfire. Always a pleasure," Starscream hissed back, a servo poised to tear away at Jetfire's wing plating.

Jetfire quickly executed an aileron roll to shake the other seeker off and transformed. "A pleasure?" he snorted. "That's not what I'd call it." He transformed his arm into an EMP shotgun and fired.

Starscream jetted to the side to evade the shot, then fired up his thrusters to get into close range. "Semantics, Autobot." He delivered a swift right hook to Jetfire's faceplate with a conceited smirk.

Jetfire grabbed Starscream's wrist and countered with an uppercut. It seemed the other flyer wanted to fight up close and personal. Fine then, he could oblige.

Jazz felt a palpable bit of relief when Slingshot chased away the vengeful white Decepticon that had been tailing him incessantly. All he had to do now was get to the hidden switch-off point and hand the data chip to Hot Shot, then drive off towards Marcon as a diversion. Easy-peasy. He turned to drive under some wreckage to disguise his route, taking a few cycles more than expected to arrive at his destination thanks to his pursuers.

Soon enough, the switch-off came into view. "Yo, Hot Shot! I got something for you!" he called, transforming to sprint the last few mechanometers to the other bot.

"Jazz! I was beginning to think you stood me up," Hot Shot teased, taking the data chip from Jazz's outstretched servo.

"Hey now, the Jazzmiester doesn't go no-show on his pals," Jazz laughed. "Just get that to Crystal City, speed demon. If all goes well, they won't even know you were here."

"No prob." Hot Shot gave Jazz a conspiratorial wink and transformed into his sleek, aerodynamic vehicle mode. The ex-racer would be able to deliver where Jazz couldn't: in the speed department. "Later, Glitch Mouse!" he called. He turned around and sped off, the tuned roar of his high-performance engine joining the squeal of his wheels in a speedy symphony.

His mission accomplished, Jazz changed back into his vehicle mode and exited the switch off in the opposite direction. "Later, Comet Seven."

Optimus Prime sighed as he stared out the window. The view from his office on the seventh floor of the Autobot base was failing miserably at being a distraction for him. This was taking too long, was everything alright? Or was he just worried about the soldiers he had come to consider friends?

"Standing there worrying is not going to bring them back sooner, sir."

Optimus let out another sigh at the monotone voice behind him. "I know, Prowl. Though I find that as long as I'm unoccupied, my processor tends to think up the worst outcomes."

Prowl—one of his third-in-commands as well as his chief tactical officer—walked over to his side, looking out the window. "Outcomes and variables are not something to dwell on when you can do nothing," he said quietly.

Optimus looked down at Prowl, eyeing the shorter mech's pensive expression. "What happened to Praxus was not your fault, my friend," he stated softly, hoping that the praxian was not still blaming himself for the destruction of his city. "Bluestreak doesn't blame you, and neither do I. Megatron had everyone fooled."

Prowl's doorwings sunk slightly in a way that was impossible to notice unless you knew the mech. "I know. Logically, there was no way for me to have predicted that Praxus was their target, nor could we have arrived any sooner than we did. However, I cannot help feeling somewhat . . . at fault for what happened." The mech's optics dimmed for a nanoklik before he turned his attention back to Optimus. "So, you need something to occupy yourself with?"

"Anything but paperwork," Optimus replied, seeing Prowl's wish for a different subject.

"Then perhaps you could check in with your brother at Marcon?" the TIC suggested. "I was going to have Blaster do it, but you appear to be in desperate need of a distraction."

"Blaster?" Optimus repeated. The name didn't sound familiar to him.

"The new Head of Communications." Prowl eyed the Prime. "Did you actually read those reports and memos I gave you, or did you just say that you had read them to appease me?"

Optimus squirmed under Prowl's critical gaze. "I . . . read some of them." The ones marked as 'important' or 'crucial' that is. Prowl knew how to write a report, but he could be very long winded at times.

"I see." Optimus had a sinking feeling that he was going to get an audiofull later. "Well, we have received a new squadron of troops from Perihex, and one of our squadrons was sent to Marcon to help build up their defenses. That is why we need to check in with them."

Optimus snuck over to his desk once Prowl turned to the computer console and dug out the reports. Leafing through the data pads, he discovered the memo in question and skimmed it through. "Fifty three new bots, impressive. Who was sent to Marcon?"

"The third squadron," Prowl drawled in reply. "Which you would know if you had actually read the report rather than skimmed it. Red Alert and I both have lists of the new transfers if you wish to see them, and Red Alert is on his way to check in with them as we speak."

The Prime blinked. Prowl had optics in the back of his head. He was certain. 'The third squadron . . .' He knew several bots that were part of that particular group personally. Trailbreaker for one; and two of Prowl's brothers, Sideburn and X-Brawn. "Sideburn and X-Brawn are in that squadron, right?"

"Yes."

"I thought so, and Bluestreak isn't?"

"No. Bluestreak is still here."

"This seems like important information," Optimus started, raising an optic ridge and looking over at the praxian.

"It is. Which is why you should read reports rather than ignore them."

Optimus winced. Prowl wasn't going to let that go for a while. "So why wasn't it labeled 'important?'"

"Jazz wrote it," Prowl replied, as if that one simple fact explained everything.

"Oh." When Prowl didn't elaborate, he decided to probe for more details. "Well, why didn't he label it as important?"

"Such labels are not necessary, and Jazz does not deal with the unnecessary in his reports. It is 'too much work,' as he says," Prowl answered, his disapproval of his fellow TIC's apparent laziness regarding paperwork bleeding into his tone.

Optimus blinked again. "They aren't necessary?"

"No."

"Then why do you always do it?"

"I like to prioritize my reports," Prowl responded blandly, turning to face his leader. "That, and to not do so would be to doom them to forever gather dust on your desk," he added with a pointed look.

Optimus cleared his vents with a quiet cough before meandering over to the console. Prowl had his lecture face on. It was time to change the subject. "Teletraan-1, contact Marcon's main computer."

"Contacting . . ." the supercomputer droned.

A familiar face answered the hail, appearing on the view screen. "Greetings, Optimus Prime, Prowl. What may I assist you with?" the bot asked with a small smile on his face.

Optimus smiled back. Seeing old friends always put him in a good mood. "Hello, Perceptor. It is good to see you again. I need to speak with Ultra Magnus, if it's no trouble."

"Not a problem at all! Patching you through post haste, Prime," Perceptor replied.

The display shifted from Perceptor to Ultra Magnus shortly after, the large mech taking up most of the screen. "Optimus! What a pleasant surprise!"

"Hello, Magnus, we're calling to see if the third squadron arrived safely," Optimus greeted, his face lighting up upon seeing his brother.

"Ah, yes. They all arrived here a short while ago," Ultra Magnus replied. "How go things at Iacon?"

Optimus smiled. "Very well, thank you." He needed to remember to thank Prowl. This was definitely the distraction he needed.

Jetfire's frame ached from the punishment he was receiving at the servos of Starscream. One could make fun of the Decepticon all they liked, but at the end of the solar cycle Starscream was still a force to be reckoned with in combat. Jetfire gave the other seeker a roundhouse kick to the side and took another shot with his gun, but unfortunately Starscream was living up to his reputation of being the fastest seeker around. He winced when the seeker landed a solid punch on the side of his face and grabbed Starscream's other arm, slinging him into the side of a building.

Starscream shoved off of the building to dodge another blast from the shotgun, but seemed to get momentarily distracted by something behind Jetfire. "Hmmm . . . very clever," he stated, flashing him a nasty grin. "But not clever enough!" He transformed back into jet form and rocketed off.

Jetfire stared after him, trying to figure out what exactly Starscream was talking about when suddenly—"Aw, slag!" He followed Starscream's lead and changed back to jet mode to give chase. ::Attention, Comets! Comet Seven has been spotted, provide cover fire, over!:: he barked over the aerialbots' comm channel. He closed in on Starscream's tail and took aim, unleashing a barrage of laser fire on the Decepticon.

::Roger that, Comet Two inbound,:: Silverbolt answered, soon joined by a chorus of other replies.

Starscream rolled out of the path of the lasers and chuckled. "Did I find something I wasn't supposed to, Autobot?" he sneered, moving up into a loop. "Your comrade is going home in pieces!"

"You talk too much, Screamer!" Jetfire shouted, following him into the loop. ::Comet Seven, you've got company, step on it!:: he said to Hot Shot. The code name of Comet Seven was supposed to make the Decepticons think they were just speaking to another aerial bot should the communication be intercepted, but it seemed almost pointless at present. Why did Starscream have to be so observant?

::Gotcha, Comet One. Going as fast as I can,:: Hot Shot replied. Jetfire had to admit that Hot Shot's top speed was impressive, but compared to the speed of a jet, it wasn't enough. It was up to Jetfire and his team to get rid of his pursuers.

"I merely speak the truth, Jetfire. I don't see how it's my problem if you can't accept it!" Starscream continued with his mocking, coming out of the loop and transforming to turn around. He took a quick shot at Jetfire before the Autobot's momentum caused him to soar by him, then switched back to vehicle mode.

Jetfire had to admit he felt a lot like prey when he and Starscream started to fly in a reverse scissors, both seekers taking shots at the other but neither making any hits. He just had to hope that he could out-fly Starscream long enough for Hot Shot to get away.

Hot Shot could feel his systems struggling to maintain his top speed, but he wasn't about to slow down. Not when Starscream and his cronies were onto him. Technically, he had two top speeds: the fastest he could go while remaining comfortable, and the fastest he could go period. At present, he was doing the latter. Hopefully that—combined with Jetfire's team—would be enough to keep him in one piece long enough to get to Crystal City.

He swerved around some rubble on the outskirts of the city, willing himself to imagine that he was in a race back home in Velocitron. The panic that threatened to set in whenever he was on a mission like this always preyed on his focus, made him more prone to mistakes. Pretending he was in a race helped him to relax, and he still got an adrenaline rush from the bots behind him. A win-win in his processor. He veered around a corner and finally left the city limits, the fight above him thankfully staying there for the most part aside from a few laser shots that nicked his sides.

He checked his map to ensure he was going the right way, then opened a comm line to Jazz. ::Hey, Glitch Mouse. I've been spotted. Care to follow in case of ground hostiles?::

::You were spotted already!? I haven't even left the city yet!:: Jazz exclaimed incredulously. ::What happened?::

::I dunno, ask Comet One.::

::Whatever. I'll alert my old destination of the change to the plan. I'll be right behind you. And by right behind you, I mean far behind you, Speedy.::

::'Kay. Comet Seven out.:: Hot Shot soon found himself wishing he wasn't quite so low to the ground, the cracked and abused surface of Cybertron taking its toll on his undercarriage. "Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow—" If only the highways weren't in the same condition. This was going to be a long drive.

Iacon was a much larger base than Perihex. That was one of the first things Sideswipe noticed about it when his squadron arrived in the city. Larger and less prone to sudden attacks. He was currently standing around with his comrades, waiting for one of the officers in charge to come show them around and looking around the room with a wide-opticked expression. His brother, Sunstreaker, had opted to simply sit down and do nothing. How boring.

"Sideswipe?"

Sideswipe's head snapped around at the voice. "Blue?" A large smile appeared on his face when he saw a familiar figure running over and waving happily. "Bluestreak!" He scurried over and met the other bot halfway in an excited hug. "I didn't know you were here!"

Bluestreak laughed and pulled out of the hug. "I didn't know you were coming, I forgot the number of your squadron. It's great to see you!"

"Same, it's been a while. How've you been?" Sideswipe asked.

"Pretty good. Sideburn and X-Brawn were just sent to Marcon, your squadron is replacing theirs," Bluestreak replied. "How are you and Sunstreaker?"

"Good. Perihex was sorta hectic, but nothing we couldn't handle. Sunny's as stubborn and quiet as ever." Too quiet, in Sideswipe's opinion. It was like pulling denta to get a normal conversation out of him sometimes. It was one thing to be a quiet individual, but it was another thing entirely to suddenly stop talking to family for no apparent reason.

"Sides?"

"Eh?"

"He still not talking to you?" Bluestreak asked quietly.

Sideswipe sighed. "Well, not exactly. He'll talk to me but he won't talk to me, if that makes sense," he explained, keeping his voice low so Sunstreaker couldn't hear. "It's like I'm talking to a friendly acquaintance or something, not my brother."

Bluestreak gave his shoulder a sympathetic pat and smiled. "I'm sure he'll come around."

Sideswipe smiled back. "I hope so."

The praxian's smile grew a bit teasing. "I know something that'll cheer you up. Guess who else is here?"

"Uh . . . Jazz?" Sideswipe tried, wondering who else could be here that Bluestreak thought would make him so happy.

Bluestreak snickered. "Well, yes, but that's not who I'm talking about. Besides, he's off on a super hush-hush mission right now."

"Okay . . ." Wracking his processor, Sideswipe tried to think up someone else he'd be happy to see, and that Bluestreak actually knew that he knew. "Uh . . . I . . . got nothing. I give up."

Bluestreak leaned in close as if he were divulging a huge secret. "The Commander of this base is Optimus Prime himself! You can meet your hero!"

Sideswipe stopped processing words at 'Optimus Prime.' He stared at Bluestreak with a shocked expression. "Optimus Prime?" he repeated, sounding about as awestruck as he felt. "As in the Optimus Prime!?" His excitement grew when Bluestreak nodded. "He's here!?"

Bluestreak gave another amused nod. "Mmhm. I knew you'd be excited!"

"Excited!?" Sideswipe repeated, ignoring the confused and/or amused looks his fellow soldiers were giving him. "Excited doesn't even begin to describe it! He's Optimus Prime Bluestreak! Do you know how long I've wanted to meet him?"

"Yes."

"Holy Primus, I can't believe he's here—!" He stifled his over-enthusiastic fanboying before it could get too far out of control, though he still ended up rocking on his pedes and giggling like a youngling. "I hope I don't do anything stupid. I don't wanna make a fool of myself in front of Optimus Prime," he fretted, his servos clasped in front of him.

"Sideswipe, sooner or later you make a fool of yourself in front of everyone. It's part of your charm," Bluestreak stated soothingly, patting his shoulder again. "Power to the weirdos, remember? Besides, Optimus likes all of us, I'm sure he'll like you. And just between you and me, he's a huge goofball at spark." Bluestreak whispered the last part, looking from side to side as if he was giving away sensitive information.

Sideswipe laughed. "Thanks Blue. You really know how to make me feel better. So, when's that Security Officer of yours getting here?"

"Head of Security, and . . . I don't know actually. When did you get here?"

"Ten cycles ago," Sunstreaker cut in from behind. "He's just impatient."

Sideswipe rolled his optics at his brother's words. "So I don't like staying in one place for long, big deal."

"To answer your question, Sides, there he is now," Bluestreak said, pointing off to the side.

Sideswipe looked in the indicated direction and blinked. The bot looked an awful lot like him, albeit with a white and red paint job instead of red and black. He appeared almost excited as he walked into the room, coming their direction and staring at a data pad that he held in his servos. His behavior seemed familiar in a way, but he couldn't place it. "What's he like? Do you know him?" he asked Bluestreak, his optics not straying from the security mech.

"Not really. He and Prowl are friends, but beyond that I don't really know that much about him," Bluestreak answered with an apologetic shrug. "Hi," he said to him as he passed by.

"Hello, Bluestreak," the mech responded, glancing up for an instant. He had started to continue on his way when he suddenly came to an abrupt stop, turning his head to stare at Sideswipe with a somewhat happy expression.

Sideswipe quickly smiled back. The guy seemed friendly enough, hopefully that meant a new friend right at the start of this new assignment. "Hi! Name's Sideswipe!" he chirped, holding his servo out in offering. He suddenly remembered that Bluestreak had never actually said the bot's name, so he added, "What's yours?"

The mech's smile turned a bit confused, which didn't make much sense because it was just a simple introduction, what could be so confusing about it? What followed made even less sense to Sideswipe. There was a glint of something—either pain or offense, Sideswipe wasn't sure—in his optics, then he glanced over at Sunstreaker of all mechs—who merely raised an optic ridge at him—before his expression soured completely. He let out an offended sounding grunt and turned on his heel, continuing on his way without another word.

"Hmph, rude much?" Sunstreaker grumbled, now beside him.

Sideswipe wasn't certain when his brother had moved, but he had far more pressing things on his processor. Like what had gone wrong with the security mech. "Was it something I said?" he asked, staring after him in shock.

"I . . . don't think so," Bluestreak replied, looking about as stupefied as Sideswipe felt. "I'm pretty sure that's how I introduced myself."

The mech finally reached what was apparently his destination and cleared his vents loudly to get everyone's attention. "Hello, bots of the thirty-eighth squadron. I am Red Alert, Head of Security here at Iacon." So that was his name. "I'm here to make sure that you are all present, and to brief you on how things work around here. We'll start with a simple roll call to ensure you're all where you're supposed to be." The good mood Red Alert seemed to have when he had arrived had evaporated, replaced by a grumpy and borderline irritable one.

Sideswipe leaned over to whisper to Bluestreak as Red Alert continued. "Is he always this grouchy? And for that matter, does he greet everyone the way he greeted me?" he asked, watching the mech with rapt attention.

"No, and no," Bluestreak replied.

"So that really was as weird as it felt?"

"Yes. Yes it was."

Jetfire's engines roared as he streaked across the sky after Starscream, a chorus of other engines backing him up when his team fell into formation around him. He had always hated the fact that Starscream could out-fly him, but that hatred had reached a new peak when they'd ended up as the air commanders of their respective factions. As it stood, he could never keep the other seeker distracted for very long in aerial combat when Starscream was determined enough, which was proving to be a massive problem for Hot Shot.

::Jetfire—!:: the racer yelped over the comm when a shower of laser fire narrowly missed him on one side.

::We're working on it!:: Jetfire snapped back. He hoped Hot Shot understood that his anger wasn't directed at him.

::What's the plan, Comet One?:: Air Raid asked.

::Swarm him,:: Jetfire growled. ::We don't need to shoot him down—though that would be preferable—we just have to keep him off of Hot Shot's tail.::

::Um . . . is swarming really a plan?:: Skydive questioned.

Skydive's inquiry fell on deaf audios as the rest of the group proceeded to unload their weapons on the Decepticon, forcing Starscream to move or be blown to bits.

"Slag!" Jetfire cursed when Starscream flew into a banking turn. ::He's coming back bots, scatter! We'll form up again after!:: Starscream finished his turn just as the last of the group flew out of the way, then came at Jetfire—guns blazing—in an aileron roll, causing the Autobot to pull up to avoid getting blasted. Off to the sides, he could see his team trying to form back up to assist, but it seemed Starscream's own troops had arrived and were serving as a powerful intervention. Suddenly, an idea began percolating in his CPU. ::New plan, take those seekers down. I got Starscream.::

::What if he goes after Hot Shot again?:: Air Raid asked.

::I've got an idea for that . . .:: Jetfire said, closing back in on Starscream. "Hey, Starscream! Seems to me like your flying's getting rusty!" he hollered at the grey jet. "Or were you trying to see how badly you could botch up your maneuver!?"

Starscream reverted to hover mode and spun around, firing at Jetfire the instant he was in sight. "Silence, Autobot!"

The Autobot smoothly executed a barrel roll to avoid the shots and fired back. "I merely speak the truth, Screamer. I don't see how it's my problem if you can't accept it!" he mocked, parroting the Decepticon's words from earlier.

Starscream immediately went back into boost mode, escaping the blasts by a small margin, then flew around to tail the air commander. "I said, SILENCE!" he shrieked, shooting at Jetfire from behind.

Jetfire felt some satisfaction at his plan working, though he could do without the laser fire narrowly missing him. He now had Starscream's full attention, and with any luck, Hot Shot would be long out of sight before his rage simmered down. ::Hot Shot, there's an entrance to the lower levels nearby the energon mill. Go there,:: he said shortly, more focused on staying alive than being especially eloquent.

::Will do, Comet One,:: Hot Shot responded. ::And thanks.::

Jazz followed behind the racer when Hot Shot suddenly changed course, heading for the old energon mill. ::Yo, Hot Shot, what's with the new route?:: he asked, nailing a following Decepticon with his rear cannons.

::Jetfire said there was an entrance to the underground around here. We clear in back?::

Jazz glanced behind them. Aside from that one 'Con he'd blasted, it seemed they'd lost their unwanted and excessively violent entourage, thanks mostly in part to the aerialbots. ::Mmmm . . . yeah. Looks like it,:: he finally answered, returning his attention to the velocitronian's far away taillights. ::The lower levels, huh? Risky, but I've been down there a few times.::

::We don't have to stay down there long.::

::Right, just until we're out of 'Con territory.::

::Yeah. Let me know if you see it, 'kay?::

Jazz laughed. ::'Kay. But you'll probably have already passed it when I do.::

Hot Shot snickered. ::True, true. But U-turns are a thing.::

::They ain't exactly fast, though,:: Jazz pointed out.

::You got me there. Oh! Wait, that's it up ahead, I think.::

Jazz pulled a bit to the side to look around Hot Shot. The sports car was heading for a large hole in the ground, likely made from a stray mine or missile, if the surrounding rubble was any indication. ::Looks like.::

::It looks like a giant fragging hole that's what it looks like,:: Hot Shot retorted, sounding somewhat unnerved. ::How am I supposed to get down there?::

If Jazz had been in his robot mode, he would have cast the younger mech a cheeky smirk. Hot Shot could probably hear it in his voice regardless. ::You drive into it, duh.::

Hot Shot squawked. ::Are you insane!? We're not aerials! We'll go smash at the bottom!::

::Aww, Hot Shot, are you scared?:: Jazz teased, unable to resist the opportunity. ::Seriously though, it's not as long a drop as you'd think. I think I remember this hole. We'll be fine.::

::. . . 'M not scared,:: Hot Shot huffed, though the shake in his voice said otherwise. Still, he didn't change course. ::I'm just . . . intelligently wary. Yeah, intelli—::

::Comet Two here, what's your status?:: Silverbolt asked, his voice cutting off Hot Shot's weak defense.

::We're almost at the entrance Comet One mentioned,:: Hot Shot responded quickly.

::Speaking of Comet One, he usually does these check-ins,:: Jazz noted, wincing when he ran over an especially rough area. ::He—ow—he alright?::

::Yes, he's just very preoccupied with Starscream.::

Silverbolt's reply eased the worry in the back of Jazz's processor. ::Good to know.::

::Are you okay Jazz? What's with the 'ow?'::

::Ah, just hit a rough patch of ground is all.::

::Isn't that all of them, Jazz? My chassis is gonna hurt for solar cycles, ugh,:: Hot Shot grumbled.

::That's what you get for being so aerodynamic, Speedy,:: Jazz laughed.

::Okay then. See you at the rendezvous,:: Silverbolt said, before signing off. ::Comet Two out.::

::Would it kill you to show some sympathy, Jazz?::

::Nah, it's just funnier to tease you,:: Jazz chuckled. Hot Shot was almost at the edge of the hole now. ::Now, remember to transform once you're over the edge, and roll when you hit the ground.::

::I know. Did that all the time in the races back home.::

::Okay then. See you at the bottom.::

Just moments after, Hot Shot disappeared into the opening on Cybertron's surface. To his credit, he hid his fear well. Now, to follow him down and back him up for the rest of the trip. He still couldn't believe his cover had been blown so quickly, but on the plus side, Jazz got to return to Iacon much sooner than expected.

Optimus Prime wasn't certain how long he had been talking to Ultra Magnus at this point, only that they had changed subjects about forty five times, which he only knew from hearing Prowl mutter it under his vents before leaving the room a megacycle or so ago. He didn't let Prowl's incredulity put a damper on his good mood, however, he knew that Prowl was hardly a conversationalist, and up until recently Prowl's own siblings had all been in Iacon as well. He'd understand Optimus's non-stop chatter better after they'd been separated for a while, even if he didn't get it completely.

Still, he had reports to read—ugh—if he wanted to avoid his third-in-command's ire, and Ultra Magnus likely had important things to attend to as well, so it was in his best interests to wrap things up. Avoiding Prowl's lectures was serious business. "Well, Magnus, as much as I hate to say it, I need to get going," he said reluctantly, pushing off from where he was leaning on his desk.

"I must agree, Optimus," Ultra Magnus sighed. He was sitting in a chair in front of the screen, which Optimus would have done himself if he wasn't so restless. "It was nice to talk to you again, it's been too long."

"I feel the same. Until next time."

"Magnus out."

With that, both mechs signed off. Optimus was in significantly higher spirits than he had been, but once he was left in silence, his thoughts immediately tried to betray him by bringing up why he needed a distraction in the first place. "That didn't last long," he muttered, sitting down at his desk. He eyed the intimidating stack of data pads that loomed on one side with resignation, finally reaching slowly to grab the one on top, then switch it on. It was a status report from the ruins of Vos. Things sounded fairly stable there for the time being. The second report—from Nova Cronum—was much the same, as were the ones from Kutanzuule, Jan-Ja, Perihex, Polyhex, Protihex, Toraxxis, Praxium, and Nyon. By the time he reached the fifteenth data pad, he was convinced he could tell several bots that he was fine, and use different terminology each time. He hoped Prowl would let up on his lecture after this, because otherwise he might just die of boredom.

Before he could move on to any more reports, he was—blessedly—interrupted by Prowl himself, though the praxian's grim expression made it hard to feel happy about it for too long. "Sir," the tactician said shortly, a data pad clutched in his servo.

Optimus got to his pedes and regarded the shorter mech with trepidation. "Yes, Prowl? What's wrong?"

"Reports from the squadrons in Glibax and Carburisia," Prowl replied, not wasting any time. "It seems the Decepticons have been increasing their numbers in the northern edge of Hyperious."

"Shoring up their defenses, perhaps?" Optimus suggested, turning his attention to the monitor when Prowl brought up a map of Cybertron.

"Perhaps, or they could be planning a push into our territory," Prowl muttered, studying the display closely.

Optimus investigated the area around Hyperious himself. Harmonex, Carburisia, Glibax, Marcon, the Torque Flats, the Plurex Flats, Velocitron, Forza . . . wait . . . "Did they mention how long this has been going on? Hyperious is very close to Forza."

Prowl glanced down at his data pad to check his information. "Yes."

"How long?"

"Too long to be a counteroffensive against Jazz and Jetfire's team."

"I see." His optics returned to the screen. "Another possibility is that they've finally decided to move on Marcon."

"That could very well be." The data pad was set down on the control panel. "They have already sent word to the troops at Velocitron, as well as Ultra Magnus, so I am sure they already know of the situation."

Optimus frowned. "Magnus didn't mention anything, and a possible attack certainly sounds like something he'd tell me."

Prowl paused, his doorwings tilting in a confused fashion. "That is . . . odd. Landmine specifically mentioned that he contacted Marcon directly."

". . . If he did, he probably would have reached Perceptor," Optimus mused, recalling how the scientist had been the one operating Marcon's communications. "I suppose it's possible that the call was made while Magnus and I were talking."

"It is, with how long you were speaking with your brother there is a 54.6 percent chance that Landmine made the call during that time frame," Prowl stated.

The subtle jab at Optimus's long talk was not missed, but the Prime decided to let it slide as they had far more pressing matters to attend to. "And the remaining 45.4?"

Prowl's expression darkened. "Landmine never made the call, or the call was received by either a double agent . . ."

". . . Or a traitor," Optimus finished, his servo forming a fist.

The praxian merely nodded, then turned to face Optimus. "Regardless of which scenario is true, it would be prudent to make contact and clarify who knows what, as well as decide on our next course of action."

"Indeed," He agreed. "Teletraan-1, contact Marcon."

Time seemed to crawl in the lower levels of Cybertron, though to be fair, Hot Shot and Jazz had been there for a long time. Thankfully, Jazz knew the area, and had said they were approaching the ruins of Crystal City. From there, they could hitch a ride on a transport shuttle the rest of the way to Iacon.

Hot Shot grimaced when an exposed pipe scraped across his undercarriage, adding to the already obscene amount of dents and scratches riddling his chassis. He was certain that he had a few open gashes and cuts, but it couldn't be helped. Had speed not been such a necessity on this mission, he knew that they never would have chosen him as the runner at all. Maybe someone like Outback or X-Brawn instead. "How much longer until we reach Crystal City?" he grumbled, wincing as he spoke. As they made more progress, Hot Shot had slowed enough for Jazz to catch up, thus negating the need for comms.

"Just a couple more cycles, then we can transform and climb the rubble to get out of here," Jazz replied. "From there it's just a short drive to the rendezvous point."

"Okay," he responded before hissing when something else assaulted his axle. "Good thing too, I don't know how much more punishment my frame can take."

"Heh, Ratchet's gonna throw a fit when he gets his servos on you."

"This isn't my fault!" Hot Shot protested.

Jazz snickered. "I know, I know, but you know how he gets."

"Yeah, well, if he wants to beat someone for this damage, he should go see Prowl or Jetfire. Or you, for that matter."

"Guilty as charged."

"But you're not gonna tell him that, are you?"

"Nope."

"Slagger."

"Guilty on that front too."

Hot Shot huffed before noticing Jazz applying his brakes and drifting towards a large mound of rubble, a large opening to the surface at the top. "This the place?"

"Yup."

Upon reaching the pile, the pair transformed back into robot mode and began to climb. Hot Shot cursed under his vents when he slipped on a loose girder, his servo tightening around a thin pipe.

"Just wait right there and I'll throw you a line when I reach the top," Jazz called.

Hot Shot glanced up, spotting a cable in Jazz's servos. "Right. I forgot about that grappling hook of yours."

Jazz simply laughed and shot him a grin before continuing his climb, small clumps of scrap rolling down the mound in his wake. It wasn't long before the polyhexian finally pulled himself up over the edge, disappearing for a few moments to retract his cable and find something to keep himself from being pulled down by Hot Shot's weight. The cable was then flung over the side, landing just to the left of the velocitronian.

Grabbing the line, Hot Shot began to follow behind his comrade, his progress much slower than the more experienced climber.

"You really oughta go hiking more, Hot Shot!" Jazz shouted playfully, chuckling with amusement.

"C'mon, Jazz, you know I'm not built for the wilderness!" the racer shot back in good humor. As if to prove his point, the rubble he was standing on came loose, prompting him to clutch the cable in an iron grip or else fall back to the ground. "Eep! See?"

"You gotta test your pedeholds first before you put your weight on them. Try stomping on them gently," Jazz advised.

"Stomping gently?" Hot Shot inquired with a smirk.

"Eh, y'know what I mean."

"Do I, Jazz?" he teased before doing as the saboteur instructed. "Are you sure that's the problem? I mean, you can't see me from . . . wherever it is you are up there." He patted a small outcropping with his pede, using just enough force to see if it was sturdy, then carefully eased himself over to step on it.

"I'm sure enough," Jazz responded. Hot Shot swore he heard a shrug in his tone. "It's a common oversight, I sometimes forget to do it myself when I'm in a hurry."

The two mechs were mostly quiet after that, aside from some further ribbing from Jazz, and after an embarrassingly long amount of time—which wasn't really as long as it felt—Hot Shot finally reached over the edge of the crevice, finding his servo snatched up by his friend. "Finally," he huffed, swinging a leg up over the side.

Jazz had his grappling hook arm wrapped around a chunk of steel that was embedded in the ground—likely from what used to be a wall—which luckily wasn't too far away from the hole to the lower levels. "I was starting to think you got lost!" he joked, giving Hot Shot's servo a solid yank to pull him up the rest of the way.

"Oh, ha, ha," Hot Shot said flatly, getting to his pedes. He brushed off some of the dust and grime that had accumulated on his frame while Jazz retracted his cable and transformed the launcher back into his servo. "Which way to the rendezvous point?"

Jazz folded back down into vehicle mode and pointed his front bumper behind Hot Shot. "That way. Shouldn't take too much longer."

Hot Shot wasted no time in following Jazz's lead, transforming into his sleek alt-mode and driving off in the direction indicated. "Then let's hurry, Optimus is waiting."

::Comet One, checking in. What's your status?::

Hot Shot started a bit when Jetfire's voice came over the comm, bumping Jazz with a huff when the black and white mech had the audacity to snicker. ::Comet Seven here, Glitch Mouse and I are almost to the rendezvous point. Also, Glitch Mouse is being a glitch. Over.::

"Hey!" Jazz retorted, bumping Hot Shot back.

Jetfire laughed. ::That's no surprise.::

::Slag you guys!::

::You all okay back there?:: Hot Shot asked. ::Silverbolt said you were taking on Starscream.::

::Overall, yeah. Lost a few good bots, but we made sure the 'Cons lost more. We've pulled out and are on our way to meet you there. ETA three cycles.::

::Gotcha,:: Jazz replied. ::See you there. And take care, don't need to lose anyone else this solar cycle.::

::Will do. Comet One out.::

Velocitron was the racing capital of Cybertron before the war, where anyone who wanted to see extraordinary speed planned to visit. It was also the only city besides Iacon and Kaon that remained mostly intact through stellar cycles of war. It was nothing compared to its former glory, but it was still recognizable, hospitable, and inhabited by many of the remaining neutral transformers who were too stubborn to flee their home world.

The majority of the neutral population still wanted to stay out of the bloody war that surrounded them, but there was a small number that considered picking a side. No one who considered joining the Decepticons would dare say so aloud due to the Autobot camp at the city, but those who thought of throwing their lot in with the Autobots didn't have things much better. Their peers would try to talk some sense into them, or look on them with disdain for giving up their principles. It was enough to make the resolves of many crumble under the pressure. Some, however, like one particular speed demon named Silverstreak, continued in their attempts to make their cohorts see reason.

Silverstreak raced down the straightaway as fast as his wheels could carry him, delighting in the way the air rushed over his plating. He, like most velocitronians, was at his happiest when zooming down the racetrack at top speed without a care in the world. 'But I do have a care, don't I?' he thought to himself as he slowed near the end. He transformed into robot mode and stared at the wastelands to the south, his expression one of trepidation. While the Autobots made a valiant effort to keep things on the down low, he had overheard a conversation between two off-duty soldiers about news of an increased Decepticon presence in Hyperious, and he couldn't help but speculate on why they were there at all. He supposed it might have something to do with the Autobot stronghold to the west in Marcon, but he had a nagging feeling that wasn't the case.

The sound of another high-performance engine caught his attention and dragged him out of his hopeless musings, along with the glint of light reflecting off of polished silver plating. "Hey, Comet," he greeted, casting the other mech a strained smile.

"Hey, little brother," Comet replied, coming to a stop beside him. The sound of shifting gears permeated the air as he transformed, taking a moment to stretch his limbs. "What are you doing brooding all the way out here?"

Silverstreak sputtered. "Wha—I am not brooding!"

"You are so. You have that look on your face, the one that says you're thinking too much," Comet retorted, flicking him in the shoulder with his digits.

Silverstreak batted the servo away and glared halfsparkedly. "Yeah, well, there's a lot to think about."

The older mech raised an optic ridge. "Like what?"

Silverstreak's optics returned to the southern horizon, his denta biting down on his lower lip as he considered. ". . . Like the war," he hazarded, eyeing his brother's expression.

An expression which soured immediately. "Oh. That." Silverstreak knew he'd react poorly. "Hopefully one side will finally wipe out the other so we can go back to living our lives without the threat of bombs getting dropped on our heads," he grumbled, crossing his arms and glaring in the direction of the Autobot camp.

Silverstreak arched an optic ridge of his own. "You mean: hopefully the Autobots will wipe out the Decepticons, right?"

Comet rolled his optics. "Autobots, Decepticons, what's the difference? This war is the fault of them both."

Silverstreak opened his mouth to argue, but thought better of it at the last moment, ducking his head to stare at the ground. He never knew what to say to his brother when he got like this. Instead . . . ". . . You do realize that by saying that, you're sort of saying that Lockcharger should go offline," he muttered quietly.

"I . . . you know that's not what I mean," Comet argued weakly, his arms falling to his sides.

Silverstreak looked up. "And what about me? You know what else I've been thinking about, I know I told you. Would you still be happy with a Decepticon victory if they had to wipe me out with the rest of the Autobots?"

"Silverstreak . . ."

"What's the difference, right? Even if I'm just trying to do what I can to help end this bloodbath, I'm just adding to the problem."

"You don't get it!" Comet snapped, whirling about to face him. "It's not continuing the fight that's the problem; it's the fact that this could have been avoided in the beginning! If the Autobots had just let Megatron do what he wanted—as violent as it was—we wouldn't be in this mess! It would have been over by now! Quit being such a naive little—" His fists clenched when he cut himself off with an angry growl, turning his back on the younger velocitronian. ". . . You didn't grow up with it. You didn't watch Cybertron getting torn apart by two armies too blind to see what they were doing; it was already in ruins when your long-term memory came online," he said softly, sounding a bit tired. "You're just . . . too young."

Silverstreak stared at his brother. It was true, he was still young and—some could argue—a bit dumb when it came to certain things, having been sparked during the early stellar cycles of the war, before it spread so far. Still, his age didn't change facts. He knew what Lockcharger had told him, and he knew what the Autobots stood for. ". . . So . . . why not pick a side now and help to end the fight? It's a stalemate out there last I heard, and whether you want to see it or not they're not the same. You remember Praxus, don't you? I don't want the side responsible for that act of genocide to win," he tried to reason, stepping a bit closer to his brother.

Comet shook his head. "You don't get it . . ." he muttered, repeating his earlier words, though he sounded more exhausted than angry this time. ". . . I'm going back home. I'll see you later, Silverstreak."

Silverstreak could only watch the other velocitronian transform and speed away, wishing he could get Comet to understand. Perhaps though, Comet was wishing the same of him.

The mood in the conference room was terribly grim, each face bearing a frown as dark as the sunless sky. Marcon had not, evidently, received Landmine's transmission about the Decepticon movements in Hyperious, which was most distressing, especially when an investigation into the matter revealed that Landmine had made the call. Commanders from Glibax, Harmonex, and Carburisia, as well as the Squadron leader in Velocitron and Ultra Magnus, had all joined Optimus Prime and Prowl to determine Megatron's plan, and discuss a plan to flush out the leak.

Their discussion was interrupted, however, when the door bleeped in response to a code, sliding open to reveal Optimus's other TIC: Jazz, whose shuttle had just arrived from Crystal City. "Jazz, you've returned!" Optimus greeted before noticing another figure coming in behind the saboteur. "And Jetfire, welcome back!" What he really wanted to do was run over and give the both of them an enthusiastic (smothering) hug, but Prowl seemed to sense this and gave him a look that clearly displayed his feelings regarding the idea. 'You can maul them later,' he seemed to say.

Jazz grinned back at the bots both in the room, and on the view screen. "Hey Prime, Prowler, everyone else that I don't have time to name right now."

"That is not my designation," Prowl grumbled, glaring at Jazz.

"Eh, don't get your circuits in a twist." The other black and white mech had weld marks on his frame in various places—as did the air commander, in fact Jetfire looked worse—all from the repairs done by the medics in Crystal City, but he still seemed to be in overall good spirits. Optimus knew Jazz well enough though, to see the underlying sadness in his friend's spark. He felt it too. Jazz only got this way when Autobot lives were lost. "Anyway, we've got something for you, Prime," Jazz continued, strolling over to Optimus's side.

"Really?" Optimus asked with amusement, holding out a servo. "I wonder what it is."

A small data chip was deposited in the waiting servo as Jetfire approached. "Probably what you've been waiting for the last few solar cycles," the seeker said, crossing his arms.

"Perhaps whatever information is on the chip will clue us in to what Megatron is planning," Ultra Magnus mused, bringing a servo up to his chin.

"We can hope," Optimus responded. Taking the chip over to Teletraan-1, he searched out a port to insert the chip into and stared at the display. Encrypted, as he expected, but not for long.

"Well, now that you've got the chip, I'm gonna go and get some rest. Ratchet's orders," Jazz announced, giving a playful salute to the other bots.

"I'd better go too," Jetfire muttered. "Just wanted to say hello before I did. You sure you can decrypt that thing, Optimus?"

Jazz pat the larger mech on the arm. "Don't worry about it, Jetfire, you don't work at the Hall of Records your whole life without learning a thing or two." He sent Optimus a smile then tugged Jetfire out of the room. "Now c'mon, before Ratchet yells at us. He's already angry about the damage done to Hot Shot's undercarriage."

"Yeah, yeah. Later bots!" the seeker called before the door hissed shut behind them.

Optimus focused on the task at servo, first running the files contained in the chip through a decryption program, then picking away at the pieces that remained. At his urging, Prowl and the other bots continued their discussion, the rumbling of many different voices providing a backdrop of continuous sound as the Prime worked. It never ceased to please him that his past experience as a data clerk enabled him to help with decryption and encryption, easing the load on his Autobots' shoulders.

He wasn't certain how long he had been working when the last layer of encryption fell away, but he wasn't worried about any decisions that may have been made when he was only half paying attention. He trusted his commanders; he wouldn't have given them the positions if he didn't. "I've got it," he stated as he opened the file without another thought, displaying it on the view screen beside the map.

What he saw made his spark sink.

"Primus . . ." Ultra Magnus vented, his optics widening in horror.

Project Trypticon, it was called. Optimus knew—thanks to Jetfire, who used to work there—what sort of research the scientists of Trypticon Station were conducting, as well as the fact that Megatron had taken the station over in the early cycles of the war. What he had never managed to figure out, was what Megatron wanted with it.

". . . That's . . . dark energon," one of the commanders from Glibax—Gearback—said darkly.

". . . Yes, it is," Optimus agreed. "And he plans on infecting the very core of the planet with it."

Another commander—named Widecrusher—cried out in outrage. "Is he insane!? He'll kill us all!"

"Indeed. Dark energon is too unstable, who knows what it could do?" Ultra Magnus added.

"What if it causes the energon veins to become infected as well?" Flashhammer—the squad leader at Velocitron—wondered aloud, concern evident in his tone.

Prowl narrowed his optics at the screen. ". . . There is a path to the core in Hyperious. Perhaps he is only now executing his plan," he suggested. "Of course, this is merely conjecture."

"Perhaps," Optimus murmured. "We need to remain calm. If Prowl's theory is correct, then we still have time. There's a path to the core at the border of Little Iacon as well. If we hurry, we might be able to stop this."

"Optimus is right. We have to stay calm," Gearback said, taking a deep vent.

"Prowl, go inform Ironhide of the situation and form a small unit to go with me to Little Iacon."

"You shall be going as well, Optimus?" Prowl inquired, looking at his leader.

"Yes, I shall," Optimus affirmed with a nod. "If they are, in fact, executing this plan, Megatron would not simply leave it to a mere soldier."

"He would go himself," Flashhammer continued, seeing where Optimus was going.

"And if there's a chance that Megatron will be there, then I will be there as well." The Prime crossed his arms and looked at the map, staring directly at Kaon, the Decepticon capital. ". . . Maybe he'll listen to reason this time," he added quietly.

Widecrusher scoffed. "Megatron? See reason?"

"Prime, you can't seriously think he'd listen to anything you say," Gearback agreed.

Optimus sighed. "Megatron is stubborn and violent, and his morals may be very skewed, but he's not insane. If he's going to inject dark energon into the core, then he has a specific goal in mind, and it's not to kill us all. However, I will concede that—given the grudge he still harbors against me—he is not likely to listen. Though it will not stop me from hoping."

"I shall . . . endeavor to hope as well, sir. For all of our sakes," Prowl stated, picking up his previously-forgotten data pad and turning to leave the room, a servo moving up to activate his comm. Likely to contact Ironhide.

As the door hissed open and shut behind the praxian, Optimus directed his attention at his brother. "Magnus, what did you all decide to do about Hyperious?"

"Ah, yes, the plan was to send in a few bots from Carburisia to gather intelligence."

"I see. Continue with the plan. If this 'Project Trypticon' doesn't have anything to do with the recent goings-on over there, I want to know what does."

"Understood."

Sideswipe was confused. No, wait, confused was too mild a term. Perplexed? Bewildered? Ah, yes, bewildered. Sideswipe was bewildered. He had not stopped wondering what he had done to upset Red Alert since it had happened, and it was driving him nuts. He had literally just introduced himself. Bluestreak had said he was friends with Prowl though, maybe the tactician had warned him about him? 'Nah, that wouldn't make him hate me. I mean, Prowl doesn't hate me . . . at least . . . I don't think he does.' He sighed and leaned against the wall, his arms crossed in a fashion that disguised his inner frustration. He knew that not every bot was going to like him—sadly—but he'd prefer if they'd give him a chance to do more than say hello first.

"Cheer up, Sides, maybe he just remembered something that upset him. Prowl says he tends to get huffy about things a lot," Bluestreak reassured, patting Sideswipe on the shoulder.

::Hey, Sideswipe.::

He jumped when the rough, gravelly voice came through his comms, smiling a bit unconvincingly when some passing Autobots gave him a few amused looks. ::Eh? I mean . . . yes, Ironhide, sir?:: Bluestreak snickered quietly beside him, prompting him to give the praxian a playful swat on the arm.

::I need ya down in conference room seven. Got a mission,:: Ironhide continued, paying Sideswipe's word stumbling little mind, as usual.

::Yes, sir, be right there,:: Sideswipe replied before signing off. "Hey, Blue, you mind telling me how to get to conference room seven?"

"Sure! I mean, no. Yes? I don't mind." The shorter mech snatched up Sideswipe's arm and began pulling him down the hall. "C'mon, I'll just show you."

Sideswipe quickly shoved off the wall and moved to follow before Bluestreak wound up having to drag him along. As funny as the sight would be, given Sideswipe's superior strength, it wouldn't do to keep Ironhide waiting.

Bluestreak led the way down several hallways which all seemed to say: 'Sideswipe, you're going to get lost the moment you're left alone.' Regardless of his inevitable fate, he had a guide at present, so disaster was averted. For the time being.

"So, who wants you over there?" Bluestreak asked over his shoulder.

"Ironhide. Said he had a mission," he replied quickly, trying to keep track of the turns they were making. "He might have called Sunny too."

"A mission? Did he say what kind of mission?"

"No, but if he wants a frontliner like me then I can take a guess," Sideswipe answered with a shrug.

They eventually reached the conference room sooner than he expected, but he was still feeling a bit turned around. He doubted he'd be able to find his way back. After waving goodbye to Bluestreak, he keyed the door open and stepped inside. A few of the chairs were occupied, but they were mostly empty.

"There you are, Sideswipe," a familiar, monotonous voice drawled, drawing Sideswipe's optics to a very recognizable black and white mech sitting in one of the chairs.

"Hey, Prowl, sir. Long time no see!" he greeted cheerfully.

The TIC merely stared back at him with an unreadable expression. As usual. "Please, take a seat," he said, gesturing at the other chairs.

Spotting Sunstreaker sitting a couple chairs away from Ironhide, he immediately plopped down in the chair beside his brother's. Also seated was a red aerial that Sideswipe didn't recognize.

"So, we gonna start now?" the aerial asked somewhat impatiently.

"Cool yer jets, Powerglide, we're still waitin' on Warpath and a couple others," Ironhide grumbled. Clearly that wasn't the first time this 'Powerglide' had asked that question.

Warpath wasn't a designation Sideswipe recognized either, but that was to be expected, given that he was new to the base and had never been to Iacon before.

"Warpath's so slow . . ." Powerglide muttered, resting his head in his servo.

"I am sure we shall hear him coming," Prowl stated absent-mindedly, his attention mostly focused on a small, holographic display.

Sideswipe was curious. "Hear him? Why?" Before anyone could answer him, however, he was distracted by a loud, unholy thundering coming from the hallway. ". . . What's that noise?"

"Warpath," the three mechs he wasn't related to replied blandly, looking either bored, or impassive.

A couple nanokliks later, the door hissed open to admit a very large, intimidating, red tank. "BLAM! Warpath has arrived on the scene!" he announced in an excessively loud voice.

Sunstreaker arched an optic ridge at the new arrival around the same time that Prowl raised his head. "Warpath, we have been over this. No traversing the halls in vehicular mode," the praxian admonished, looking on the tank with a disapproving stare.

"I just wanted to make an entrance," Warpath said in a flippant manner, transforming back into robot mode. He was a lot taller and bulkier than the other ground frames in the room, but it wasn't enough to make Powerglide any less gigantic. "Hey! New guys!" he exclaimed, stepping behind the brothers and placing a servo on each of their shoulders. "Name's Warpath, but you probably got that from Prowl."

Sunstreaker glared at the servo popping his personal bubble. "Don't touch me," he grumbled softly, crossing his arms.

Warpath, thankfully, seemed to have some sense and pulled away from the golden yellow mech, a mildly satisfied expression appearing on Sunstreaker's face. "Ah, like your personal space, huh? No biggie." He moved his attention to Sideswipe. "What about you, little mech?"

"That's not something I'm used to being called," Sideswipe laughed, looking up at the larger transformer. "No personal bubbles here. Name's Sideswipe, and the grump over there is my brother, Sunstreaker."

The 'grump' gave him an aggravated look as Warpath grinned. At least, Sideswipe thought he was grinning. It was hard to tell with the mouthplate, but there was a twinkle in his optics that usually came with a grin. "Brothers, huh? Well, nice to meet you!"

Sideswipe smiled back. "Nice to meet you too." He liked this guy. Finally, someone new who didn't hate him within thirty nanokliks.

The sound of clearing vents caught his attention, as well as Warpath's, drawing their gazes back to the TIC. "If your introductions are complete, would you kindly sit down, Warpath?" he requested calmly, gesturing at the chairs.

"Yeah, sure, fine," Warpath said with a roll of his optics. He pull out the chair beside Sideswipe and spun it around on one leg, sitting down on it backwards with the back facing the table.

Sideswipe leaned forward on the table. "So, who else are we waiting for?"

Ironhide looked over. "A shuttle named Skyfire, and—"

The sound of the door interrupted the weapons specialist, revea—holy Primus. Sideswipe's optics widened. Optimus Prime. That was Optimus Prime. Standing. In the doorway. Oh, wait, he was walking inside.

"—and him," Ironhide finished, waving a servo at the Prime.

Wait, he was going on this mission too? Sideswipe felt like he was going to explode with excitement. He was going on a mission with Optimus Prime. He couldn't believe this was happening. He was so excited he was ecstatic he was—

*KLUNK!*

—he was in pain. Only one bot knew where to kick him to get his attention without damaging his leg, or moving. He grimaced on the inside with a smile plastered on his face, desperately trying to suffer in silence as he slowly turned his head to look at Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker stared right back for a nanoklik, then leaned in. "You were staring," he whispered before leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms again.

Sideswipe could feel his face growing hot. Primus, Sunstreaker was right. He hoped Optimus Prime hadn't noticed the staring, and for that matter, he hoped he wouldn't notice the blue tint that was undoubtedly forming on his face. Out of the corner of his optic, he could see Ironhide trying not to laugh and Prowl practically staring into his soul. They knew about his hopeless admiration of Optimus Prime, and had probably guessed what had happened under the table. Everyone else, however . . .

". . . What was that noise?" Optimus wondered aloud, giving the table a weird look.

"Sounds like someone just got kicked in the shin," Warpath snickered, resting his head on a servo.

Ironhide was shaking with suppressed laughter now.

"Wasn't me," Powerglide stated with a shrug.

"That is not important right now," Prowl interjected, coming to Sideswipe's rescue.

"Yes, more important things to worry about," Optimus said, shaking his head. "First of all, Skyfire, quit lurking outside the door and get in here."

Sideswipe glanced behind Optimus and saw a very large figure standing behind him, still outside in the hall. He couldn't see the mech's face though, he was too tall.

"Um . . . I would, Optimus, but . . . you're blocking the doorway," a calm voice replied.

"The mech's right, Prime," Ironhide said, his earlier mirth from Sideswipe's suffering evident in his tone.

Optimus was quiet for a moment, slowly turning his head to look at the door before sliding out of the way. ". . . Now stop lurking in the doorway."

Skyfire ducked into the room and shut the door behind him, inching over to the wall to sit there. Suddenly, Powerglide was no longer the tallest bot in the room. Even the largest chairs were too small for the white shuttle. "I'll just . . . sit here."

"That is perfectly acceptable, Skyfire," Prowl muttered, a bit distracted by his data pad.

"Secondly," Optimus continued, turning his attention to Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, "I don't know your names. I am Optimus Prime."

He was looking at him. He was talking to him.

"Sunstreaker," his brother answered.

Sideswipe was currently relapsing back to his awestruck staring and speechlessness. He opened his mouth to answer, but didn't realize nothing was coming out until Sunstreaker gave him a solid thwack on the arm. "Fidewhite!" What. That wasn't his name.

Sunstreaker sighed, resting his face in his servo.

"Wait, no, that's not—I-I mean . . . Sidesmite!" That wasn't right either. 'Noooo, whyyyy!?' "That is . . . I . . . My . . . name is Sideswipe . . ." He didn't really care about the pain when his face decided to become well acquainted with the tabletop. He could hear Ironhide's short guffaw as well as some other laughter, but he wasn't sure who the guilty parties were. A low, rumbling chuckle reached his audios soon after, originating from behind him, as a servo patted his shoulder.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Sideswipe, and you as well, Sunstreaker," the voice said.

Oh. So it was Optimus Prime. He should have guessed from how deep it was. Ironhide was still laughing—though there was a clanging noise that sounded suspiciously like when Sunstreaker had kicked him coming from that direction—but he still managed to peel his burning face off of the table's surface and give the Prime an incredibly embarrassed smile. "Heh . . . you too, sir."

"Please, call me Optimus. Or Prime, I guess, that works too. 'Sir' just sounds so formal. Prowl gets away with it because I can't get him to stop," Optimus said with a glint of amusement in his optics. "Now," he continued, his tone turning more serious, "to get to the problem at servo." He stepped around the table to take a seat beside Prowl, scooting in to rest his elbows on the tabletop. "You've all been called here because I asked Prowl and Ironhide to form me a strike team, and they decided that you were the mechs best suited for this mission. As a couple of you may know, a small unit was sent to infiltrate the Decepticon base at Forza to gather intelligence on an operation they've been planning for . . . I'm not sure how long. What we got was this data chip,"—he held up a tiny chip—"containing information on a 'Project Trypticon.' Prowl, if you would?"

Prowl accepted the chip when it was offered to him and plugged it into his data pad, pressing a few buttons and firing up the holographic display to allow the gathered Autobots to view the chip's stored information.

Sideswipe's optics widened in shock. Dark energon? He thought that was a myth.

It seemed the other mechs thought the same. "Dark energon?" Powerglide vented fearfully.

Prowl nodded. "Yes. Dark energon."

Optimus clasped his servos together. "The Decepticons' plan is to infect the core with it."

Sideswipe suddenly felt sick. If the stories about dark energon were true then that would be disastrous. Not only for the Autobots, but for the Decepticons themselves. What was it that Megatron hoped to accomplish? Planetary genocide?

"What kind of plan is that? An 'If I can't win this war, no one can!' kind of plan?" Warpath exclaimed, voicing Sideswipe's own thoughts.

"I can't claim to know what Megatron is trying to accomplish, but what we do know is that Decepticons are assembling en masse in Hyperious, and there is a path to the core in that area. Therefore, it is reasonable to assume he's about to execute this plan," Optimus's expression turned grim. "And if he is, we cannot allow this to happen."

The holographic display switched to a map of the planet. "Our plan is to take a different route to the core, starting from the border of Iacon, and Little Iacon," Prowl continued, ordering the display to zoom in on the indicated location. "For the purpose of keeping attention away from the area, this strike team is small. Megatron's own team—should he be doing as we suspect—is likely to be small as well."

"It is possible that we won't run into any Decepticons at all, but regardless, we need to know the status of the core, and if we should focus on other explanations for the sudden activity in Hyperious," Optimus finished. "Skyfire will fly us in, and keep us updated on the surface situation."

"Um . . . will I be alone out there?" Skyfire inquired from his corner, looking rather concerned about the idea.

"No," Prowl replied before gesturing at Sunstreaker. "Sunstreaker will stay with you as back-up should it be required. However, as Little Iacon is well within our territory, I would not worry too much about the possibility. The odds of such a thing—while not nonexistent—are very slim."

Skyfire seemed to relax after that. Sideswipe hoped he didn't expect any conversation from his brother, because if he did, he would be severely disappointed.

"The rest of you will go with me to the core," Optimus said, taking over for Prowl.

"Is Prowl not coming with?" Powerglide asked.

"No, I'm leaving him in charge back here should new information arrive from Carburisia about Hyperious," the Prime answered. "Now, any questions?"

"Yeah, actually," Warpath piped up again, pointing at Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. "What are their positions?"

"They're frontliners," Ironhide responded. "Good ones too."

"Aw, yeah! Company up in the 'Cons' grills! KABLAM!" Warpath cheered.

Sideswipe couldn't help a little snicker. One couldn't accuse Warpath of not being enthusiastic, it seemed.

"Anyone else?" Optimus asked. When no one spoke up, he pushed away from the table and got to his pedes. "Alright then. Make any preparations you need and meet me at the hangar in within the megacycle."

Optimus quietly returned his blaster to subspace upon completion of a third, entirely unnecessary (but not ridiculous) inspection; then moved his attention to his troops. It was mostly quiet within Skyfire's cargo hold as the shuttle left Iacon for its small neighbor, the majority of its inhabitants still in a dour mood from the mission briefing over a megacycle ago. Those that weren't, instead feeling optimistic about the situation and their ability to neutralize it, simply let them be.

Ironhide was beside the Prime, sharpening his blades (he wasn't that close to Optimus, after all) and paying little mind to what everyone else was doing. To the untrained observer, it likely appeared as though Ironhide was relaxed. However, stellar cycles of friendship with the commander made Optimus no mere untrained observer. Ironhide was just as worried about all the ways things could go sour as he was.

Powerglide was flying alongside Skyfire rather than riding along with the others, due in large part to his status as an aerialbot and thus his own flight capabilities. It was just as well, he wouldn't have fit anyway. Probably would have flattened them all even if he did.

Warpath was inspecting his (massive) personal stores of weaponry, ensuring everything was in tip-top condition. He said he did this before leaving, but he needed something to occupy himself with.

One of the new bots, Sunstreaker, was following Ironhide's lead in sharpening his own blades, but he likely got a head start on ignoring everybody else in the hold. He hadn't said a word to anyone since they'd left, aside from giving the shortest possible answer to any questions directed his way. Optimus was getting the impression that he was the quiet sort, like Prowl.

Then there was the other new mech, Sideswipe, who had transformed his arm into a neutron assault rifle to perform his own inspection. Optimus chuckled a bit, looking off into space when the sound caused the other bots stare at him. Sideswipe was far from the first bot to view him as some sort of hero figure and trip over his words around him, and he doubted he'd be the last. It came with the position, he supposed.

He finally slid his gaze back to the frontliner once everyone had stopped staring at him, spotting Sideswipe whispering something to Sunstreaker which earned him a smack on the arm and an irritated reply, then return his attention to his gun arm with a pout, muttering something back. Whatever it was, Sunstreaker ignored it. He learned from Ironhide—who'd been at the same base as the pair a while back—after the briefing that the two were brothers, which made him feel an odd sort of relation to the exchange. He recalled numerous conversations between himself and Ultra Magnus when they were younger that played out similarly.

"Attention everyone, we're about four cycles out from our destination, so we should be landing shortly," Skyfire said, snapping everyone out of their mindless tasks.

"Thanks for the update, Skyfire," Optimus replied, patting the wall. "Is everyone ready?"

"As ready as we'll ever be, Prime," Ironhide said, transforming his blades back into his arms. "Ya think I've got enough time to look over my guns . . ? Eh, might as well." One of the aforementioned guns—Optimus was sure Ironhide had named them all, but he couldn't remember which ones had which names—was extracted from the commander's subspace, and subjected to an Ironhide-level inspection. At least Optimus knew none of his friend's guns would be malfunctioning.

Within the given time frame, Skyfire announced their arrival at the path to the core. The landing was smooth, and while the cargo hold was hardly cramped, everyone was eager to get outside and stretch their legs. Once everybody had disembarked, Skyfire transformed back into robot mode and stretched, giving the arched entrance to the tunnels a wary look. "I have to admit, Optimus, I'm glad that I'm not going down there."

Powerglide laughed as he reverted back to his own robot mode. "What's the matter, Skyfire? You claustrophobic?"

"Yes, actually, and being as large as I am only makes it worse."

The red aerial snorted. "Well, I'm not."

"Congratulations then, you're part of the 22 percent of aerials that isn't." Skyfire actually did sound a bit congratulatory, despite Powerglide's obnoxious tone.

However, there were more important matters. It seemed there were always more important matters. Optimus signed onto the mission comm channel to report their progress. ::Attention, Head Lilleth, we've arrived at the oil vat, over.:: Of course, they weren't actually at an oil vat, but any possible eavesdroppers didn't need to know that.

::Why do you always insist on assigning code names on the fly?:: Prowl asked blandly, an exasperated note to his words.

Optimus grinned, not that Prowl could see it. ::It's more fun that way. Also, I wouldn't get to call you 'Head Lilleth' otherwise.::

::It is good to hear you have arrived,:: Prowl continued, valiantly ignoring Optimus's teasing. ::I shall look forward to hearing of your safe return. Over.::

::Over,:: Optimus said, signing off. "Alright, Skyfire, Sunstreaker, find a spot you like and wait there. Everyone else, let's get going." Out of the corner of his optic, Optimus noticed Sideswipe sneaking over to give his brother a quick hug. Sunstreaker grew a little stiff for a moment before patting Sideswipe's arm and wriggling out of his grip, walking off on an old path in the direction of a few crumbled buildings.

"Alright, Optimus. Take care down there," Skyfire said before following Sunstreaker down the path.

"And you up here," Optimus said back, leading his team over to the archway and heading inside. Warpath and Ironhide began discussing the best ways to 'bust Deceptichops' with Sideswipe off to the side, while Powerglide seemed to be having an invigorating discussion with himself over who-knows-what. Optimus was pondering what to do with himself—as thinking and rethinking the situation would only drive him insane—when he spotted Sideswipe donning a somewhat disturbed expression, casually stepping away from the other two frontline warriors. They must have gotten rather detailed in their descriptions. With an impish twinkle in his optics, Optimus sauntered over to the smallest of the group and matched his pace. "Things get too morbid for you?" he asked with amusement.

Sideswipe jumped and stared up at him with comically wide optics, just barely managing a quiet, "Uh-huh."

Optimus supposed it would be a while yet before Sideswipe would master the art of speaking in his presence. "They tend to do that. They're bad enough on their own, but put them together?" He let out a long vent, waving a servo in the air.

Sideswipe chuckled, but there was still an underlying sense of nervousness from the smaller bot. "I've uh, definitely gotten the Ironhide version before," he said with a lopsided smile before looking down at the ground. "It usually isn't that bad, it's the details that get me."

Optimus gave him a curious look at that. "Squeamish?"

Sideswipe grimaced. ". . . Yeah, a little."

That brought a sympathetic smile to his face, though he wasn't sure if Sideswipe could see it at all, what with his mouthplate in the way. Maybe if he was good at reading optics. He leaned in a bit sneakily—or maybe not, he was about Warpath's size, after all—and whispered, "So am I. Don't tell Warpath."

Sideswipe's gaze darted back to his face. "Really?"

He gave the other mech a wink. "Really. Ironhide found me out in less than a megacycle."

The frontliner snickered again. Good, it seemed he was starting to loosen up a bit. "With the way he talks, that's no surprise."

Optimus laughed as well. "Indeed. Those of us who would rather not know what the inside of a Decepticon looks like don't stand a chance." He looked down at the smaller mech, the larky glint to his optics making an encore appearance. "By the way . . . I saw you, before we came in here."

Sideswipe blinked. "Huh?"

He shouldn't tease, he shouldn't . . . but he couldn't help himself. "I know what you did."

"W-what I did? I don't—w-what do you mean?"

Okay, Sideswipe was getting worried, time to wrap this up. "How interesting, I didn't think one of my own Autobots would be a serial hugger." Oh, it was a struggle to stifle his mirth.

Sideswipe blinked again. "Serial hug—?" Just like that, his worried expression evaporated. "Oh. Heh, I guess you could call me that. So, you mean you saw me hug Sunny, right?"

"Sunny?" Optimus prompted. He knew it was likely a nickname of sorts for Sunstreaker, he'd called Ultra Magnus 'Maggie,' for a while himself—much to his brother's displeasure—but it was more fun to feign ignorance.

"Err, Sunstreaker," Sideswipe clarified, as Optimus had suspected. "Don't call him that though, I'm just the only one who doesn't get hit for it."

"I see, brotherly nicknaming privileges," Optimus stated, as if he hadn't known from the beginning. "I have those with Ultra Magnus."

Sideswipe looked a bit surprised. "You and Ultra Magnus are brothers? I didn't know that."

"We are, but it doesn't come up often," Optimus chuckled. "Though if I didn't know any better, I'd say that he was secretly trying to disown me."

"I know how that is. Sunny does try to disown me sometimes, but I don't think he'd actually go through with it if he had the chance," the other mech said with amusement. "It's usually when I'm being especially weird."

"He didn't seem too keen on hugging you back. Reminds me of Magnus."

"Yeaaaah, Sunny's not really a hugger. He tolerates it because it makes me feel better."

"Same with Magnus," Optimus muttered. "That reminds me, I still owe both Jazz and Jetfire a hug."

"Jazz? I know Jazz. I've only heard of Jetfire though. He's the air commander, right? Why do you owe them hugs?"

"Oh, they led the operation in Forza. I owe them their obligatory 'concerned friend is happy you're back' hugs," Optimus answered. "How do you know Jazz?"

"He was at a camp with Prowl in Protihex when Sunny and I were still neutral, he's the one who introduced me to Bluestreak. He was there because where Prowl goes . . ."

"Bluestreak goes," Optimus finished. "Now that I think about it, I seem to remember him mentioning you a few times. Are you two close?"

Sideswipe nodded. "Yeah. We're good friends. I'm not sure how much Prowl likes me though, I think I irritate him."

"I irritate Prowl, at times. It's not a difficult task," Optimus laughed, briefly glancing back to check their progress. He couldn't see the archway anymore. "All you have to do is avoid paperwork."

Sideswipe grew quiet for a few nanokliks, his demeanor growing nervous again. "Um . . . is it . . . Do you know . . . Is it that easy to irritate Red Alert too?"

Optimus raised an optic ridge. "Red Alert? Hmmm, I can't say he and I are terribly close. Doesn't let many bots in, that one. I can say that he does get irritated rather quickly, and he's more vocal about it than Prowl. Why?"

"Well, he was the one who met my squadron when we got to Iacon. I go to introduce myself, and after I ask his name, he acts all offended and storms off, and now I think he hates me. I swear he glared at me before he left." Sideswipe seemed to be an odd mixture of frustrated, nervous, and confused. "I've been trying to figure out what I did wrong all solar cycle. The weirdest thing is he seemed mad at Sunny too, and Sunny didn't say anything to him."

Optimus tilted his head, running that through his processor. ". . . That's . . . unusual," he finally said, tapping his chin.

"That's pretty much what Bluestreak said," Sideswipe said with a sigh. "Oh well, I guess I'll have plenty of time to figure it out."

". . . Might I suggest asking him directly?" Optimus tried. He didn't like the idea of a rift between any of his Autobots, and so long as there was a chance of success, he wanted to help where he could. "He's usually quite willing to elaborate at length on what's bothering him, and by that I mean he likes to rant the audios off of those who offend him. Of course, there are exceptions to every rule."

". . . And if he does rant at me, he'll tell me what I did?" Sideswipe asked, looking up at Optimus with a hopeful expression.

"That's what usually happens," Optimus replied with a nod.

"That works for me," the smaller mech said with a smile. "I mean, I didn't mean to offend him."

The Prime chuckled. "Of course you didn't. If you did, you'd already know what upset him."

That comment brought some sheepish laughter from the frontliner. "Heh, I would, wouldn't I?"

"Also, something Inferno told me—he's Red Alert's closest friend, so he should be considered an authority on the subject—Red Alert, when upset by something, internalizes it at first, coming off as grumpy. Sooner or later though, he has to vent about it or he'll go nuts. He caught him ranting to himself once," Optimus continued, recalling Inferno's advice. "You're far from the first bot to have angered him accidentally, though you may have set a new record for how quickly you did so."

Sideswipe ducked his head. "Probably. Thanks for the advice, you speaking from experience, si—err, Optimus?"

Optimus cleared his intake in an exaggerated fashion. ". . . Yes. He was not a fan of how . . . overly trusting I was of supposed neutrals. Prowl actually seconded his thoughts. After some negotiation, we decided he would be suspicious for me, and I'd be a little more cautious."

The other mech gave a sympathetic wince. "Sunny's given me that lecture before. Granted, it was less of a lecture and more of a grumbled couple of sentences plus a smack on the arm, but the message was the same. Stranger danger. I'm . . . not very good at remembering," he admitted.

"I can definitely relate," Optimus snickered.

Before he could say anything more, however, they came to a crossroads in the tunnel. "Which way, Prime?" Ironhide asked, crossing his arms.

"Left," Optimus replied, stepping over to take point. This was only the first of many diverging paths they'd need to take in order to reach the core in good time, and they still had a long way to go. He hoped they could make it before any damage was done.

Twenty thousand hics. That was way too far below the surface as far as Skywarp was concerned. Still, orders were orders, and Megatron was very clear. He was to stay down here, at the core, with all these other Decepticons who were most definitely not top-tier soldiers, until he was told otherwise. He didn't know why but obviously there was a reason if Megatron had planned it, and if there was one thing Skywarp didn't do, it was disobey Megatron's orders.

Still, this left him, a (claustrophobic) seeker, twenty thousand hics below ground. With nothing to do but watch his fellow Decepticons bicker mindlessly over simple tasks that he suspected Megatron had given clear instructions about, he found himself about to die of boredom. 'Heh, T.C. would say that was ridiculous. "You can't die from boredom,"' he thought, picking up a wad of scrap metal and hurling it at the nearest wall. The scrap rebounded off the wall right back to the black seeker, bringing a grin to his face. He had an idea. He retrieved the metal wad and tossed it at the wall again, catching it on the rebound. Perhaps this wasn't the most exciting activity on the planet, but it would keep him from going stir crazy. With that, he decided to see how many times he could throw and catch the scrap ball in a row, eventually adding a bit of flare to his throws and catches.

He had gotten to an impressive one hundred and twenty six when the argument of two Decepticons moving some dark energon cubes reached his audios. Ugh, another ridiculous disagreement that could be solved by not thinking and just doing as they're told. 'And they say I'm the stupid one.'

It had been several megacycles since they had started on their journey to the core, and the Autobots were starting to believe they were getting close. The terrain had been uneven and rough—keeping them from traversing the tunnels in vehicle mode due to Sideswipe's inferior suspension—and no one wanted to incite Ratchet's wrath about another wrecked undercarriage, not after hearing of the medic's reaction to Hot Shot's. The others didn't seem to mind, however, as Powerglide—being an aerial—couldn't transform either. The tunnels were too small.

Sideswipe stared wide-opticked at the scenery with a small smile on his face. He would normally be feeling a bit bored, but the metallic growths along the path had been a beautiful distraction. Clusters of silver, osmium, and platinum riddled the floor, walls, and even the ceiling, causing any area with even a hint of light to shimmer majestically. It left him feeling poetic.

The faintest echo of voices caught the quiet group's attention, however, and they gradually prepared for a confrontation as they slowly made their way towards the source.

"—tron said to put them here!" one of the voices said, sounding pretty agitated.

"Megatron also said to stay here, and what purpose is that serving again? Oh, that's right, none," the other shot back in a condescending manner.

"Shhhh! Shut up!" the other replied, this time sounding more panicked than angry. "Do you want Skywarp to scrap you?"

"Are you seriously scared of that bolts-for-CPU?"

Sideswipe was dragged out of his eavesdropping when Optimus gestured for everyone to follow him over to the wall.

::So, ol' Buckethead beat us here after all,:: Ironhide muttered over the channel.

::What's the plan, Optimus?:: Warpath asked, positioning himself against the wall.

::Sideswipe, there's a small opening over to the side, see if you can get a visual. The rest of us are too big,:: Optimus said, gaining Sideswipe's full attention.

He looked off in the direction Optimus indicated, spotting the opening. ::Got it.:: He sidled over to it and crawled through, finding himself surrounded by rubble on the other side. That was fine, less chance he'd be seen that way. Slinking his way over to the side the voices were coming from, he searched the pile for an opening to look through. 'Aha!' He scooted to the spot he'd found and peered at the other side, finding himself watching the Decepticons who'd been bickering the whole time.

"You know, we aren't getting anywhere with this," the one that had grumbled about Megatron said, resting his servos on his hips. He was a large, bulky ground frame, like Warpath, and Sideswipe was willing to bet that he was a tank too.

"Yeah . . . hey! Speaking of Skywarp, he outranks the both of us. Why not let him settle this?" the other suggested. He was about the same build as the first one, with yellowish paint.

"Aw, c'mon, Ripsplitter! That nutcase would follow Megatron into an acid pit!"

"Hey! Skywarp!" the yellow one, Ripsplitter, called to someone out of Sideswipe's sight.

::What do you see over there, Sideswipe?:: Optimus asked.

"WHAT!?" another voice snapped back in annoyance. Probably Skywarp.

::So far, two large grounders, probably tanks. This Skywarp guy is off to the side, but I can't see him.::

::No worries, I've run into him before,:: Powerglide interjected. ::He's a seeker.::

"Where do you think we should put the dark energon?" Ripsplitter asked, pointing to the dark purple cubes in front of him.

Sideswipe stared at the cubes. So that was dark energon.

"Did Lord Megatron give any specific instructions?" Skywarp responded with irritation.

"Yeah, he said to put them he—"

"Then put them there! Why is there even a question!?" Oh yeah, Skywarp was very irritated. "Primus, how stupid can you be?"

"We're stupid?" Ripsplitter's companion grumbled softly. "He's the one who blindly follows every order without question."

"Shut up, Voltage!" Ripsplitter hissed.

The other mech—Voltage, apparently—sneered. "Psh, what's he gonna do? He's an idi—"

*CLANG!*

A large clump of scrap metal slammed into Voltage's head, knocking him to the ground with a loud thud. Courtesy of Skywarp, probably.

More importantly, with Voltage's giant frame out of the way, Sideswipe could see what was behind him. ::Update: three more grounders on the far side of the room, about my size. There's also another seeker. That's all I can see.::

A black seeker stepped into his view and snatched up the scrap wad, resting a pede on Voltage and giving the downed mech a smug smirk. "I'd watch your vocalizer if I were you. Lord Megatron might not be as nice to you as I was," he drawled, tossing the scrap into the air and catching it on its way down. So that was Skywarp.

Voltage muttered a curse and climbed back to his pedes as Skywarp flounced back to where he'd come from, rubbing his head.

::Good work, Sideswipe,:: Optimus stated. Eeee, Optimus said good work! No, no, he had to focus. ::Now, see if you can work your way up to the rafters.::

Sideswipe looked up at the aforementioned rafters and grinned. Finding a way onto high places that weren't meant for grounders was something he excelled at. ::You got it, Optimus.::

As he worked his way over to a nearby column, his allies' conversation continued. ::Warpath, I want you to blast that dark energon. See if you can make it look like an accident.::

::Blow it up? KABLAM! With pleasure, Optimus!::

Sideswipe's grin widened when he heard that, his arms wrapping around the column. This should be interesting.

Skywarp had just been recounting to himself the humiliation he'd inflicted on that insolent little grounder when—

*BANG!*

—the area was suddenly bathed in light from an explosion. Out of reflex, Skywarp immediately activated his warp drive and teleported to the other side of the room. Upon arrival, he squinted back in the direction the explosion had come from. The dark energon. Those idiots must've accidentally jostled the cubes too much. A mistake they wouldn't be repeating, since they were probably very offline right now.

Once it was safe . . . ish, to head over there, he and his remaining allies wandered back to inspect the flaming wreck. Once he got closer, however, he noticed something. He wasn't a scientist at Trypticon Station for no reason, he knew his energon science. He remembered also, that the cubes helped stabilize the dark energon. Which was why when he looked closer, he saw something the other Decepticons didn't. Foul play.

He stepped back a little before teleporting again, swiftly performing the necessary calculations to get him to his desired destination: the rafters. Upon arrival, he swung his gaze in the direction of the tunnels. There. ::Autobots!:: he announced over the comms, readying his neutron assault rifle. ::By the tunnels!::

::Autobots!?:: the bot in command—Crusher-somethingorother—exclaimed. ::What are they doing down here!?::

Skywarp wanted to know that himself, but really, he doubted they felt like sharing. ::Who knows? Can I blast them?:: Before Crusher could answer him though, two of the Autobots transformed and rounded the corner, one a tank, the other a jet. They must have had someone spotting for them who saw him up here. ::Never mind, I'm going after the jet.:: As he transformed and flew after the Autobot—he looked kind of familiar, didn't his name have something to do with gliding?—he could hear his fellows on the ground yelp as the tank came into full view. Oh well, their problem. He unleashed a barrage of laser fire on Whatshisface with a cackle, but his fun was swiftly interrupted by another voice. One that had his attention with one word.

::Skywarp, respond.::

::Yes, Lord Megatron, sir?:: Skywarp replied immediately.

::I want you back on the surface. Your squad doesn't stand a chance against Prime's.::

::Optimus Prime is here?:: Wait, no, not important. Crusher must have informed Megatron of the situation. ::What about the core, sir? I thought you wanted it secured.:: Despite his words, he was already running the necessary equations to get him closer to the surface. It would take a few warps.

Megatron chuckled. That was a good thing. ::I knew Prime would learn of Project Trypticon sooner or later. The Autobot infiltration of Forza that Starscream failed to repel only sped things up. We're done down there.::

Oh, so Starscream slagged up. That made sense. ::And the others?::

::Leave them. Report to Hyperious and tell Starscream to attack, then infiltrate the Autobot base at Marcon. I want the rest of the layout. Megatron out.::

::Yes sir!:: He quickly signed onto the squad's comm channel once Megatron signed off, and gave a hasty, ::Have fun you guys!:: then executed the first of many warps. The other Decepticons' outraged replies were ignored.

Ironhide swung his sword in a wide arch, catching the spry Decepticon in the side when he failed to block the swing, leaving a deadly gash in his plating. From there, he could have left the other bot to slowly bleed out—Primus knew he likely deserved it—but he knew what Optimus would say about that. Instead, he quickly shot the Decepticon in the spark, bringing a swift end to his life.

Straightening, he glanced up and surveyed the battlefield. Warpath had made short work of one of the other two grounders, and the seeker had been permanently grounded by Powerglide, with some help from Sideswipe. The aerial had seemed very amused by Sideswipe's special brand of aerial combat, clinging to the seeker as he flew to inflict severe damage. It was common for flyers to do so to each other, but rare for a grounder to do the same. Optimus was taking on the bot who seemed to be the leader, but Ironhide wasn't worried about him.

No, he was worried about the other seeker that had disappeared. Skywarp. Powerglide said he'd teleported away, which was apparently a special ability of his, but where had he teleported to? In fact, now that he thought about it, this whole thing seemed too easy. No resistance all the way through the tunnels, no resistance on the surface, minor resistance here; either Megatron didn't care if they reached the core or not, or this was a trap, and he was leaning towards a trap.

Optimus fired his blaster, taking out the last of the Decepticons in the area, then looked over at the large archway that presumably led to the actual core. It didn't take long before the group was racing through it to discern the core's status. The sight that greeted them however, was an abysmal one.

The core glowed a sickly violet; with dark, twisted purple crystals jutting out from every nook and cranny. Ironhide could feel his spark sink, and he didn't need to look to know the others felt the same.

"I-Ironhide?" Sideswipe croaked weakly, staring at the core in horror. "Does this mean . . ?"

Ironhide's expression darkened before he replied in a dour tone, "We're too late."

Notes:

Jazz – G1

Starscream – WFC/FOC and the Exodus book, with some G1 influence

Jetfire – A mix of Cybertron and WFC/FOC. He has the same paint and helm design as Cybertron

Silverbolt, Air Raid, Slingshot, Fireflight, Skydive – Mostly G1

Hot Shot – Cybertron

Optimus Prime – A mix of G1, WFC/FOC, and the Exodus book

Prowl – G1

Perceptor – G1

Ultra Magnus – G1 and Prime

Sideswipe – G1

Bluestreak – G1

Sunstreaker – G1

Red Alert – G1

Ironhide – G1

Powerglide – G1

Warpath – G1 and WFC/FOC

Skyfire – G1, minus his past with Starscream

Skywarp – G1