Chapter Seventeen. I apologize for the wait.

Concerning the list of stories, I mentioned in the last author's note of Chapter Sixteen...I am working on Not Alone (B), Poison in a Cup of Gold (I), Trapped (K), Shadows of White (C), Wavering (H), Solace (E), The Curse that is Darkness (A), and Psychotic Hunger (D).

Let me put it this way, in the nicest way I can at the moment: Purgatory, Trapped, Wavering, and Not Alone are posted. I get it that FanFiction's traffic is running down because of all that new crap, but I'm starting to believe that there are no supporters for me or this story out there anymore. I'm starting to think either some of you are just too busy or just decide not to look...or just all go over to the "better" authors on here.

I was going to ask if you all are okay with the way I'm writing Blurr and Smokescreen, but with my rant above, you probably won't read it anyway. I know I've changed Blurr immensely, and Smokescreen is different (though not as much as he is in Suspicion). You all should know that I like to change characters to fit with my stories. Blurr is different from the energetic "little bot" act he was doing earlier in the story, and he is rather temperamental and...kind of messed up. Smokescreen is different because I believe that there isn't enough insight into his character. Just tell me what you know, and actually, take the time to answer. I may just stop writing author notes altogether; no one really seems to want to answer me anyway. (See? Everyone probably skipped this note to get to the story).

It was dark and quiet in the Autobot base.

I sat curled up on my berth, one leg drawn up to my chest. My injured leg had decided not to cooperate, and I had to stretch it out from time to time, but otherwise it was healing.

The last few hours had been chaotic. Prime had rushed to hook Ratchet up to an intravenous drip and started to work on his wounds. Barely before he had begun, Arcee had wandered over and took the welder from her leader's servos, forcing him to move out of the way and to hover in concern and agitation as she worked on the medic's wounds. The others, seemingly feeling helpless and wondering what they could do, stayed out of the way and immediately stepped forward when they were called.

I glanced over at Smokescreen, who was somehow recharging soundly. He did not seem to be in as much pain as he had been before, and once in a while, he would twitch or shift on his berth.

Everyone had gone to recharge, having done everything that they could for Ratchet at the moment. All they had to do was wait and let him rest and recover for the moment. There was no chance of having a successful operation until he had regained some energy, however little it may be.

I was too preoccupied with whatever had happened to Prowl to recharge.

I was torn from my wandering thoughts as the medical bay doors hissed open and Arcee wandered in, optics dim with the light of one who had just onlined. She did not seem to notice me being awake as she headed over to the Energon dispenser to fill a cube only a quarter of the way full.

"Arcee." My voice was still weak, much to my chagrin, but it was enough for the femme to hear me and move over to my berth.

"Yes?" She sat hesitantly on the edge of the metal bed, optics alight with concern and distress.

I let out a deep vent as I rested my left cheek on my knee. "Would you mind telling me what happened to my mentor?"

Arcee vented heavily, flicking her winglets. "Optimus used his...abilities to find Ratchet and take down the Predacon. Prowl did, but after...he was acting strangely. Shivering and hugging himself as if he were in pain or discomfort. Your teacher requested that he have a moment alone and never came through the bridge when we left. I'm assuming that he is still in the forest."

I nodded, shuttering my optics. "He is, most likely. You do recall what I said when I first arrived here?"

The blue femme nodded, smirking slightly. "You said he finds the nature of this planet soothing."

A slight laugh escaped me, and it was surprisingly pain-free. "Arcee, you needn't be worried about Prowl. He's just attempting to...recollect himself." I drew in a deep vent, cycling cool air through my spread manifolds. "I suppose it depends on...the amount of Energon that was there."

Arcee frowned ever so slightly, narrowing her optics. "He had torn off a substantial amount of plating from the beast's neck."

I shifted my armor rippling. "...he was aware enough not to attack you, even if he was using his...other personality to fight the Predacon. Despite what it may have looked like, he did not want to kill you."

A dry laugh came from the femme. "He did say that we didn't have the Energon he needed. What did he mean by that?"

I could not help but laugh, causing Arcee's frown to deepen. "He meant that you would not have a desirable taste."

"So he's saying that we would be disgusting?" The femme seemed shocked until her faceplate settled into a thoughtful expression. "I mean, I've never had lifeblood before, though, so..."

"Given all of the attitudes you lot have, I would assume that you are not good, either," I said, smirking at the scowl the warrior gave me, shrugging ever so slightly. "He says that things like that affect the quality taste he looks for."

"He talks to you about that?" Arcee suddenly became irritated, optics flashing brightly. "He shouldn't do that. You're just a child."

I narrowed my optics, shifting on my berth to sit up and bring my knees to my chest. "Need I remind you that I am older than Smokescreen? The mech that this entire team thinks is nothing but an inexperienced brat?"

"What...?" The blue femme was taken aback, optics brightening to a lighter blue. "What are you talking about?"

I scowled, resting my chin on my knees. "You know what I am talking about. This team believes that because of his happy-go-lucky and somewhat reckless attitude, he has no real experience in the world or on the battlefield. All because he was in a stasis pod for a century or so and missed a part of the War."

Arcee sensed my darkening mood and leaned back, crossing her servos over her chest. "Have you seen the way he acts during a battle? There's no method that he uses; it's all just recklessness and uselessness."

I glared at the wall in front of me, my digits denting my armor as I forced myself not to snap at her. "I have seen the way he acts. He's becoming used to this organic world, and so is the rest of your team. But let me tell you..." I turned to stare at her, optics burning bright. "Smokescreen has gone through hell and back and has seen and done things that would make even Megatron cringe in discomfort. I was his commanding officer at one point and he is far from being an inexperienced rookie or a useless brat, and he was one of the best I had ever seen. You all have yet to see his full potential." My glare pierced her deeply, full of irritation and warning. "You do not get to decide how useful someone is. They show you, and then you judge them. I do not want to see you all beating Smokescreen down simply because he is still a child and has the extra energy."

Arcee was startled by my reaction, raising her servos in an attempt to calm me and stop me from causing further harm to myself. "Take it easy, Blurr. It isn't that big of a deal."

"Yes, it is!" My servos had an almost unbearably tight grip on my armor, the metal plating warping beneath my digits. I clenched my dentia together so tight that they creaked, shaking my helm enough for anyone to doubt my sanity. "You have no idea what that mech has been through! You haven't the slightest clue the pain he has experienced or the horrors he has seen!"

I paused as the mech we were discussing moaned softly and stirred on his berth, but he did not wake. I moved too fast for the optics to register as I pulled the femme close by the metal of her collar strut, ignoring the furious hiss she gave as my sharpened digits dug into the thin metal.

I loomed over her in my anger despite the fact that I was already almost twice her size. My voice as a soft and menacing hiss, full of venom and irritation. "Smokescreen is far better than any of you miserable, pitiful excuses for Autobots. If you honestly believe that Megatron is something that causes you trouble, and if you think that he is pure evil, then you know not the meaning the term." Releasing her with a blast of air from my flared vents, I turned away and abruptly ended our conversation, taking to glaring at the wall as I curled back in on myself.

I knew Arcee was still there, staring with a gaze full of shock and confusion and anger. But I did not feel a bit of regret. I was sick of others - and myself - being judged based on actions holding meaning that did not correspond correctly with a damaged past. It was beyond irritating, and I was beyond annoyed.

I heard her vent quietly and then heard the faint tap of moving pedes. She was approaching me. "Blurr..."

A scowl marred my faceplate, and I whipped around to glare at her. "Get. Out."

She froze, optics burning with warring emotions before she turned and stormed out of the medical bay.

Incensed, I clenched my servos into fists and shuttered my optics as I focused on making my ventilations even. I had to stop letting my emotions get the better of me. It was idiotic, and I was acting like a child.

"You didn't have to do that."

Startled, I turned to see Smokescreen sitting up on my berth, fully online and sitting with his back to me. His wings were lowered in their braces, but they were spread enough for me to see the large and still-healing scar on his lower backstrut.

"She needed to know." I did not relent, optics burning as I fixed a cool stare on him. "They all need to know."

The Praxian shook his helm, turning to fully face me. "Not now, they don't. They've enough concerns on their hands, especially with Ratchet and the Predacon, and they don't need to be worrying about my mental health as well as my battered physical condition."

I narrowed my optics, pressing my mouthplates together. "They will soon enough, and I will not change my mind."

Smokescreen vented heavily, shuttering his optics briefly. "It's not your choice to decide. You need to stop focusing on the wellbeing of others and start focusing on yourself." His optics narrowed as he looked me up and down. "Or have you not noticed that you are deteriorating more than anyone else here?"

I shifted, resettling my armor against my overheated and hypersensitive frame. "I was taught to put the wellbeing of others above that of my own."

"And aren't those teachers long terminated?" The blue Praxian flicked a wing in a gesture that I recognized as irritation. "Stop following their meaningless orders. You are a part of a different team now."

"Am I really?" I stretched out on my berth, staring at the ceiling and smirking as a dark laugh escaped my vocalizer. "You know that they do not accept Prowl and me."

"Two mechs appear by means of a ship that we have yet to see, and one of them is a troubled and mentally scarred Elite Guard alumni while the other is former friends with our leader and has a vampire-like thirst for Energon that he can barely control, despite having it for millennia." Smokescreen smirked ever so slightly, crossing his servos. "Of course, they're not going to accept you right away." The smirk disappeared as the blue mech turned his gaze to the ceiling as his wings attempted to flare against their braces. "It's up to you guys to change their minds."

I vented heavily, stretching back out on my berth and wincing as the metal scraped over my armor. "Then you all will have to wait a while, then. We don't adapt to change easily."

"Stop talking like that. You've done well so far." Smokescreen flicked his wings in a brief motion of irritation.

I scowled slightly, rolling my optics. "Yes. We have done well so far." I glanced at him, staring rather intently. "What is to say that the trust you all have placed in my teacher and I will not vanish as quickly as we have arrived on this backwater planet? You have yet to learn everything about us, and I can assure you that once you do, you will hate us even more."

"That depends on what other secrets you are keeping," the Praxian countered, venting heavily and sending a wash of heated air over my hypersensitive chassis.

"Secrets." I shivered, drawing my armor closer to myself as I curled in tighter. "No matter what you all think, and no matter what Prowl and I make you believe, the members of this team will never truly know or understand Prowl and myself." A dull ache began to pound in the back of my processor, and I winced faintly and shuttered my optics, clearing my vocalizer of sudden static.

"Blurr." The navy blue mech's voice tore me from my thoughts, and I realized that I had begun to shiver, almost as violently as when I was about to seize. This time, however, the tremors did not seem to want to stop, and my ventilations became shaky and hoarse.

"Blurr?" Smokescreen was sitting up now, optics alight with concern. "Do you need something? What is it?"

I shuddered harder, shaking my helm. "Give me a...moment." My systems rebelled against me, and I vented heavily to focus on not purging even as the faint and bitter taste of half-processed Energon rose in the back of my throat. "I cannot..."

"Hey." Smokescreen had somehow moved to be in front of me, and through my fading vision, I could see the faint sheen of coolant covering his obviously overheating chassis. His servo was placed lightly against my own, and it was then that I realized that he was nearly as large as me. We were close to the same size, and his servo engulfed my own even though my digits were sharpened to dangerous points and I had a rather great deal of height on him.

"Blurr. Talk to me." The Praxian's grip on me was almost uncomfortably tight; he was worried about my health, it seemed.

"Can't—" I shook my helm as I shuddered even more violently. Those unwanted memories were coming back after I had tried so hard to make them go away.

I could hear them screaming, moaning, writhing in pain...

Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop.

"Blurr!" Smokescreen's voice was nearing a roar. No, no, no. Too loud, too loud.

There was the faint clatter of running pedesteps, and then two cool servos were on my own, attempting to stop my thrashing. The touch only made me panic more, and I moaned, shivering and shaking my helm roughly.

"Blurr." A soft, feminine voice sounded close to my audio receptor, and I cringed and tried to jerk away. But my body did not seem to want to cooperate, and it was preventing me from escaping. I couldn't escape—I couldn't get away...

My processor shut down before I even knew what had happened.

He paced silently, gaze roaming the land around him.

Everything was frozen in a beautiful state of destruction.

The trees were no more, merely charred skeletons decorating the ash-covered forest floor. The wind was a blackened veil spreading its thin and soft fingers over every object in its vicinity, stirring the ash and heat to further penetrate the broken remains.

A low growl rumbled throughout his chassis, and his wings flicked up and spread wide.

"What do you want?"

The laugh sounded soft beside him, and a taloned servo trailed lightly over his. "You know what I want."

Manifolds flaring, the Praxian turned away, aware of the talons so close to the vital circuitry. "Your desires are of no concern for me. You nearly lost control."

"I can assure you that I was not the only one." Crimson and black optics burned brightly as a pale faceplate loomed towards him. "I saw you on that beast. I could feel how much you wanted to lay waste to every being that approached you. Including me." Cold mouthplates brushed over the taller mech's cheekplate in a brief mockery of a kiss.

"You know that I would rather take pleasure in ripping apart that monster than tearing into you." The Praxian turned and drew the smaller mech closer, engine rumbling and sending a shudder through both of them.

"You're wrong." The Decepticon shook his helm, baring his dentia in a feral smirk. "I know you would still take pleasure in tearing me apart," the crimson mech countered, reaching up to trail a servo over the Praxian's broad chest. "I know you. You're a sadistic being who would take physical pleasure in making me bleed."

"Yes..." Prowl snarled softly, optics shuttering at the welcome pain as the mech's talons pierced through his armor. "I would revel in the sound of your screams—the sound of your flesh tearing, the scent of your boiling Energon..."

"Your fantasies are absolutely wonderful, Prowl." Knock Out dug his claws deep into the other monster's thick armor, relishing in the deep rumble that came from the elder mech. "I still come to wonder why such a sadistic, violent mech like you ended up being an Autobot."

Visor flashing crimson, the winged mech pulled back from the embrace, baring lengthening dentia. "You know why I could not."

The medic vented heavily, rolling his optics as he trailed a servo over the sensor-laden armor of his companion's wings. "That was such a long time ago. You honestly cannot get over it?"

Prowl narrowed his optics, powerful engine rumbling gravely. "My mate was killed, Knock Out. Joining the Decepticons would mean having to work with the very mechs that killed him when all I want is to wrap my hands around their throats and crush the life out of them."

"You don't know for sure that he is terminated," the smaller grounder retaliated harshly, vocalizer spitting out static in his rising agitation. "He could be on some distant planet, thinking that you are the one that is gone."

"He is dead, Knock Out." The Praxian was not regarding the medic's words, wings flared in barely veiled aggression. "There is nothing that will change that."

"Then why are we together?" The crimson mech ran a servo around the edges of the black mech's secondary set of wings, drawing a heavy groan from him. "You clearly think you loved him less than you did."

"At the time." Prowl flicked his wings up and out the medic's reach. "You have proven otherwise."

Knock Out purred deeply, crimson optics narrowing as a dark smirk curled back his mouthplates. "Good. Now shut up and come here."

The Praxian growled softly and traced his talons over the smaller mech's rims, receiving a groan in response, but before he could continue on he froze.

The Decepticon felt the winged mech tense and looked up optics two narrow and burning slits. "Prowl. What is it?"

Sharp dentia bared, the obsidian mech pulled way from the crimson mech, engine growling deeply. "There is someone out there."

"I can't sense anything." Knock Out shifted, claws tightening on the silver mech's armor. When all the black mech did was snarl dangerously, the crimson mech nudged insistently at his side. "Prowl."

The Praxian hissed, visor blazing crimson as he pulled away, claws extended and a shuriken in hand.

"Hey, now. I don't see any reason to be taking out weapons." A smooth and suave voice sounded out of the trees, and with a faint rustle, a mech landed softly on the charred ground. He was tall and lithe, with purple and black armor that had a hint of tan and white. His optics blazed a bright purple, large and glaring with slit pupils. The mech had his servo held out, spread with talons tipping the digits. Despite the obvious danger, the mech had a calm and collected, rather infuriating, grin on his face.

"Who are you?" Knock Out demanded, optics narrowing as he bared pointed dentia at the mech.

The newcomer gave a cold laugh and lowered his servos, placing one on his hip and waving the other nonchalantly in the air. "You don't recognize me, Knock Out? One would think you would." His purple optics brightened immensely, and his engine rumbled deeply.

"What—? Swindle?" The medic's optics widened to levels that would have been comedic had he not been so furious. "What are you doing here?"

"My, my, Knock Out. You seem to be rather perturbed at my presence." The arms dealer approached on silent pedes, razor dentia bared in a vicious grin.

"Perturbed?" Knock Out growled, armor flared wide as his engine roared. "Your brute of a partner was the one who provided that wench with the weapons to take out my base in Sector Nine!"

Swindle pouted and tilted his helm, large optics almost giving him a childlike look. "Aw, are you still sore about that? Hasn't it been too long to continue to hold a grudge like that? Honestly, it has been over a hundred vorns." He gave a huff of a laugh, his vents spiraling open to release heated air.

"That lab cost me thirty million credits, and it was an extreme loss to my already blooming research." The crimson mech was bordering on a faint line between fury and maniacal hunger, crimson optics burning bright. "Explain to me why I shouldn't be holding a grudge."

Prowl finally spoke his voice a dark rumble in the smoldering remnants of the forest. "Why are you here, arms dealer? There is nothing for you on this planet."

"Oh, isn't there?" Swindle's grin was unnaturally wide, optics bright with hints of excitement and amusement.

Knock Out snarled, talons clenching into fists. "Enough with the mind games, mech! What do you want?"

Swindle shrugged, engine rumbling deeply. "Oh, nothing much. Just a chat with our—pardon, your—ruler. After all, who would back out of a deal to acquire some of the most powerful weapons in the known universe?"

"Then take it somewhere else." The medic narrowed his optics, crossing his servos as he cocked a hip and grinned dangerously. "If you couldn't see, I was kind of busy with something before you arrived."

"Ever the flirtatious mech, aren't you?" Swindle stared for a moment before blinking slowly. "I only need to talk to our glorious Lord Megatron. I believe that I have something that he has been looking for for a very long time."

Knock Out stared, engine growling deeply as his sharpened dentia were bared. After a moment, he shifted and vented heavily, waving a servo with a nonchalant air. "There. I've sent you the primary communications link of one of our Lord's most trusted advisors. Contact him, and he will hopefully patch you through." His crimson optics burned with a maniacal and hungered light as he tightened his sudden grip on the towering Praxian's servo. "Now leave before I decide to eviscerate you on the spot."

The arms dealer grinned, nodding as if in satisfaction. "See? Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" The lithe mech waved a servo to further display his contentment and departure as he turned and headed silently back into the forest. "Ta-ta, for now, gentlemechs!"

The medic was torn from his furious and silent musings as a deep, rumbling growl echoed throughout the clearing and the chassis of his lover, and he turned to see that Prowl was clearly restraining himself from going after Swindle and tearing him to pieces.

"Hey, mech." Knock Out dug his talons into the wounds that he had caused earlier, reveling in the groan that escaped the larger mech. "We were busy doing something before that pitiful excuse for a mech interrupted us. How about we finish what we started?"

The Praxian bared his dentia in a feral grin, and he moved without warning to pin the crimson mech to the ground, wings flared wide to envelop both of them in shadow. "Gladly."

The night was dark and cool. A faint wetness hung in the air, lapping at cool metal plating with a muted urgency.

A faint chorus of roars sounded the sign of approaching airborne vehicles. Seemingly sheltered in an arc of weather-beaten rock, an enormous silver mech stood to wait, servos crossed over his broad chest and a deep, dark expression on his scarred faceplate.

There was a light thud as two beings landed behind him, one after the other, with a growl of their engines.

My lord, there is someone of a rather...perturbing disposition that wishes to speak with you. Deadlock spoke, his voice a rumble that nearly blended with the thunder roaring around them. He says that there is something that you desire strongly that he has.

Megatron was silent before he waved a servo. "Put him through."

"Ah, Lord Megatron!" A smooth and suave voice drifted over the silver mech's audios, and he was almost immediately filled with a dark and deep distaste. "It's been so long since we last spoke. How are you?"

Rows of razor-sharp dentia were bared, and the mech turned away from the others, crimson optics burning. "Swindle. I believed that I strictly forbade you from contacting me centuries ago."

"Only if I had no information that was useful to you." The arms dealer purred roguishly, and the tyrant could see the slag-eating grin that Swindle no doubt had plastered over his face. "And I believe that what I have currently is of current interest to you."

Megatron rumbled deeply, optics narrowing ever so slightly. "Speak, Swindle."

"But, of course, I would have to ensure your hold on such merchandise." It was as though the arms dealer had not heard a word of what the warlord had said, and he continued on with a jovialness that was somehow darker than it probably should have been. "There are others that are going to be looking and fighting for this weapon, and I cannot guarantee—even with your incredibly persuasive wording—that I can completely hold them off."

"Name your price and we will be finished with this conversation," the tyrant rumbled, aware and uncaring of the two burning gazes of the triple changers locked on him.

Swindle laughed—a sound that was almost as maniacal as it was dark and demented. "The usual, if you wouldn't mind. Being stuck out here n this pitiful excuse for a galaxy is more fuel-guzzling than one would hope to care for."

The large silver mech rumbled deeply, rolling his optics. "You will meet with one of my accomplices at an area and time of my choice when I am sure that you aren't attempting to manipulate me."

"Aw, Megs, can't be a little more trusting, can you? You know—"

The mech's voice was cut off as the tyrant shut off the communications link without warning, growling lowly as he turned back to the two waiting triple changers. "Where is Knock Out?"

Blitzwing spoke, his dominant personality in control. "I believe zat he vas vaiting for someone zat ve know little about."

And why would he be doing such a thing? Deadlock countered, pupil-less optics burning bright. He may be a rather confrontational mech, but he is not that idiotic as to meet the enemy.

"I never said zat it vas the enemy," Icy responded dryly, his visible optic flashing. "I vas only implying—"

"Enough." Megatron rumbled deeply, linking his servos behind the small of his backstrut. "Now, Deadlock, what was this important matter that you believed that I needed to know about?"

Blurr had calmed down eventually, having finally stopped his attempts to dislodge Arcee's grip. I watched as the blue femme stared down at the panting mech, her blue-purple glare dark and her servos wrapped around her torso.

I watched as Blurr lost himself deep in a fitful recharge, shifting minutely on his berth and moaning softly as his hypersensitive armor was disturbed.

The relationship between the two of us was complicated, far more than any of the others would ever come to realize. Blurr and I had met long, long ago, during my time with the Elite Guard. No one knew—except Prowl, of course—that Blurr was actually thousands of centuries older than me, probably close to Arcee or Bulkhead's age or maybe even older. Of course, it would be more noticeable if he didn't act so childish sometimes.

"Arcee."

My voice visibly startled the navy blue femme, and she turned to fix her stare on me. "Yes?"

"Don't blame him." I turned and headed back to my own berth, sitting on its edge. "He can't help himself."

It was silent for a moment until her voice drifted towards me. "What do you mean?"

So she's taking that route. I forced myself not to laugh as I tilted my helm. "Blurr is what the humans would call an 'overprotective mother.' He...he always cares for those that are a part of whatever team he is on, and he will stop at nothing to ensure their safety and protection."

"So you're meaning to tell me that Blurr is older than you?" She was staring at me intently, shock and disbelief somewhat clearly displayed in her electromagnetic field.

It seemed that I had stirred her interest, and I could feel the slightest beginnings of a smirk pulling at the corner of my mouth. "Clearly. Did you really think the Elite Guard would promote a mech to be a Colonel if he was younger than the cadets?"

"I would think not." The femme crossed her servos over her chest, cocking her hip. "How long was he your commander?"

I let out a deep vent, shrugging as I stared back at her. "A few vorns. Maybe five or six. It had been a year since my joining the Elite Guard, and he had been recently promoted to the rank of Colonel. A mech named Fasttrack had been his Lieutenant, but I don't know what has become of him." I shifted, my wings twitching in their braces and my engine rumbling faintly. "Blurr was my commander until the destruction of Praxus. We were stationed there for quite some time, enough to be comfortable with calling it our new home." I fixed my stare on her, watching her movements carefully. "Do you remember what I said when I first arrived here? About what Alpha Trion did to me?"

"Yes." Arcee nodded, her concern and suspicion clear in her gaze. "He had locked you in stasis."

"He had." I nodded slowly, my optics darkening a few shades. "But only after I had returned to him, and only after I had finished serving under the Colonel's—sorry, Blurr's—command. After...after the destruction of my hometown."

Arcee's gaze drifted away as she sensed my suddenly sullen mood. "Do you still think of him as you former commander?"

I shook my helm, turning to look at the unconscious mech. "No. Just as an accomplice and someone I respect greatly." A hoarse laugh came from my vocalizer before I could stop it. "You all have yet to see his full potential on the battlefield. Perhaps if you made him commander or temporary leader of a subgroup, you would see his abilities." I froze suddenly, my servos tightening over the metal of my berth.

"Smokescreen, what is it?" Arcee tilted her helm, her servos unfolding and tensing as if she were preparing for some sort of fight.

"Ratchet." When I said the medic's name, I noticed the way her optics flared brightly. "What are we going to do?"

Her mandibles were clenched, but she forced herself to speak. "Whatever we can. But we need to take care of the Predacon first." She was scowling ferociously now, her engine growling roughly. "If that means terminating it, then so be it."

My thoughts could not help but drift back to when Swiftlock had helped me with my swordsmanship. "You would willingly terminate the most powerful asset that we've had since Omega Supreme?"

Arcee was glaring at the wall in front of her, her winglets flared wide. "It hurt Ratchet." She shook her helm, making a sound reminiscent of a human scoff. "We don't even know if he'll get better, or if he'll even wake up. The monster deserves to be terminated."

"You should be careful of what you say." When she fixed her burning glare on me, I met it with a cool, nearly emotionless stare. "Don't look at me like that. I'm only saying that if you say such things, they will come back to haunt you eventually." I tilted my helm back to stare at the ceiling, my wings lowering ever so slightly. "And no matter how much you may despise hm, Swiftlock is still a living Cybertronian. You will not refer to him as it."

I could see that I had struck a nerve, and I could hear it as she snarled at me. "I don't know who you think you are to tell me such a—"

"I'm not assuming anything, Arcee, and I know who I am." I cut her off as my engine roared and a dark scowl marred my faceplates. "Swiftlock was only acting under his impulses. How would you react if you were a Predacon with a near-insatiable appetite that had not refueled in thousands of centuries?"

I could tell that she was glaring at me—I could feel her optics boring into my helm—but I decided to ignore the feeling.

"I think it would be best for you to leave." My voice was beginning to show my exhaustion, and I was close to falling into recharge. The past few hours had taken more of my energy than I had first realized.

Arcee realized that I was not going to take no for an answer, and she turned and headed towards the door. Before she left, however, she turned to face me.

"I don't care what you or Blurr or any of the others think." She was almost livid, but not quite close as she glared coolly at me. "Swiftlock is a monster. A pure, cold-sparked monster—and I don't care if you agree with me or not." Her optics shone unnaturally bright, and she thrust her servos into the air in a nearly fevered motion. "Put him back on the team, for all I care. Prove to me that he won't try and devour each and every one of us, and maybe I'll start to trust him. And you, with all of your secrets. " Arcee scowled and bared her dentia, optics wide and holding a maelstrom of emotions. "Get your act together. I'm sick of all the whining you and Blurr are making about your past. You're not sparklings, so stop acting like it."

And then she was gone before I could even say anything.

I vented heavily and lay down on my side, my body relaxing as my systems began to shut down. In any normal circumstance, I would have stormed after Arcee and demanded what her problem was, but I was too exhausted and too fed up with her attitude to do a thing about it. Maybe when I was fully recovered I would drag her to the cliff outside our base and demand what in Primus' name was her problem.

Later. I would—will—do that later.

But even as I neared the blissful state of recharge, I found that my thoughts were drifting, and I was losing myself in my buried memories.

The ones that explained how I had met Blurr in the first place. Arcee's words had brought back those unwanted dreams.

It was becoming harder to keep my optics online, and I found myself falling into recharge.

"What do you mean, I'm being reassigned?"

My current division commander, a huge Seeker by the designation of Silverstrike, remained cool and calm. "Do I honestly have to repeat myself, Smokescreen? You know what I mean?"

"But sir, I was just becoming acclimated to this squad! I cannot be moved!"

With a dark smirk, Silverstrike shook his helm as he rested his chin on his steeped digits. "Is that anger I hear, Praxian? Or are you distraught?" His lime green optics burned brightly in the dim lighting. "Have you some lover that I know nothing about?"

I clenched my dentia together, servos tightening into fists as I didn't bother to respond.

My commanding officer gave a slight laugh. "Of course, there is. You young ones always have some sort of affair." He vented heavily and stood, pacing the room. "Even if I cared for your opinion, I cannot do a thing about your reassignment. This is a direct order from my superior, and your soon-to-be commanding officer." A smirk appeared on his faceplate as he turned to face me. "You should be grateful. He's taken a look at your record and has even seen you in the field. He's made a direct request for your presence on his special operations team."

"Grateful?" I scowled and glared at the larger mech. "He's making me leave the one place I've learned to call my home."

"We are glad to see that you are becoming used to this place." A strange, musical voice sounded behind me, and I whipped around to see a tall mech, almost as big as Silverstrike in sheer mass and height, standing behind me.

The mech was tall, with crimson armor and a bright turquoise visor covering his slanted and slit pupil optics. He had a strange and crown-like structure framing his faceplate, giving him an almost regal appearance that would have suited him had there not been the clear and spark-piercing condescension, arrogance, and almost sadistic pleasure in his glare.

My optics locked onto the lieutenant colonel insignia on the mech's chest, and I immediately stood at attention. "Lieutenant Colonel, sir! What are you doing here?"

The larger mech smirked, crossing his servos over his chest as he leaned against the wall behind him. "At ease, soldier. You will know soon enough." The smirk vanished as quickly as it had appeared as he turned to level a glare on Silverstrike. "Did I not tell you to be lighter on the younger recruits? And to think, I walk in here to see you biting this mech's helm off..."

Silverstrike seemed ready to retort, but he remembered that he was addressing a superior officer. "With all due respect, Lieutenant, the young recruit spoke out of hand."

With a heavy vent, the Lieutenant shuttered his optics and pressed his mouthplates together. He moved without warning, and suddenly he was forcing the Seeker's helm hard against the desk with one servo while he twisted the white mech's servos into a knot with the other.

"Did he really, Silverstrike? Or was he merely stating a fact that you did not want to hear?" The Lieutenant seemed to be irritated, but his faceplate, voice, and electromagnetic field remained devoid of emotion. "We both know that you have a rather startling amount of faults and that you seem to favor tormenting others in place of yourself."

"Fasttrack, is that any way to treat your subordinates?"

A quiet voice, one that somehow demanded attention in its soft power, sounded in the doorway.

I remained at attention, but my field flickered and rippled as my curiosity was stirred.

The crimson mech, Fasttrack, gave a powerful laugh as a wide grin spread across his faceplate. "What are you doing here, mech? Didn't you say that you had to remain in your transport at all costs, no matter the circumstances?"

The mech that was behind me laughed softly, a chilling and melodic sound. "My curiosity got the better of me. I could not give up the opportunity to meet my new recruit."

An involuntary vent left my spread manifolds as I shuttered my optics. The mech behind me was the commanding officer and superior of every mech in the room. The very one who had requested me to join his team. Silverstrike answered to him, and Fasttrack was his second. I was...nobody. Just a child in his optics.

A cool servo landed on my shoulder panel, pointed digits trailing deceptively light over my armor, as a powerful electromagnetic field brushed against mine. "I was going to restrain myself, but I have to ask you. What in the world are you doing?"

My optics powered online, and I was met by a pair of burning cobalt optics that had rings of gold and white in them.

"Apologies, sir. I just - "

The mech before me shook his helm, cutting off my sentence as he straightened to his full height with a rippled of his light blue and crimson armor. He was a couple of heads taller than me, but he seemed almost awkward in his enormity. What shocked me was that he seemed to be younger than I was, with an almost unnaturally slim body and an inexperienced look that would make anyone do a double take when they noticed the mark of colonel on his armor. But while he seemed almost unused to his size, he moved with an elegant grace that only vorns of Circuit-Su and Metallikato training could have given him. Each movement he made was noiseless and calm as if he did not have a care about anything in the world around him.

My new commanding officer smirked as he noticed my expression. "Expecting something else, were you? Most people who meet me for the first time do."

I caught myself staring and immediately recomposed myself, raising my hand in a traditional salute. "Apologies, sir. I meant no disrespect."

With a ripple of his sleek armor, the thin mech began to circle me, his electromagnetic field revealing nothing of his emotions. Then, he spoke, his voice ringing out with the razor sharp efficiency and clarity the commanding officers often had.

"State your designation and rank."

"Smokescreen, cadet warrior class, second rank."

He was behind me again, cool ventilations washing over my sensor-laden wings. "State my designation and rank."

I hesitated ever so slightly, and I heard Fasttrack give a hoarse little chuckle. My electromagnetic field rippled and my wings trembled against my will as I spoke. "Colonel, sir."

The slim blue mech moved into my field of vision as he scowled ever so slightly and he turned to send a glare to his second that immediately shut him up. He turned back to me, optics burning bright as he stared down. "Do you not know my designation, cadet?"

"I do not, sir." His optics were boring into mine, and I had to force myself snuff the urge to fidget uncomfortably. "Such information was not privy to someone like me during the Chief's briefing."

"I see." The tall mech shifted his armor with a soft vent, but I could have sworn that I heard his ventilations hitch and grind the slightest bit. "Silverstrike, you may leave. Fasttrack, let him up and escort him out."

"Right. Up you go." The crimson mech rumbled as he forced the enraged Seeker beneath him to stand, turquoise optics flashing dangerously as he jerked on a wing and smirked as Silverstrike snarled in pain. "Careful, Chief. You seem to have forgotten that I can demote you before you can even flick a wing. No move your aft before I decide to tear it off."

"Fasttrack." The Colonel flared his armor, optics narrowing to slits as his engine growled.

"I'm going, I'm going. No need to throw a fit." With a final shove, both my former commander and Fasttrack left the tent-like building.

I watched them leave, wings twitching as I frowned. As I turned back around, two blue-gold optics were boring into mine as the Colonel stared at me, unnervingly close.

"Relax," the slim mech muttered as I tripped over my pedes, reaching out to steady me. I nearly shuddered at the iciness of his servos and unwillingly accepted the assistance.

"My apologies, sir." Primus, why was I acting like an idiotic child?

"Stop demeaning yourself. You are clearly better than that." His voice was cold and precise, a soft murmur holding veiled power and authority. Turning away from me, he sat on the edge of my former commander's desk and shuttered his optics, letting out a deep exvent. I lingered at a respectful distance, unsure of what to do.

"Have you ever been to any of the races at the track in Iacon?"

I frowned slightly, flicking my wings to show my confusion even though he could not see me. "I don't believe I have, sir."

At that, his optics onlined and he gave me a strange look. "You mean to tell me that you have never been?"

"I haven't the time or the credits," I replied simply, keeping my faceplate settled in a mask of impassiveness. "I am part of the military, and we all have to contribute, no matter the rank. To properly function as the well-oiled machine we are meant to be, we have no time for meaningless pleasantries."

A sudden smirk curled back the mech's mouthplates, exposing gleaming and sharp dentia. "A wise response, little one." At the flare of my wings, his optics narrowed and he tilted his helm. "What is it?"

I let out a wave of heated air as I shifted and my wings twitched. I was silent for only a few seconds, attempting to figure out how to word my thoughts aloud the right way. After all, I could not anger or seem to belittle my new commanding officer—that would be catastrophic.

After a few more seconds of thought, I finally spoke. "With all due respect, sir, why do you speak to me as if we are not close to the same age?"

The Colonel smirked, rising from his perch. "You finally noticed." He turned and headed for the desk, rifling through the contents of a drawer. "I am only a few vorns older than you, Smokescreen. But I have been trained vigorously, more so than any of you new recruits and even your previous commander." He balanced a datapad on his clawed digits, cold optics piercing me to my core. "The training exercises here would be considered mere child's play to me."

Before I could respond, the Colonel shuddered suddenly, swaying on his pedes as he leaned heavily against the desk behind him, baring his dentia in a pained grimace. The hitch I had thought I had imagined earlier appeared in his ventilations and his sleek armor flared away from his frame as intense waves of scorching heat radiated around him.

"Sir?" I wavered, unsure of what to do. I had been trained in basic medical procedures, and this was nothing covered at such a simple level of teaching. I had no idea what to do.

The large blue mech shuttered his optics, his vents grinding audibly as they attempted to cycle the toxic air around us through his frame. "Get...Fasttrack..."

"Right." Though I did not want to leave the ailing mech by himself, I had no choice to follow his orders, no matter my reputation for doing things my own way. I held more respect for the Colonel than I had had for any of my past superiors, and I was going to do whatever he asked, no matter the circumstances.

My worry was only strengthened when I heard the violent and hacking, wet coughing coming from the tent as I left.

"Hey, slow down there, kid." A heavy pair of servos steadied me as I ran into a mech I hadn't seen. On instinct, I recoiled and bared my dentia in a snarl, wings rising in an aggressive stance behind me as my servos transformed into my blaster.

The mech above me stared down at me, unperturbed by the weapon fixed on the center of his chassis. He was tall, with polished yet scarred silver armor and mismatched optics—one was crimson while the other was a crystalline white. When he spoke, his voice was a thunder-like rumble. "What's gotten you in such a rush?"

I relaxed, sheathing my weapon and attempting to calm my vents as my optics flashed brightly. "I'm...looking for...for Fasttrack. There's something wrong with the Colonel."

Wings sweeping up wide behind him, there was a flicker of something in the mismatched optics. "The Lieutenant just passed. He should be up in the Commanders' tent."

As I turned to head in the direction the Seeker had motioned me in, a large and heavy servo landed on my shoulder panel.

Crimson and white burned down at me in a bizarre and unnerving maelstrom of emotions. "Kid. Be careful. This isn't a safe place at night."

I scowled and nodded, moving out of his grasp and making my way towards the Command Tent.

The door for the Command Tent was shut, but I could hear the faint rumble of voices. I raised my servo and gave three knocks that signaled my arrival, along with two afterward to show my rank. I waited for the call to enter.

The rumble of voices lessened in volume, and I could pick up the scrape of chairs on a metal floor.

With a faint hiss, the door slid open. A tall femme appeared, and she scowled ever so slightly as she stared down at me. By the look in her optics, she did not take it lightly when she was interrupted.

"Yes?" Her voice was cold and detached as she crossed her servos over her chest.

I forced myself to be as impassive as I could. "I apologize for the interruption, ma'am, but it is imperative that I speak with Fasttrack."

"For what reason?" There was a flicker of something in her optics as she tilted her helm, her electromagnetic field rippling but revealing nothing of her feelings.

"With all due respect, the Colonel is ill and told me to come and get Fasttrack, so if you would let me by, that would be kind of you." I kept my voice as cool as I could manage, but my doorwings had moved to a height that would be considered irritated to those that could read wing movements.

"Let me by, Circe." The familiar unusual and resonating voice I had heard earlier sounded behind the femme. Fasttrack appeared beside the femme, turquoise optics burning bright as he stared down at me. "Cadet, why did you abandon your commanding officer?"

"What—abandon?" My wings flared wide as I clenched my hands into fists. "I've done no such—"

"You left to go halfway across the camp to find me, a mistake that would have cost your commanding officer his life had you been on the field." The crimson mech seemed to be far from pleased as I noticed a flare of emotion burn in his optics. I had seen that look before, in the optics of the mechs and femmes that were smitten with each other.

It was far too obvious that Fasttrack and my new commanding officer were involved in some sort of romantic affair.

And Silverstrike had had the nerve to accuse me of having a lover.

With a slight flare of my wings, I forced myself not to smirk and laugh as I bowed my helm. "Sir, that wasn't my intention. I only did what my superior asked of me."

Optics narrowing to slits, the Lieutenant vented heavily enough to send the heated air washing over my wings. A faint shudder went through my frame, but the larger mech did not seem to notice.

He turned to address Circe. "Let me know what goes on in the meeting, would you?" Then his bright glare fixed on me. "Come. Lead me to where the Colonel is."

... ... ...

When we arrived at the Colonel's tent, it was eerily silent. I thought that the violent coughing would have been better than the cold silence.

"Colonel?" Fasttrack immediately pushed by me, armor flared and rippling as he extended his electromagnetic field.

I restrained a flinch as the tall mech turned to glare down at me. "What happened?"

I raised my wings in a gesture of doubt. "I'm afraid to say that I don't know. We were talking and then he started shivering and coughing."

Fasttrack regarded me with a look of slight disgust and something I couldn't quite figure out before he turned and knocked once on the slightly ajar door. "Colonel, it's Fasttrack. I'm coming in."

There was a soft noise of confirmation, and with a wave of his servo as a sign for me to follow the Lieutenant entered the makeshift building.

Almost immediately, my wings and sensor network were overwhelmed by the sheer amount of power that radiated throughout the room. I dug my dentia into my lower mouthplate, my helm swimming with the sudden flood of data. Fasttrack did not seem to notice my discomfort, and he headed over to the Colonel with a determined fire spread throughout his electromagnetic field.

The Colonel himself was now seated at his new desk, but instead of being upright and at attention he was slumped and wavering as if his mind was elsewhere. His ventilations were still painfully hoarse and rattling through his chassis, and his helm was braced against the flat of his palm. I could barely see the light flickering in his optics, which were darkened to a nearly powerless gray.

"Colonel." Fasttrack knelt at the blue mech's side, his optics softened suddenly with a gentle light. "It's Fasttrack. Can you hear me?"

A deep exvent left the slim mech's flared manifolds, and he seemed to try and shift in his seat as if he were trying to sit up straighter. A grimace of pain appeared on his mouthplates and his optics flared brightly for the briefest of moments.

"No, stay where you are." The Lieutenant shook his helm, gently pushing the taller mech back into his seat. "Can you tell me what happened?"

The Colonel shook his helm, shuttering his optics briefly. Then, much to my surprise, he spoke. His voice was a broken whisper, sounding so much different from the attention-demanding timbre of his usual voice.

"A...reaction." His blue armor shifted as he choked on his ventilations, a harsh cough wracking his lean frame. He lurched in his seat, engine rumbling weakly and a violent series of tremors shaking his chassis.

"Colonel, listen to me." Fasttrack pressed the blue mech back into his seat, his large servos straining as he kept his superior restrained. "There is nothing here. You are safe, and nothing is going to come."

Vents rasping dangerously, the Colonel shook his helm almost violently, optics flashing a startling white for a brief moment. "Not...n-not what I meant." Flickering optics fixed on me, and I drew my wings back against the small of my back. "H-Him. He...caused this."

"What?" Both Fasttrack and I were taken aback, and I felt myself stumble back a few steps.

Deep vents left the crimson mech as he shuttered his optics for a moment. "Colonel." He made the ailing mech face him, his turquoise optics boring deep into the other's. "I don't understand. What could he have done—?"

The Colonel shuddered, engine growling viciously. "His fault! It's all his fault!" The blue mech was glaring at me, optics burning bright. He seemed ready to launch himself across the desk and pin me to the ground; he probably would have had he not been so ill.

"Colonel!" Fasttrack seemed to realize what the blue was about to do, and the tone of his voice made the trembling mech stop to stare at him. "Listen to yourself! You're making no sense."

But the shivering mech was having none of it. "He's to blame...all to blame..." The Colonel was shaking his helm rapidly, shuddering violently as he clenched his optics tight and bared his dentia in a pained grimace.

"Smokescreen." The Lieutenant faced me, turquoise glare nearly unnaturally bright. "I want you to listen to every word that I say."

I nodded, somewhat unnerved by the way the Lieutenant's multicolored glare was boring into me.

"My sector is located only a fifth of a click from here. There is a safe hidden beneath the fifth tile on the entry floor. Retrieve it, and bring it back to me." Fasttrack was addressing me, but his bright glare was now fixed on the Colonel, who was shivering and moaning. I couldn't help but notice the gentle yet powerful way that the Lieutenant held the blue mech's servo, and how his long digits traced almost idly over the smooth metal. Yes, there was something going on between the two of them.

Just as I was leaving, I was stopped by the crimson mech's voice.

"Tell no one about this incident, cadet. You will regret it if you do."

I could have sworn that his turquoise glare flashed crimson for a moment, but I figured it must have been a figment of my imagination.

... ... ...

When I returned, I almost immediately noticed that the Colonel was deep in recharge, his armor rising and falling in time with his deep and hoarse ventilations. His helm was resting against the Lieutenant's broad chest. It was only then that I realized how childlike and innocent he looked, and it was only then that I realized that we were almost the same age.

Fasttrack himself was staring off into space, his optics and visor powered down to a very low power level. He did not seem to notice my entrance, even when I knocked on the door. It then occurred to me that the Lieutenant most likely possessed the ability to recharge with his optics online—a realization that unsettled me more than I cared to admit.

Drawing in a deep vent, I approached as silently as I could and placed the small safe near Fasttrack's unoccupied servo. Turning away, I made to stand but gave a startled hiss as an overwhelmingly heated servo clamped down over mine.

To my surprise, those chilling blue, gold, and white optics were locked onto me, pulsing with light at random intervals as the Colonel stared at me. We were silent until the larger mech grimaced and shivered, his optics shuttering as he vented heavily and painfully.

"Colonel?" My voice was soft and surprisingly calm as I hesitantly reached out a servo. "Are you—?"

"—do not touch me." He shifted with a frown, uncaring of the murmur that came from the crimson mech towering over the both of us. Those multicolored optics shifted and landed on the small box I had been ordered to retrieve. "Give that to me."

I did as told, careful not to brush the trembling mech's clawed digits. I watched as he took out a syringe and a bottle of blue-green fluid. The container nearly slipped from his suddenly slackening grip, and I pried the box from the Colonel, feeling him tense as our digits brushed.

The lithe mech's ventilations hitched again, and he moaned softly as he shook his helm. He bared his dentia as I made to interfere, optics flashing brightly. "Give me a moment." And then, before I could react properly, he had filled the syringe and injected the contents into himself by one of the main conduits on his servo.

Silence reigned supreme over the room until the echoing timbre of the Colonel's voice tore through it.

"Blurr."

I frowned, tilting my helm as my wings twitched. "Pardon, sir?"

The Colonel smiled softly, tracing a talon over Fasttrack's chassis in undecipherable glyphs and patterns. "My designation. Blurr." He brought his free servo up, laying it on my own with a deceiving grace. "The one everyone used to—to talk about. Famous racer, a definite play-mech, if you will." He was frowning now, optics dim with some faint and returning emotion. "All changed, now. It's all changed. Just because of that one stellar cycle, when Fasttrack wasn't there..."

He trailed off, and for a moment, I believed that he had gone back into recharge until he started and tilted his helm to stare intently at me. "What did I say earlier?"

I was slightly taken aback, and I blinked a few times. "What—?"

"—when I was not in my right mind." The Colonel—Blurr—stared with an almost feral intensity, the white in his tri-colored optics burning bright. "What did I say?"

I let out a slight vent, aware not to do so heavily because of the hypersensitive state of the mech laid out below me. "You could have said a lot of things, sir, but apparently chose not to. You could have blatantly called me a liar, a thief, and a coward, but you didn't." I scoffed, shrugging my wings. "You sugarcoated your words, even when you were in a significant amount of pain. It reminds me of when—"

Suddenly a deafening explosion sounded, and then there was nothing but white. I knew that there would be certain sounds—the pained scream of the Colonel, and the infuriated roar of Fasttrack, and the clamor of soldiers running to their positions on command—but I found that I could not hear a thing. Not with my audios or my sensory wings. The shock had completely decimated my hearing.

There was something nudging my side, and I forced my optics to open. Blurr was looming over me, a pained yet furious snarl on his face as he dug his claws deep into my armor and protoform in order to make me keep my gaze locked on him. My processor swam, and I believed that I had groaned if the rumble of my engine was any indication. It just hurt...so bad. Please—just make it stop...

There was crimson now, and then a faint blue-green. A rumble shook the ground, and I attempted to shift and rise to my pedes. But too late I realized that the armor on my wings was gone—melted away in the initial heat of the blast—and the protoform that was now exposed was shredded and freely dripping Energon.

Darkness was flickering in and out of my vision, and I was stumbling through a muddled haze. But even as I fought to stay conscious, I felt two pairs of servos on my own, steadying me as their engines rumbled and growled.

I couldn't stay online. There was supposed to be the pain—some kind of pain—but I couldn't feel anything.

The last thing I remembered was seeing the almost disappointed light in the optics of the Colonel and his Lieutenant.

The last section ended abruptly, I know, but it will be edited a bit later on. I'll let you know when.

Each chapter will probably be this length, if not longer or shorter. And it depends on my mood at the chapter is set probably before "Inside Job." I know you all are waiting for Predaking's appearance, and he'll show up soon. But anyways, do you remember what artifact Megatron wants to get his hands on? It made a brief appearance a few chapters before this.

I absolutely love messing with Blurr. Something about putting my favorite characters to something reminiscent to the Pits is satisfying. He'll get better. I'll decide when.

The scene where Deadlock tells Megatron about Swiftlock will be in greater detail either in the next chapter or I may go back and add it in. I'll let you all know.

Oh, check out Team Dragon Star, here on FanFicton. I'm a new member—although on current hiatus—but they've got some pretty interesting stories on there.

If anyone was wondering, you all can call me Stark.

R&R, pleaze.