No one expected the war to last as long as it did, in as much no one expected the measures from each opposing side to drain the planet in their attempt to end it. Accepting Cybertron was dead was hard enough, understanding the need to leave for survival was just as difficult. However, the course ahead needed coordinates, sure ones, and as reasonable as that was the unfortunate aspect was that these codes currently resided in the processor of one mech, one presently in need of extraction from the heart of enemy territory.

Highbrow was one of the Autobots' best agents, and more than a few times he's come out of the most dire of circumstances with his helm intact, but the distress of the current situation called for all severity. Given that he was the only 'bot possessing the sole route log to the life-saving star system, the importance of his procurement fell into the highest of levels for both sides.

Embedded deep into the recess of the Decepticon capital as well as confirming framal damage, an extraction squad was wound together to infiltrate the enemy territory, and a medibot brought along to stabilize Highbrow's confirmed condition. It was a good thing that said medibot happened to be Ratchet; he being the only among the squadron with enough knowledge of Kaon's layout and sublevels to successfully navigate through the systems undetected.

Not that he was the first medic selected for the job. Oh no.

'Primus below, what in the nine pits are you doing in Kaon?!' Jazz looked less than thrilled and the intensity of his gaze was meant to scorch the scolded, however Ratchet took every pitch, hitch, and glare in stride. It was only a comm message anyway.

"A medic was needed, so here I am," Ratchet responded as he and the others—a holomaster by the designation of Hound, an illusion specialist by the designation of Mirage, a strongbot by the designation of Brawn, and a kid by the designation of Bumblebee—moved down old systems once frequented by the medibot ages ago. Just as the pathways were then, they were rarely used in the present.

Jazz made a face. 'Ambulon was designated to go. Not you.'

Ratchet snorted. "Ambulon? He wouldn't know how to walk in a circle down here. I know Kaon, so it makes sense that I went."

'And Kaon knows you, Ratchet,' Jazz reminded. 'Slag, there are all kinds of scenarios that can happen if you're caught.'

Ratchet's lip plates twitched. He nodded toward his team. "With all due respect, old friend, you didn't select this lot with expectations to fail. I trust your judgment in their abilities and I have no intention to get caught."

Jazz looked as if he wanted to say more but Ratchet had to end the call as soon as he and the others took a stop and hid themselves from a passing patrol. As soon as they were clear, Ratchet leaned forward and looked toward the turns splitting the tunnel.

"Looks like they came from the Sentra District. Our best chance to remain covert would be to try the northeast sub rails. They were run down long ago, and I doubt the war encouraged the Decepticons to get them running again."

Ratchet motioned for the others to follow with caution.

"I didn't know you used to live in Kaon." The young 'bot, Bumblebee, was smiling with enthusiasm as he pressed forward alongside the doctor. "After all this time I thought you were an Iacon native."

"I lived in these parts for a time," Ratchet replied, optics forward, ever scanning the area before them. "That was many cycles ago, but even after all that time, nothing's really changed."

Brawn pulled on his attention with a snicker. "Yeah, I'll bet those insignia carvings and the statues of the Deceptichums' mighty leader might be a change for you."

His humor was shared by the others if only to make fun of the enemy's innate nature to worship their hierarchy. Ratchet kept to himself. His opinions on the matter best left unsaid.

Maneuvering and dodging light patrol was easy enough, locating their target was something else entirely. Highbrow had given his location but come two kliks out Ratchet and the others were informed that he was forced to move to avoid encroaching hostiles. It really was curious how he managed to change positions given his supposed condition, but they had yet to ask the mech.

"Primus, do you think they're sniffing closer?" Hound questioned while peering over their cover to see four full squadrons pass under archways and march away. Their pace and optics obviously in search.

"One can assume," Mirage replied.

"Doesn't matter. We just have to get there first." Ratchet turned and then pointed toward an alley. "Take that, but be careful. It's a tight squeeze but that doesn't mean we won't run into opposition."

After a few more dodges and subtle pedework, they were finally able to find their mech.

"Highbrow!" Bumblebee was the first to the ailing 'bot's side. When he sent his conditional status, he wasn't at all exaggerating his predicament.

"Primus! Look at what they did to you." Hound grimaced, mirroring his companions' expressions. However it was their medibot who pushed past the shock of the missing arm and the shattered chassis and severely melted helm. In an instant Ratchet was kneeling down and laying his hands on the mech to assess the damage.

In the cover of broken archways and discarded scrap from decrepit buildings and useless provisions, Ratchet ran his diagnostics, ignoring the obvious extremities to locate what functionality he could to stabilize the mech and everything he was to him and the Autobots at the moment.

"I'm surprised you're still functioning," Ratchet said lowly as he ran his digits over charred exposed wiring and hanging plates. It was near mortal, and with Ratchet's current inventory, he wondered if he was even capable of saving him.

Pulling out what he could from his subspace Ratchet attempted to keep the noise to a minimum. There was absolutely no plausible way of attempting to escape the city with Highbrow the way he was. Too much of a liability would only result in the offlinment—or worse: capture—of all of them. With this understanding, Ratchet could feel the pressing tension of the 'bots surrounding him, watching the repair process with heavy concern.

"How is it looking, doctor?" Highbrow's only functioning optic flickered toward Ratchet, its light fading, paneling failing.

With a huff, Ratchet began retracting his tools. His assumptions over his inability to salvage was correct, especially with the limited equipment he was allowed to carry. "How is it feeling?" Ratchet nodded when Highbrow let out a pained chuckle.

"I was on my way to topside when they found out." Highbrow moved his only arm, but even that seemed to cause him immense pain, most of it he bravely held back. "Wished they would have been a little slower in catching on."

"You and us both," Ratchet said with a disappointed sigh.

"Do you have it?" It was Mirage this time, pressing closer, hope in his vocals. They were all wondering, all expectant.

That flickering optic shifted toward the excursion mecha. There was a shudder rumbling under Highbrow's chassis as his central core convertor sputtered, perhaps one of its last independent cycles. "It's the real deal, fellas. If we can get there, then there just might be a chance for everything we've been hanging onto."

Ratchet could feel the others' heightening fields. He kept his own level and solemn. They weren't out of the mechanic shop yet.

Standing up, Ratchet shifted his tools back into his subspace and set the heavy lights of his optics down at Highbrow. "I know none of you want to hear it, but I also know you all already understand that there isn't much I can do for our comrade. Not with the tools I'm carrying."

"So then what's our next phase of action, doc?" Brawn inquired.

Ratchet was quiet, the sounds of enemies shouted in the distance, orders to find and annihilate. But it was Highbrow's failing systems that rung the loudest. There wasn't an option to simply let the mech offline. He was too important.

"I know a place." Ratchet turned, skeptical optics looked at him, more so in doubt of the chance to preserve Highbrow's life than of a location Ratchet recollected. "There's likely to be instruments there that I can use to stabilize him."

"It's better than just standing around here. Let's move." Hound nodded and soon enough they huddled together and took up Highbrow, taking care to shift him in their arms as they followed Ratchet's lead once more.

To say Ratchet was surprised to find the old clinic still standing was an understatement. In the early days of the War Sentinel Prime had made many assaults on Kaon City and the other principalities that aligned themselves with the antagonizing movement. Ancient structures were felled and countless mecha offlined. Ratchet was certain any semblance of the monuments from his time in the city were vanquished, but after traversing through its systems once again, he began to doubt his previous pessimism.

There it was, morphing into the decrepit landscape, void of shine, of light or structural assurance. Many of the columns and the arches contained bombardment damage as well as rust. But even as it stood, it sent a hope across each 'bot present.

Walking back through its doorway was something else entirely for the medibot. He hadn't gotten the opportunity to do such a thing since before . . . before everything happened. With Ratchet's lead, his shadow cast over the curious optics of the others following behind him, watching him as he recounted the crowded waiting room, the noise-rattled repair area, and the solemn solitude of his small office. Nothing had really changed, but at the same time it was so different that Ratchet could believe he was somewhere else entirely.

"This place looks stripped; I don't think there's going to be anything to help us here, doc," Brawn spoke up with a disappointed weight in his vocals.

"Not even something?" Bumblebee moved through the rooms, overturning scrap and looking around rusted holes. Ratchet was glad for his persistence, but he was looking in the wrong place.

"As many hoodlums as there are today, so too were they back when this place functioned." Ratchet set his fists on his pelvic plating, moving, recalling where chairs once sat, where kiosks collected and tables overlaid. The place was bare of nothing but useless panels. Yet, Ratchet wondered . . . "So I learned to keep a stash away from even the most regular of optics."

Moving, Ratchet pulled himself into his old office. There, in the corner, he knelt and began tugging at paneling. The moment a compartment opened up, the others let their curious fields shift into astonishment. There, within the cavity was a small generator, covered in dust, and beside it lay a bind of wrapped tools, many of which could find great use within the doctor's servos.

"Would you look at that!" Mirage stood impressed. "Looks like you picked the right hiding spot."

Pulling out the generator, Ratchet gave the old thing a few taps before testing its levels. For sitting as long as it had, he was surprised to find any sort of power surge through its core, but it was there, and Ratchet was going to use it.

Turning, Ratchet nodded for the others lay Highbrow down. "Right there. Keep him steady."

With the generator and stored tools, Ratchet was able to divert Highbrow's sputtering systems from verging into shock. After stabilizing his core he then delved into cutting away the damaged plating and wiring, severing even remotely functional segments with plans to attach reconstructed components in the future. Highbrow would be fine. Now, it was getting him out of the city.

"I did what I could," Ratchet announced. "The last part's up to you. This generator will carry him through at least twelve cycles before it's drained completely. After that I can't guarantee anymore preservation."

"You did more than any of us could hope for, doctor." Hound smiled, patting Ratchet along the shoulder strut. With a shift he nodded to the others. "Settle in for the evening, we'll wait out the early searches and then make our move in six cycles. I'll let the boss know of the progress."

There was no recharge to be had. Every present processor remained alert and acute. Out of them all, it was no doubt Highbrow who managed to get a bit of the rest sought after. Though, induced medical stasis wasn't something any of the mecha there were looking to be consensually falling into.

Mirage took the first watch. The others mostly focused on cleaning their weapons assortment and updating their communications frequencies. Ratchet remained beside Highbrow, monitoring his levels constantly, anything to keep his mainframe from the atmosphere he so haphazardly threw himself into.

After the fifth past cycle, Ratchet had to pull himself from his patient. He had to ignore the repulsion he continually felt when he watched the other mecha shift their weapons back into their frames. Built-in barrages reminded the medibot of the current struggle their people were facing, and the measures even they took to ensure a fighting chance to push back and survive. And in all that, Ratchet had to pull himself away from the fact that he was one of the many mecha who assisted in these attachments.

War was war, and it constantly reminded every single individual involved of their sins. So much programming was thrown away and retracted for the sake of advantage. Though, the War didn't give many much of a choice to dismiss the life of a soldier. There weren't many volunteers in this day anymore.

Where Ratchet abhorred the notion of being called or even considered a soldier, he didn't fight the common usage. After all, lately, it's all he's ever really felt like. Even now.

In the beginning, Ratchet tried to ignore the call. He understood this struggle would wage longer than any estimated, and he wasn't certain how he'd be able to fair from that aspect. He barricaded himself in the stressed and crowded clinics and hospitals, keeping his hands busy and his programming happy. Even after each of his close friends threw themselves into service Ratchet bit down the loneliness and tolerated it all.

The defining moment for his altering decision to push toward a field medic was when he was working on Sentinel Prime's failing frame. Cybertron had been in so much need right then, as had one of his closest friends, and who was Ratchet to deny an ailing patient? But coming to terms with his new role hadn't been easy to accept, even then Ratchet refused to see himself as anything more than a mech doing his duty to his programming, and he'd continually confirm this resolve.

And so Ratchet removed his attention away from the present and the scenarios that took him there, instead seating himself against the wall to wind away from it all. For some time he fell back to the time the walls were polished and the rooms smelled of sterilized chemicals and clean oils. There was noise, as much as what calmed the doctor. And the faces, so many Ratchet still recalled so clearly.

Designations, vocals, all of which Ratchet could still bring out of his backlog. Yet this retreat was yielding much more troubles on the doctor's core fluctuators than fighting back the meditation of his place within this ongoing war. They were friends from another time, a point where war was never even envisioned and the idea of seeing these acquaintances functioning and online the next day plausible and expected. Now . . . now Ratchet was filled with rising discouragement that many of them had met fates he's been known to witness. Just like the friends who used to work beside him and stand at the entrance.

Not wanting to rise any further level of anxiety whilst out of the most comforting zones, Ratchet tucked himself away from nostalgic pasts and in turn sifted through his messaging files. Each one in this certain folder was dated accordingly and for a moment Ratchet tempted himself to extract one of the earliest records, instead he found himself leaning over toward the latest and pulling up its byte to observe. Over his display old Dai Atlas moved across his optics, leaving a well-worded and respectful message, the usual monologue he often left Ratchet just before he turned the recording projector toward a young mech, adolescent but ever maturing with each video sent.

Powerful and well managed punches struck lined pillars and while Ratchet wasn't capable of observing Dai Atlas' visage, he was certain deep pride seeped into the mech's features at the sight of his son's martial progression. Despite Ratchet's early instance that the ex-senator refrain from sending these sentimental videos for the sake of his repressed coding, Ratchet couldn't help but find himself eternally indebted to the mech who took in his offspring as his own and raised him into who he was becoming. He chose the designation of Speeder in lieu of his attraction to faster-paced alt modes, but even with the young taste for quicker motion, Speeder certainly asserted this aspect into his combat abilities. From Dai Atlas' upbringing the mech was well endowed in the craft of circuit-su and metallikato, and from the latest assessment, it was understandable he was well on his way to approaching a master's degree of the techniques.

A sharp twist had Speeder shifting his weight and then striking one of the worn pillars with his leg. The force from it snapped the structure in half and the mech smiled brightly at the damage done. Where amber optics flickered almost to an intense orange, bordering red, that beaming face of his made Ratchet's spark pulse in the most languid of ways. The features of his sire was heavy, and the yearning to take hold of the boy and wind him in his arms and never let go surged even after all this time.

Ratchet found himself smiling at the visual of his son; the child he surrendered for all of the hardest and right reasons. He looked happy and healthy, sturdy and strong. And from Dai Atlas' continual updates, Ratchet was very aware of the boy's unique spark, a condition undoubtedly caused by hereditary. He was going to be a valuable warrior one day. One day.

Ratchet insisted on seeing this war to an end before they were desperate enough to send boys to the frontlines.

Cutting the clip prematurely, Ratchet reeled himself in. With a vent, he rocked back to his pedes. Moving over toward Highbrow, he checked his vitals and then decided to pull him out of stasis for a cognitive assessment. The mech shifted with a groan once he onlined, but the readings from his processor came back with positive feedback.

Uneven gears grinded and malfunctioning coolant fans wheezed. The light in Highbrow's optic never shown again. Blind as he currently was, he still turned his helm toward Ratchet's direction.

"It's a tough job you took," Ratchet said while he tightened tubing. "Even when it all fell to slag you held your resolve." Especially with the damage the intelligence operative sustained. "I commend you for that."

Highbrow's intake opened, lip plates moving. At first static burst out and Ratchet was ready to command silence when the pitches corrected and began forming words. "I did it because it wasn't just for me. I did it for the others, the ones still pushing against the front lines, for the mecha tasked to infiltrate, for those wounded and for those offline. And I did it for those to come."

Ratchet looked at Highbrow with curious scrutiny. "Those to come? You've got a secret squad of friends hiding out in the sub levels we should be aware about?" His smile was one to tease, knowing Highbrow was alone. He had been for some time.

"The life that will come from this." Highbrow's vocals burst with static once more and that was when Ratchet understood what he meant. Even still, it did the medic no good to fall into a dampening field. It was like him to not fully believe or hope too much. "This star system, there will be enough, enough for what we need, for what our future needs. I know it. I know it and so I persevered and I hang on because I want that for my brothers, for my people."

Reaching out, Ratchet laid a rouge servo over Highbrow's clenched hand. "You're a good mech. Prime will be proud."

"Tell me, d—" Highbrow twitched, gritting denta before he pulled his bearings back in. "Doctor. What do you think?"

"You don't want to hear my opinion," Ratchet said while he stuck highbrow with a sedative.

"You're a medic; you're programed to do everything you can to maintain lives, yet you doubt this path we must take for our lives, don't you?"

Ratchet did. He was still against the idea of leaving Cybertron. Of fully retreating and letting those bastards have the planet so that they could venture off to an unknown star system and pray to the nonexistent gods that they'll find the energy they need to survive. He wasn't the only one to disagree with the course of action, but perhaps he was one of the only to regret losing faith in their plight to see everything to an end.

"We will see Cybertron again filled with springs and light and laughter and frames and peace." Highbrow's form relaxed more as the sedative coursed through his systems. There was a sure smile on his face, one Ratchet was trying to relate with.

"Do you really think they'll leave it like that?" Ratchet abhorred the notion that soon enough the Decepticons would have complete reign over the entire expanse of the planet. With no one to stop them. No one to stave off their damaging intent.

Highbrow tumbled out a chuckle. "It can't be much worse than how we're leaving it now."

There was no further intention to debate an ailing 'bot further, especially when said mech happened to be right. And so as Ratchet moved to push him back into stasis the building shuddered so violently that Ratchet nearly toppled over the wounded officer and the others let out startled gasps of alert.

"Did they find us?!" Bumblebee was trying to move toward the doorway, but Hound quickly shoved himself through the entrance and pushed the others back, his optics wide and bright.

"I don't know how they did, but take cover!" Hound shouted. Just then the building shook with the force from the charges dropped and battered against the foundation.

"We have to move!" Mirage responded while he clutched a trembling wall. He turned toward Ratchet and nodded. "Unhook Highbrow, we've got to make treads!"

Ratchet's initial reaction was to argue against a premature detachment. With Highbrow's condition, he needed his systems stabilized for at least three more cycles before they could even attempt to risk an independence test. But as he rocked with the building, he understood there wasn't an opportunity to retort and began powering the generator down in hopes Highbrow's systems would carry on without the assistance.

Walls crumbled, openings made to reveal the forces raining down around them. Aerials zoomed by, circling even as they continued to drop their armament on them. In the distance there were the obvious sight of headlights closing in. The enemy came for them.

"What's taking so long, Ratchet?" Brawn stumbled closer, hands digging into the floor plating to keep himself steady. He looked to Highbrow and then toward the medibot struggling to finish his procedures.

"You can't rush this!" Ratchet finally bit back in the heat of it all. "I have to ween his systems off of the grids I have holding him in place. If I pull him out too quickly he'll crash."

"We don't have time for that right now!" Hound called back the moment he dunked down to avoid a charge wiz over his helm. That same blast phased right into the wall Highbrow was cornered against. It was Ratchet and Brawn who immediately jumped over the ailing mech to shield him from the falling debris.

"Well, we're just going to have to hold out until Ratchet can finalize the detachment," Bumblebee said, coming alongside Hound to offer assistance and return fire at the craft hovering overhelm.

They needed to move, they all understood this. There was a chance they could hold off the aerial assault, but the oncoming troops were another issue in themselves. If they were surrounded on the ground there would likely be no chance of escaping the city intact. But what other choice did they have?

"Doctor." Ratchet turned and watched as Highbrow clutched his arm, his strength minimum even as he gripped his plating. "There's no more time to find the safest routes. I understand this. Now, you need to." Digits twitched and Ratchet watched as Highbrow pulled his hand away and tapped his helm. "It's all in here. Salvage what you can and return to Iacon, to the Ark."

Ratchet felt his programing hiccup before he shook his helm and clutched Highbrow's hand, squeezing. "No. No, we'll get through this. ALL of us. It'll only take a little longer."

Highbrow was shaking his helm. "My systems are failing. I can't function properly on my own. I won't make it back to Prime, but at least assure my data does." Highbrow was clinging to Ratchet now, pulling. "Please, doctor."

Highbrow couldn't ask that of him. He couldn't. Ratchet refused to give up on him, no matter the circumstances. However, the situation became dire. Everyone risked their sparks and Highbrow was the only one with the bearings to accept that there would be casualties, the only one willing to admit it would be his own.

"Ratchet!" Hound pressed, his field tense as further strikes fell upon their barricade. The building was shuttering more and pieces of the flooring crumbled away.

With a glance toward the generator and then back to Highbrow, Ratchet finally accepted his next phase of action. As quickly as he could, he began shutting down cerebral modules, severing the power flow from the frame and the helm. But the moment Ratchet reached for the vertebrae cable links Highbrow's hand shot up and caught one of his servos. He looked at him, and Highbrow looked back despite being blind.

"Till all are one."

The fields pressing around them were full of grief, but even still the others honored Highbrow's sacrifice by standing at attention and replying with, "Till all are one."

As common as the phrase was among their faction, given the current year and the mounting dark history, Ratchet found his responses slow and sometimes nonexistent. And so he nodded and carried on the only thing he could do in that moment.

Aside from slightly melted panels, pulling Highbrow's helm off wasn't difficult. What was was watching his frame sputter, stutter as systems failed and locked, inevitably shutting down until the very color from the mech's plating began to fade.

It wasn't the first time Ratchet's watched a spark expire, but it never became easy to do so. The others there to witness Highbrow's expiration were quiet and respectful, optics now looking at the helm in Ratchet's arms and then at the doctor that clung to it.

"What are we waiting for?" Ratchet moved past the body. "Let's get going."

The moment they stepped a pede out of the doorway plasma shots melded into the foundation, bursting and eating away any further leverage. Then, down careened the building.

"Whoa!" Bumblebee nearly fell face forward hadn't Brawn latched ahold of him. But even as the group clung and tried to balance themselves on the tipping precipice, there was still the need to run.

"This way!" Mirage pointed toward the crumbling hole in the flooring. It was just large enough to slip through and the weight of the housing structure only leaned away from its passage. Everyone was encouraged to make it to that escape route.

"Gah!" Ratchet happened to catch his footing. His weight collapsed a rusted board and now the frame clung to him, pulling him into the collapse.

"Ratchet!" By the time the others noticed, the building had tumbled, folding in on itself and morphing into another pile of scrap and ruin.

The sheer weight of the debris that had poured over him disgruntled the medic. By the time the disarray had all settled Ratchet was surprised he was even still online.

"Ngh! Damn it!" Ratchet tried to move but from the malfunction signals popping up in his display he understood he was completely immobile. "Guh, I want to say I've been through worse, but slag, being buried in a collapsing building is something else entirely."

Venting, Ratchet was at least glad for the semi pocket he landed into. His torso on up lay only underneath dust and grime, however his arms, legs, and everything else in the abdominal region was incapacitated. All he could really do was turn his helm.

Looking to his right he noticed a round shape. Highbrow's helm wasn't too far from him. Of course there wasn't a way to move toward it. Ratchet had no other option but to wait for the others to dig him out—that is if they could come back.

Laying there with the inability to do anything was rubbing at Ratchet's systems at an agonizing pace. There was a likelihood that he'd be there for cycles if not longer before any aide came. Though, with how heavily they were under fire before, the medibot completely understood why there wasn't swift rescue. After cycles he even wondered if the Decepticons knew he was down there.

Then, suddenly, a small piece of scrap moved under the vibration of a step. It clamored down until it clinked against the slab currently pinning Ratchet's right arm. Wary optics looked up and witnessed more clutter displace and tumble his way. Then, there was an opening and bright amber lights shined down.

Primus, those better not be Decepticons.

From Ratchet's position he made out five silhouettes. A larger frame accompanied by four smaller forms. Each moved about, overturning pieces as if in search of something. In their endeavor they began collapsing the pocket Ratchet was cradled in and the weight from the ruins began crushing him.

"No, stop!" Ratchet's vocals were fading in volume as static burst from current framal tension. "You're going to collapse everything!"

A cry of pain turned into a heavy burst of static when Ratchet's vision went red with systematic warning notifications. He was certain he was crushed to death the moment everything shut down into a world of black nothingness.

That certainly wasn't the case when he booted up again and found himself clear of pinning debris and surrounded by a group of small mecha. Instantaneously Ratchet moved himself into defense; jumping to his pedes and swinging out his scalpels. If he knew anything from minibots, especially the likes of Rumble and Frenzy, it was that you didn't want to end up as their victims.

Except these minibots weren't really minibots in the sense of minicons. They were children.

The group quickly scampered away, tripping over each other in fright as they retreated to the largest mech in their company. This 'bot was near the same size as Ratchet, but one who looked just as worried over his safety as the little ones.

They were staring. Their optics focused partially on Ratchet's blades and then partly on the red sigil laying vibrantly across his chassis. Ah, so they were Decepticons.

Feeling the fright in their fields and observing the worry in their optics made Ratchet's tank churn, especially after understanding he was the one posing a threat. Within the next beat he shifted away his blades and finally took in his surroundings. The scenery hadn't changed much, but he was certain he was down another level, crammed under broken archways and abandoned buildings. Piles of scrap lay scattered about, many of it oddly enough sorted out. When he looked back toward the children and the mech they crowded around Ratchet came to the conclusion that this was likely an orphanage. A forgotten one by the looks of it.

"Are you the ones who fished me out of the wreck?" Ratchet watched many of the children nod, but it was the larger mech who spoke.

"We did," he said. "We meant you no harm, Autobot."

Ratchet shook his helm. "No, it's just . . ." He vented, shaking his helm again at what he was about to do. "Thank you for pulling me out."

His sincerity seemed to quell a majority of the tension. The guardian mech stepped forward and approached Ratchet. He stopped only a few steps away and assessed the medibot before he held out his hand in invitation.

"I'm Gorgon, I'm their caretaker. I see that you're a . . ." Ratchet saw the way his golden optics glanced once more to the symbol on his chassis, but he averted that gaze instead toward the ones painted on his shoulder struts and even up toward the chevron on his helm. "A medic. It's strange; that you're here and all."

At the reminder of his predicament, Ratchet also recalled just why a lone Autobot medic was doing in the sub levels of Kaon city. Glancing down, Ratchet saw just how empty his hands were. The helm, where was Highbrow's helm?

His search didn't go unnoticed.

"Your friend." Ratchet looked to Gorgon. There was sympathy in his field and in the light of his optical paneling. He turned and motioned toward a sector nearby. "We laid him to rest with the others."

Ratchet shifted. "The others?"

He was led over toward the far end of the room where a broken arch curved overhelm. Up above the ceiling had rusted away from concentrated acid rainfall. The opening allowed the light of the moons and stars to prism down, and perhaps it would have been a wonderful view of the higher levels hadn't said upper levels not been just as slagged as the level they were on. However, it was what expanded underneath that pulled the bulk of Ratchet's attention.

There were mounds, small mounds. All evenly spaced, and each with a pillar erected with a name carved into it. They were graves.

Two mechlings ran over toward a particularly small mound, circling it and looking up brightly at Ratchet and the one named Gorgon. Gorgon then shifted, turning to Ratchet with an understanding light in his optics and field.

"When it comes to loss, we are not so different," he said. With a turn, Gorgon nodded his helm and immediately the children began unstacking the plates of scrap placed over the missing helm. They returned the piece to Gorgon who in turn handed it back over to Ratchet. "I understand if you want to take him back to the other side."

When Highbrow's helm was back within Ratchet's hands, the weight of it all seemed so light in comparison to what he was witnessing right then. As surprising as it was to know that the Decepticons had the capability of reproducing, more disturbing was the fact that it was no surprise that many of these creations formed from said unions met premature ends. There wasn't enough energy sources to feed them all and extend the war. And the war always came first.

With a nod, Ratchet meant to speak words of thanks, instead what came out of his intake was, "These graves . . . they're small. They're all sparklings?"

Gorgon's optics shifted downward. There was sadness, regret, and resentment in his field, but none of it toward Ratchet nor even the faction he aligned himself with. The mech nodded. "It's not easy, especially for the youngest. I do what I can to take care of them, but energon is scarce, and alternate means of fuel is hard for their systems to digest. Their plating isn't as thick so the acid rain corrodes them faster, and the dangers of a decrepit city takes many careless sparks. The ones that are salvaged just fade away from lack of proper care. I've come to accept long ago that much of my struggles to provide just won't be enough." There was a flash in his optics then, a flame akin to some kind of hope. "I-If you could, could you take a look at some of the children?" He motioned toward another room. "I'm sure it won't take long, and you're a medic, it'll be good for them to see a 'bot like you."

Looking down at Highbrow's helm, Ratchet understood his mission. He understood all those who waited for his return, who needed him to rush back to Iacon just as fast. But small optics looked up at him, and the needy press of Gorgon's field sparked clockwork within his medical programing. Even though they were Decepticons; they deserved medical assistance just as much.

With a nod, Ratchet agreed and moved into the room to find scores of little ones laying down, many more hunched over with missing limbs, rusted plating, and malfunctioning systems. It was a pitiful sight, one that Ratchet was prepared to behold. Instantaneously he came to the first troubled sparkling, a little femme. She was once a deep green but corrosion and chipped plating made her brown undertones show more than anything else. As Ratchet laid his hands on her she started, a fright in her optics as she gazed at the symbol on his chassis.

"At ease, Highstar, he's a medic and he's here to help. Don't you want to get better?" Gorgon knelt alongside Ratchet to ensure the ailing children that this Autobot meant no harm. With further coaxing Ratchet was able to get the little one to lay down so he could examine her.

Like her and many of the others, the children suffered from prolonged exposure to acid rain and malnourishment. If they didn't rust away then they would offline from system failure. A tragic way to go, but no doubt common in these parts.

Aside from the unrepairable, Ratchet did chip and polish corroded plating, and cut and seal exposed wiring. Useless limbs were detached and malfunctioning circuitry was pulled and blocked. At the end of it all, Ratchet was rewarded with exuberant smiles and sparklings moving to reach out and touch him in thanks. Their pain was stalled and their states improved if only momentarily.

"Thank you, doctor. You don't know how much this means to all of us." Gorgon seemed just as excited as the children.

"Nothing is permanent," Ratchet said. "Look, if you don't find a proper fuel source for them all then your graveyard is going to gain more acres." He hated to sound morbid, but it was the truth. Gorgon seemed to understand but kept the severity of it secretly wound in himself so not to startle the young lives around them.

With a motion, Gorgon pulled Ratchet away from the bouncing little ones. It was there Ratchet got the first words in.

"I understand that you've been likely caring for them since their emersions, but this is no place to raise children." Ratchet was shaking his helm. "I can't say that we're off any better in the north, but if you choose to come to Iacon and take the little ones with you I can assure you that we'll shuttle all of you to Messatine. There's a facility there that'll provide you and the children with enough sustenance to survive and thrive."

Gorgon shook his helm and continued to do so until he looked at Ratchet in the optics and heavily said, "I can't. I'm a Decepticon."

"And those children are?" Ratchet vented, placing his hands on his pelvic plating. "They won't even survive for long enough to attain their sigil."

Be it that Gorgon seemed to grow nerved at Ratchet's bold statements, he needed to hear them. Ratchet could feel the conflict within his field, that of staying true to the ones he stood beside and then to the children he so loyally cared for. Stubbornness has already cost both sides so many, and he didn't want that to continue to be the cause of more offlining, especially such young sparks.

"I'm sorry, doctor, but that's something I just can't do." Gorgon stood his ground, yet, even as he did, Ratchet could sense his regret.

Ratchet sounded a sigh. "That's a tough choice to live with, you know."

Gorgon nodded, slowly, but then Ratchet watched as he swayed as if gripped with stabilizer misalignment. When he tipped over, Ratchet was there to catch him.

"Easy now. In all the excitement, we forgot to take a look at you. Come on, sit down for me."

Gorgon followed Ratchet's lead this time and even in the silence of the examination, he heeded the medibot's advice. However, the diagnosis returned in a similar fashion to the main ailment of the orphanage: malnourishment, though Gorgon's case was caused by something completely different.

"You're carrying." Ratchet tapped at the recorded readings and looked to Gorgon with zoned optics.

Gorgon didn't meet the gaze, instead he remained seated, leaning against one of the walls, quiet in his processing. "I know."

"Then you know that litters deplete a carrier's stores faster than a full mature system can run through them," Ratchet responded. "I detected two newsparks. It's better than six, but that still stands that two sparklings are in need of your energy sources, the ones slim enough to find around here."

Gorgon was quiet. Ratchet understood why. No carrier wanted to be berated by their choice to love the unborn, even if they came at the most inopportune times.

"Is there a sire in the picture?" It seemed like Gorgon ran the orphanage by himself.

With a nod, Gorgon said, "He's off fighting. I shouldn't be the one to hold him back, especially not for this."

Ratchet was piecing everything together now. "Does he know?"

Gorgon then shook his helm. "I wanted to tell him, but . . ."

"Duty calls," Ratchet completed, now absolutely skeptical about the relationship Gorgon pertained with the litter's sire. As disapproving as his frown was he did try to hold some empathy for the mech. "I'm surprised you managed to obtain a gestational chamber, especially in times like these."

Gorgon seemed quieter at the mention. "I've made due like I always have, and the 'bot I got it from didn't need it."

Ratchet didn't want to press further inquire into the controversial subject so he focused his attention back on the lowering levels.

"Then I can't stress enough how it would be best for you, the little ones, and your little ones to make the trip to Delphi. Your efforts to spark them in the first place will be for naught in a couple deca-cycles. They won't last on what you have and in turn they'll take you with them."

"I appreciate your care, doctor, I really do." Gorgon placed a hand over his chassis, rubbing affectionately. "But this is my plight. I couldn't ask to agitate anyone into this."

"Yeah, well it's not just yours anymore." Ratchet shifted the level device on his arm to show the other mech the smooth pulse rates of the detected sparks. "I'm honestly surprised your coding hasn't blatantly forced you to seek assistance by now, and excuse me for having no faith in your supposed lover. From the usual Decepticon attitudes it was likely just a fling just to have a good frag. You've honestly wasted your affections in a time like this."

"Do you say that because you're concerned for my offspring or do you say that because you don't believe a Decepticon is capable of love?"

Ratchet scoffed, ready to sputter a response when Gorgon continued instead.

"It's been that long, hasn't it? This civil war. It's gone on for so long and we've fought and died over and over that we forget we are still the same race. Decepticons, Autobots, we act like we can't relate, like we have nothing in common, even our own mechanics. How easy it is to forget, hm? Here I am, doctor, capable of emotions such as grief, regret, fear, happiness, and even love. And I have been subject to the same kind of passion from another of my fellows." He rubbed at his chassis again. "They are proof enough. What more should I give you?"

Ratchet held his glossa, listened, stood and observed every word and emotion. Gorgon wasn't wrong no matter how much Ratchet wanted to remind him or his own memory. But he remained quiet, understanding, and accepting their differences with respect.

"Have you ever loved, doctor?"

Ratchet glanced down, pulling back into the recess of his processor of a time that seemed as if it never happened. "Yes."

"Did you ever get the chance to create from that passion?"

Ratchet nodded, even the hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth plates. "Yes, a son. I carried a son."

"And where is your mate?" Gorgon seemed generally curious, grasping to find a bridge to share with the opposition. Yet there Ratchet stood, letting the reality of his relationship surface just to remember the past and the present.

"I lost him to the war."

Gorgon's field morphed with sympathy and in that Ratchet considered the mech's own affections. Shaking off the rising grief, Ratchet shifted and took out the rations he had taken before heading out on the mission and then handed it to the mech.

"I know you're set in your ways, so . . . here, it's not much but every bit counts for the ones you're carrying." Ratchet watched as Gorgon's bright optics whirled in surprise. When he took the cubes he clutched them to his chassis, a small smile forming on his lip plates.

"Thank you, doctor."

Ratchet nodded and then took up Highbrow's helm in his arms. "I wish you the best of luck."

Gorgon nodded as he stood to his pedes. "And I you. Be careful. Avoid the northwestern systems. They've been ramping the patrols up there."

With that caution in mind Ratchet transformed and sped away. After every few cycles he attempted contact with the team, but static was the only answer he ever got on the other end of the line. There was worry for his comrades' safety as well as his own over the possibility of being stuck in Kaon without a securer means to get out. The only option left was to make contact and Ratchet certainly couldn't maintain that with so many signal dampeners around.

If there was anything Ratchet took away from the likes of Grappler or even Wheeljack, it was that the cross fields of the dampeners would in turn disrupt themselves and give clairvoyance to the one situated therein. Of course that meant the possibility of exposer, but what other choice did Ratchet have?

Transforming, Ratchet skidded to a halt, servos pressed against his chassis to ensure the security of the cargo he carried within his subspace. When he scoped the lay of the area he dreaded the open scape, but he moved toward the towers, inevitably situating himself in between their shadows. Then, he tried contacting again.

"Hound, Mirage, Brawn, Bumblebee, do you read me? This is Ratchet."

While the static was less disruptive, there was still no reply. So Ratchet tried again.

"Mirage, Brawn, Hound, Bumblebee, this is Ratchet. Can you hear me?"

Then, finally, 'Ratchet?' It was Bumblebee.

Ratchet vented, helm falling in relief. "Thank Primus," he muttered before pressing into the frequency again. "I'm at the northwestern sector near Level F-D3. I'm not entirely sure about your situation, but I'm in heavy need of an extraction along with my cargo."

'I can't believe you're still functioning!' Bumblebee's young enthusiasm almost made Ratchet smile hadn't the whine of seekers overhelm derailed his relief.

"Yeah? Well, it won't be for much longer if I stay here." Ratchet crouched, hoping the shadows of the towers would conceal enough of him to keep him out of the scopes of the enemy. A very unlikely chance given his bright framal coloring. Damn.

'This is Hound. We haven't left the city yet and are currently en route toward your location,' the other mech assured.

"You're not the only one." Ratchet couldn't wait any longer, not when he noticed the pivots the aerials took as they dipped lower, leaning closer toward his position.

'Ratchet, what's happening?!'

"I've got seekers on my tailpipe. I can't stay in this sector." The static began growing, the line wavering.

'Can you make a circle and meet us back at the original extraction point? We're close by.'

"I'll do my best," was all Ratchet could say, and all he could assure because as those jets dipped and began firing charges, he wasn't quite certain if he'd make it out of this altercation.

Zigzagging was the usual means to avoid the overhelm fire, but more often than not the lay from the skies would maim and offline. Ratchet's worked on many an unfortunate 'bot caught up in the devastation of an aerial assault, and he, himself, has lucked out from the main damages, though this time he was the only target, and seekers didn't usually miss.

One of the rough aspects was that there was hardly any cover. A field of signal dampening towers wasn't the best selection for cover, though this chase did cause a few to crumble under seeker misfires. From that Ratchet was able to send his coordinates to the team, ensuring that if he did meet his end in the quickening future then they'd know where to look for him and the helm he clutched close.

Slamming on the brakes, Ratchet swerved, tipping almost into the nearby crevice. He cursed himself for being so stupid to pin himself there, but it didn't stop him from speeding off toward a pair of towers nearby. Unfortunately, he never made it to them, instead he felt a charge heat the ground below him, scorching his underside as the impact lifted him off his tires and into the air. He managed to transform before he hit the ground with a roll, his frame nearly toppling over into the crevice once more.

With a groan he pressed his hand against his chassis, shaking at the way the thermal charge ate at the plating. It wasn't the worst wound he's ever sustained but it still didn't hurt any less. And as the two seekers transformed and landed near him, he realized he'd be feeling much more of the harder side of their armament.

"Well, well, look who's finally come home." Thundercracker was snickering down at the 'bot while Skywarp held a humored smirk. Leaning down, the blue plated jet reached out and took hold of Ratchet by the arm, lifting him as if he were nothing but a rag doll. "You should have told us you were fed up with the Autobots, we would have given you a luxury escort to Kaon." With a loud laugh he pushed the medibot back into the ground.

Denta grit and optics flickering, Ratchet endured the weight of the jets towering over him. They laughed and mocked as they pushed against Ratchet's ligaments, bending until gears popped and plating indented. They wanted to hear the medic scream, but Ratchet refused to give them such satisfaction.

Skywarp and Thundercracker's humor over Ratchet's pain never wavered, even if the Autobot remained silent and defiant. However, their crude jabs eventually leveled out to the original purpose of their search.

"You think he has it?" Skywarp questioned.

"While I'd be more than happy to pop his helm off, it seems they did no cortical transfer. Just took the traitor's helm." Thundercracker's optics performed a scan down Ratchet's frame and his smile returned. "Why, doctor, it seems there's an abnormality detected inside you. Why don't we perform some surgery and take that out?"

Ratchet could only gasp when Skywarp pushed his arms down onto him to keep him still while Thundercracker pulled at his chassis. He wanted to resist further but he knew that if he did so his entire frontal plating would simply be forcibly torn off, and wandering around as an Autobot in Kaon with your spark chamber exposed wasn't the safest precaution. So he slid back the latches and allowed the seeker to pull apart his chassis before he damaged him further.

There, near Ratchet's spark chamber was Highbrow's helm. In horror he watched as the Decepticon reached inside and took it out.

"So much trouble, just for this." Thundercracker snickered again, giving the helm a whirl on his digits. He looked back down at Ratchet who had moved away from Skywarp's hold the moment Thundercracker pulled the helm from him and was now currently latching his chassis back in place, hiding, shielding his spark from the monsters overhelm.

A sharp grin morphed Thundercracker's features then as he looked to his companion with a few nods. "Skywarp, since we finished this little mission quicker than we thought, how's about we have a little fun before returning to base?"

Skywarp nodded enthusiastically. "Does this fun include our guest?"

Thundercracker nodded. "Naturally. I think I'll hold him down this time while you—hey!"

In the moment of their distraction, Ratchet had lunged forward and grabbed a hold of Highbrow's helm. Unfortunately, Thundercracker hadn't let go.

"Get him off!" Thundercracker pushed against Ratchet while Skywarp maneuvered to come up behind and grab him. Before the violet mech could do such a thing, Thundercracker's rough push had managed to get the medic off of him, however, the helm slipped from his servos and Ratchet took a hold of it once more.

Just as Ratchet secured the helm, he intended to land and stand his ground, but he was too close to the cliff's edge and the force of Thundercracker's push had tipped him over. And down he fell.

"Oh, now look what you've done," Skywarp complained as he and Thundercracker peered over the crevice into the darkness.

"Gets rid of two of our problems," Thundercracker reasoned. And with a shrug he was twisting around, transforming and taking off. Skywarp wasn't far behind him.

Ratchet was certain this was to be his end. The bottom level of Kaon city was to be where his frame splattered and spark expired. However, the moment when he landed against an oblong structure premature to his demise, Ratchet wondered if his previous assurance was misplaced.

Still clutching Highbrow's helm, Ratchet felt along the structure he was currently on top of. It was strange for there to be any sort of obstruction in a level crevice, yet there Ratchet stood, shuffling over it until he figured out what it was. It was definitely a building, one that was originally upright due to the rusted and bent foundational beams. It must have teetered over long ago, its length catching the other end of the crevice to secure its position. Why, it all almost reminded Ratchet of . . .

Diagonal Tower.

For a few cycles, Ratchet stood frozen. His optics shone over the old structure, over the plating just underpede. Was it really . . .? It was all still there, even after all of the fighting and raids and . . .?

Looking upward, it was clear the seekers assumed Ratchet offline. He had no followers this time. Just as he glanced back down, Ratchet tucked the helm back into his subspace and then moved along the structure, looking for the entrance. When he found it, he stared at it for a moment, debating on whether or not to enter.

Inside was better than outside. The coverage enticed Ratchet inside, but something else entirely pulled him to move along the floors until he reached a more than familiar level, and a more than familiar apartment. For some time he just stared at the numbers hanging over the doorframe. He wanted to go in, but there was a force that continued to hold him back, out of caution and fright.

By the time Ratchet entered in the command to open the door the internal fight within him was over. And as he stepped into the space that was once a home he shared with the mech he loved the most, he felt an understanding why that part of himself tried to keep him away from the place. Already the atmosphere threw down against him, a weight that was only felt within the confines of his spark chamber. A wretched feeling, but one that Ratchet carried on with.

The apartment was still just as empty as Ratchet last remembered it. This time there were signs from the raging war outside; parts of the ceiling was caved, even a few spots on the flooring were rusted, debris from tremors coated the place with a thick layering of dust. A few cabinets were still in places as well as shelves now overturned. Ratchet moved and noticed the lounge room windows were shattered, and the draft from the crevice pushed into the space constantly, displacing what rubble it could.

It was there Ratchet stood, looking out, remembering the view. Instead of vivid starry nights and colorful morning skies, the smoke of devastation clogged every visual, along with flocks of patrolling aerials and fiery smithies. When it all became too much, Ratchet turned away and moved closer to what once was his office.

Just like much in the interior, Ratchet's old office was cluttered with scrapped rusted plates, dust, and collapsed shelving. It was one of the best preserved rooms given its condition. Though, even in its current state Ratchet found himself envisioning how it all used to be, and surprisingly, it wasn't that hard.

There he was: seated at his desk, trying as he might to organize the clutter splayed all over it, at least before dinner approached. Of course in his haste he forgot to keep track of time and the familiar chime of the front door opening alerted him to his failed efforts.

"Sire!"

Ratchet had left the confines of his workspace just in time to see a white and black blur zoom past him and slam into the hulking chassis of his mate. Megatron was grinning audio to audio as their mechling pressed himself into his open arms. Within the next motion he was winding around Speeder clutching him in his embrace as he leaned upright and swung the child.

Giggles and laughter abounded as Ratchet drew closer, too endeared not to press just as close to the two and lather them with affectionate kisses. And then the day wound wind down with a meal for three in the dining room.

Ratchet moved where this dream led, standing now in the archway of the dining room where he saw himself seated alongside his conjunx and offspring, enjoying each other's company and relaying their day to one another. When their tanks were full and their levels replenished they'd retreat to the lounge room and watch as Cybertron lit up the evening. Speeder would have to be put to berth after that of which Ratchet believed the hallend room would suit. And when he was finally settled the last of the online 'bots would return to their own quarters where hands would glide over plating, and lips would press against wiring, and chassis would push against chassis, and love would be made—perhaps even another sparkling. Primus, Ratchet would have given Megatron a thousand sparklings if he had so wanted.

It was a lovely vision, one Ratchet hadn't realized he'd want so badly until the war began. There he was, standing in the doorway of where his and Megatron's chambers used to be. Just as stripped as the other compartments, save for a berth. Ratchet recalled having to leave the large piece of furniture. A shame really, there had been a lot of fond memories involving that berth, one where so much love was made—and possibly where Speeder was sparked.

Reaching out, Ratchet laid his hand over the dust-covered thing, trying as he might to chase all of those memories. Each run ended in failure and so Ratchet pulled himself away, back toward the lounge area where he took an overturned cabinet and pulled it toward the broken windows to sit and stare.

Pushing back the weight of the site was a struggle in itself. Ratchet had a team he needed to meet up with, but avoiding future collisions with the seeker kind was a top priority as well. After a moment in his processor, Ratchet realized there were no dampener towers nearby.

He tried comming.

Just as the static cleared up a noise bit through the silence, and not one coming from Ratchet's communications link. Instantly silencing the feed, Ratchet shifted, rushing to find cover beside the kitchen border wall.

What once was faint now was loud and apparent. Someone entered the abandoned apartment, moving slowly through the hall until it came to a silence near the area Ratchet's office once laid.

Spark pulsing, Ratchet did his best to keep his field retracted. He hoped that whoever decided to come in for a tour would leave just as quickly. That wasn't the case, per usual.

When the mystery 'bot moved the steps were slower, heavier. From the sound Ratchet concluded this mech was larger scaled and so a series of lists ran across his display in his worry over who it was. His assumption was the seeker sort, knowing that the likes of them were the only ones who knew he'd fallen down there, but as this mech moved his frame toward the lounge room Ratchet realized his assumptions were inexcusably incorrect.

Megatron.

The last time Ratchet had even caught a glimpse of the mech was during a small skirmish that turned into a full-scale assault on Tyger Pax. Even then it was from a drone feed as Ratchet and the other medibots barricaded themselves in the operating rooms with their patients and waited for back up from Prime. The devastation was so severe that even though the Autobots secured a victory, Ratchet and his crew spent days repairing the wounded.

The Megatron he was seeing didn't at all show semblance to the one that decimated legions of opposition troops at Tyger Pax. Proud shoulder struts were drooped, bright red optics dimmer, and movement vulnerably slow. For a moment Ratchet believed the effects of this damnable place was effecting him in the same manner it had himself, but recollections of mecha he's known offlined by this tyrant's hand turned any bout of empathy from Ratchet's spark. He's seen what Megatron's become over the years and had no doubt he could wind up on the same decommissioned list. Which was why he stressed finding an escape route.

Looking around, Ratchet realized the closest opening was in fact a corroded segment in the wall just across the strip of flooring. He'd have to put some weight into knocking out more of the rusted portion so that his entire frame could fit through but it was his best option. However, moving there was another issue in itself, despite Megatron standing on the other side of the room he was still just too close.

There was no choice but to wait and watch for the right opening. Though he noticed a shift in Megatron's posture as the mech turned his helm to look at the overturned cabinet that was once Ratchet's contemplation stool. Slag.

Suddenly, dim optics brightened and a face too many have seen before offlinement scrunched, lips pulled tight as motions quickened. "Who's there?" Scarlet lights roamed around the room, agitated shadows cast away in their search. "This area is restricted. You know the penalty for ignoring my command. Now show yourself!" There was a harsh bite in Megatron's vocals, that of a lord demanding obedience. It suited the leader of the Decepticons.

After a few unrelenting beats passed, Ratchet witnesses another shift in Megatron, this time it started from his processor. When it all ended with a knowing smirk, Ratchet began worrying over his positon more.

"No, none of my mecha would be stupid enough to disregard my authority. But I didn't think the Autobots would have the ball bearings to step into my city." Megatron moved, leaning over sectors where one might hide. Ratchet didn't ignore the charging whine of the mech's ion canon. He needed to move before he was discovered.

"You're here for that spy, aren't you? Did you get a chance to find him? I did try to make sure each one of you got a piece of that wretch." With a startling crumble, Megatron had bashed down a damaged shelf, its security useless had anyone been hiding behind it. "It'd be a shame to find out he still functions after the work I did on him."

Knuckles thrummed along the walls, echoing in the empty chambers, rattling Ratchet's resolve. He was getting closer.

Glancing back over at the only plausible route, Ratchet knew he'd have to dart for it, but he also knew his limitations in that he wouldn't be able to outmaneuver an ion canon, especially the well-guided canon of Megatron's. With a shift, he froze just as the larger mech loomed overhelm, optics narrowed, still in search. Primus, he was just close enough to brush fields. Oh no, Ratchet felt his core cool the moment his field tapped against Megatron's, and it reached out in subconscious familiarity. Damn it.

"Come out before I tear this entire place asund—" Megatron's pause only followed by the tiniest push in his field against Ratchet's, as if verifying what he was feeling. "Ratchet?" His voice was low, possibly soft in a sense. Its tone rode disbelief and surprise evenly.

Another fight took place, that of Ratchet forcing his field to retract as he took the opportunity to dash for his exit. As uncovered and out in the open that he was, Ratchet felt no bite of ionic charge. Instead, he only heard Megatron shift with a shout of, "Ratchet!"

As soon as he slid toward the corner, Ratchet stamped onto the corroded flooring. The pieces gave way immediately, but it took two fully weighted stomps before the hole was large enough to portal his frame through. It gave the medic enough time to look back and see just what was pulling at his very core.

There he was, the great leader of the entire Decepticon faction. Where before he posed as a menace, now, now there was a look about him, one full of secret emotions stored away, surfacing again because right now they were reacting to Ratchet's own bubbling up.

Aside from the surprise, Megatron took a step forward. He looked lost, his mouth moved, his fingers twitched. There was desperation in his optics, a sight uncomely for a mech of his position.

"What . . . what are you doing here?" Megatron took another step forward and despite knowing better, Ratchet stalled that final push downward. The field surging out to wrap around his own felt beautiful and all Ratchet wanted to do was get lost in it.

Megatron caught the way Ratchet glanced down. He knew his intentions. A hand reached out, and two more steps forward were made. "Don't go, please, just stay, even for a little while. Stay so that I can . . . so that I . . ."

Ratchet once more beat that hope down again, the one that constantly reared its ugly helm. There wasn't a chance or moment he could have where that possible. It wasn't possible to stay any longer.

With the final kick, Ratchet's form passed underneath. As soon as he rolled onto the level below he heard Megatron call out his name, and the pull from an age old bond took a toll on the medibot that he didn't think would. It slowed him down but it didn't stop him from running until he was far enough away to be alone in his agony.

Tripping over, Ratchet clung to the ground, shaking, hands pressed against his chassis as his spark rattled inside him. What he'd once weened himself off of now struck him like a null ray. He hurt, his entire frame shook with the pain he felt exploding inside his spark chamber. He wanted to believe the grief wasn't his own, that it was transferred from the mech who had once been his conjunx, but in believing that there was still the fact that Megatron still possibly felt the same way as Ratchet did; alone, hurt, aggrieved, and more oft than not, lost. No, there wasn't a chance that the Decepticon leader could contain any sort of these emotions, not after everything he's done in the millions of years in this accursed war. So that left Ratchet with one conclusion: all of those emotions were his own.

The fright, the anxiety, the rush of urgency all faded away as Ratchet's spark swirled inside him, crying out louder than he would ever let himself over a bond stretched so thin he had thought it nonexistent at this point. Even now he could feel faint taps of shared longing, and once more Ratchet refused to believe it was Megatron.

It was like that—among the piles of rubble and scrap, sprawled out and trembling—that the others found him. Ratchet briefly remembered Hound picking him up and carrying him the rest of the way out of the city, and then he recalls Jazz's visual coming across his optical functions. The TIC had met them half way and escorted the squadron personally back to Iacon. And Jazz remained by Ratchet's side even as he laid underneath the care of First Aid.

"A little depleted, but his levels are balancing out now." First Aid turned toward Jazz, a heavy expression etched in his features. "From what it appears, during two intervals, his spark wavered. It shouldn't have been anything serious, but I think there was a chance for a shutdown in between those abnormalities. I can't really explain the cause, but from my analysis, it wouldn't be wise for him to tread through a mission again."

Jazz nodded, understanding and taking in every ounce of relayed information. It was two cycles after First Aid had left that Ratchet's levels balanced and he booted. The medic looked to his old friend and as soon as he saw the disapproval scrawled over his features, his blue optics rolled away.

"Here to hammer me, Jazz?" Ratchet shifted, laying on his side, trying to ignore his friend's presence as well as the consistent beeping from the monitors attached to him.

"Nah, I'll just let Prime do it." There was a smile on Jazz's lip plates, Ratchet could feel it even with his back turned to him.

Ratchet snorted, still battling over the ability to ignore the mech nearby as well as the constant pain ghosting inside his spark chamber. The next day when Ratchet pulled himself out of the observational room without regards to First Aid's advice, he and the others were hailed as heroes over their task to obtain Highbrow's data. The fallen mech had been honored while Jazz's previous warning had come to pass as well.

"Ratchet."

The white and red mech had been in the process of moving his medical equipment with the assistance of his staff when Prime, himself, waltzed into the medbay. He looked at Ratchet with hard optics, and despite the faceguard, Ratchet knew there was a frown underneath.

"Ah, Optimus, it's a good thing you're here. We need a mech with a larger build to lift the chronocore generator. The Ark's medbay is going to need it." Ratchet was motioning toward the machine where three of his assistants were attempting to drag it out, but their pace was less than ideal for Ratchet's patience.

Of course the Optimus Prime didn't move. His stance wasn't just against heavy labor, but another reason for his visit.

"I need to speak with you in private," Optimus affirmed, his tone even, but laced with demand.

Ratchet knew the drill. With a wave of his hand, his staff moved away from their tasks and out of the facility. As soon as they were alone, Optimus took a few steps closer.

"Jazz told me what you did."

Ratchet nodded. "You mean how I salvaged Highbrow's helm and the data cache inside?"

"Perceptor is the one decoding the data scheme. You did nothing but disobey orders and put yourself and Hound's team in jeopardy."

Ratchet vented, turning to try and rid himself of his idle demeanor. "We all made it back in one piece. Besides, there wasn't an order against me accompanying them to Kaon." He turned to Optimus, stance firm. "I knew that city better than any of those young 'bots. They would have walked right into the Decepticon barracks if it wasn't for me."

"Jazz had briefed them all with an updated layout of the city and its levels. As he did with Ambulon who was meant to go with them," Optimus said. "Perhaps if it had been him instead then we wouldn't have to bury Highbrow."

Ratchet gapped. "Are you saying I'm the one at fault for his extinguishing? Optimus, I may not look like much but I did my damnedest to save his life as any other medibot would have. Ambulon would have had to make the same decisions I have, and you know I'm glad it was me. I wouldn't wish any medic having no other choice but to offline a mech for the sake of a faction."

There was trouble swirling within Optimus's optics as there was fury within Ratchet's, and hurt as well. It was that which Optimus saw most clearly.

"While I am eternally grateful for your actions during the mission, I was informed of First Aid's analysis after your return."

Ratchet shook that comment away as well. "So I had a little spell at the end, nothing to worry about. I'm still functioning." He paused when he felt a hand lay down on his shoulder strut. It stopped him from moving to sort out his equipment, it stopped him from further pulling himself away. He turned and looked at the Prime, at the one who was once—still is—a very dear friend of his.

"I don't know how I'd manage if something happened to you," Optimus admitted, offering the medic an affectionate squeeze. He pulled his hand away and instead reached out his field in companionship, much in the same way Orion Pax used to. "And it's just now I realize how much this war has taken its toll on you. I want you to go to Delphi."

Ratchet paused. "What?"

There was a short vent Ratchet had heard from Optimus, like he expected this reaction. "Messatine is so far placed from the war that there isn't much of a threat of assault. I'm not asking you to quit the medical field, I'm encouraging it. At Delphi you'll have a larger staff and you'll be able to pursue your projects without energy shortages. And instead of frontline surgeries, you'll be able to care for therapeutical recoveries."

"Are . . ." Ratchet felt insult and upset override his hurt. "Are you retiring me?"

This time Optimus let out a groan, and Ratchet's wasn't going to pretend he missed that optic roll. "No, I just want to ensure your longevity, and if I have to put you on Messatine then I will."

Ratchet was shaking his helm, optics flickering down into deeper processing. His tank churned and core tempted. Damn, it was all nearly sickening. "This is all because I went to Kaon without your permission, wasn't it?"

"There are more reasons than that alone," Optimus verified.

"Then what are they?" Ratchet stepped forward, his field pushing against Prime's, and not in the kindest of ways. "Why are you trying to get rid of me?"

Optimus Prime was just as patient as Orion Pax was. He waited until Ratchet's spout faded in the slightest before he felt it was safe to speak up again. "I was told that you took them to your old clinic. There were a lot of sites that rose up from the past, wasn't there? I think they were what throttled your spark. Though I can't expect to fully understand, I can see what a bond does to a mech whose conjunx is standing with the other faction, who's standing over the opposing faction. You know what Megatron's done, and I know you try and hide what you can but it's tearing you apart, and once it's done with you it'll only be your end. I don't want that, Ratchet. I wish you could understand why I have to do this."

Ratchet was quiet, taking every word and reason to his spark and processing what was left of his options. Optimus took his silence as submission and so reached out to lay his hand on him once more.

"It'd be an honor for Delphi to receive my CMO. The medics there could all learn a lot from you," Optimus assured. "Please, Ratchet, take this as an opportunity and not a sentence."

After losing Megatron and then having to give up his son, all that was left for Ratchet to lean on were his friends. When the war thickened and when desperation even struck Sentinel Prime's forces, Ratchet chose his side and willingly took up the Autobot sigil; just as his friends had. Alongside his friends he defended the cause with his spark and hands, even as Thunderclash and Pharma were sent farther away, Ratchet got the opportunity to remain close to Orion and Jazz. And on that fateful day when Sentinel's wounds took their toll and he descended the Matrix of Leadership to Orion, Ratchet furthered his resolve for the Autobot faction.

Ratchet was grateful for helping in any way he could. If it all meant the ones he cared most for were still functioning because of his endeavors then he'd continue to serve. But these lifelines were stretching to the point they might as well snap. Being sent away from the likes of Optimus and Jazz wasn't sitting well with Ratchet and as the Prime left him over this final command, Ratchet couldn't manage to tank the orders.

The orders for his staff to prep a shuttle for him came over Ratchet's helm, likely due to the reason of his reluctance to give such orders to his assistants. He sat in his office for quite some time, refusing to move even as the space emptied under the busy servos of his fellow orderlies. When the room was all stripped to frame and structure, Ratchet finally came to the realization he was going to leave soon, very soon.

"You're blast off's in six cycles, Ratch." In came Ironhide, scanning over the empty room and then zoning into the sole 'bot seated in the middle of said emptiness. "You don't look anywhere near as ready for the trip."

Glazed optics finally pulled away from dampened processors to take in the guest. Ratchet wanted to politely welcome the old mech, but he couldn't manage a friendly smile nor adequate greeting. Instead, he shifted in his seat and sounded a sigh.

"The opportunity to distance myself from the frontlines is ideal." Leaning forward, Ratchet splayed his red servos across a clean desk. All of his datapads, his columns of small projects were taken away, stored into the shuttle meant to carry him and the majority of his assistants to Messatine.

"But you don't want to, right?" Ironhide was nodded, smiling even as he came closer and leaned against the desk, his field brushing Ratchet's in understanding. "Then why don't ya stay?"

Ratchet snorted, shaking his own helm. "It's what Prime ordered. Says my spark's in danger if I stay any longer."

"You know, as much as I like the new kid in town, even I know there are times not to follow orders." Ironhide leaned back, arms crossed, lips straight and contemplative. "Come on, we both know that Prime is still Orion underneath all that formality and rank. Can't you just call him off? You two've been friends since your academy days. I doubt he'd try any court martial or detention if you stay."

There was still time. Ratchet had contemplated having a final word with Optimus Prime in hopes to purge his departure from his mainframe. It'd be a last-ditch effort, but one worth fighting for. Ratchet really didn't want to go and he knew more than just Ironhide knew this.

"I, personally, think it's a damn mistake to do away with our Chief Medical Officer," Ironhide voiced. "I mean, who's Prime going to set in your place? First Aid? Minerva? I'd rather my chassis be underneath Wheeljack than those two any day."

Ratchet chuckled at the extreme idea, but as he let the silly image set in he began to realize that that just might become a reality, one he couldn't let happen and that the Autobots shouldn't either. He was not only Prime's Chief Medical Officer, but of the whole Cybertronian medical field. Delphi had plenty of skilled and able medibots, the frontline did not, and getting rid of a majority of them just to relieve a liable 'bot should not be an excuse.

Looking at Ironhide, Ratchet's optics flashed. "Where is Optimus?"

There was a smile of encouragement that spread across the old mech's face plates. He shifted, jutting his thumb toward the door. "He's with Wheeljack. Him and the kid just got back from a scavenger hunt with a few energy conductors in tow. I don't think Prime's going to be sending out any more mecha."

"Then the launch will be coming sooner than we think." Ratchet processed what he was told and within the next astrosecond he stood from his chair, moved past Ironhide, and left his cleared office altogether.

Having marched this beaten path before, Ratchet let his subconscious lead him toward Optimus's command station. On his way there he ran into Jazz.

"Hey, Ratch, what're ya doing in these parts? You've got a shuttle to catch." Before Ratchet could get annoyed at Jazz's own acceptance of his sentence the base shuttered and the lighting flickered. The shake even startled the Third in Command who twisted and gapped. "Whoa, that didn't feel like Wheeljack's daily laboratory rumble!"

Another shutter and then the hallways lit up red. With a quick glance back toward Ratchet, Jazz silenced any further questions on the presented topic and instead took off down the corridor with the medibot on his heels. When the two skidded to a halt into the command center, the monitors surrounding easily displayed the cause of the sounding alarms.

"Decepticons?" Jazz immediately dashed toward the panels, dialing into the higher levels for immediate status reports and from his irate face it wasn't hard to discern their distress as their base was breached. "Prime! Levels one, two, and four are confirming fire. Casualties are mounting!"

At the center stood Optimus Prime, almost unreadable if not for the bright light in his optics. In particular he was glaring at the visual of Level 1 where Prowl and his force was taking heavy fire and one by one the Decepticons seeped in, overwhelming and pushing past to slide into the lower levels. Their intent was to destroy, just as it had always been.

"Megatron's forced our hand." Optimus's fists were clenched. He turned toward Sideswipe, Grappler and Hoist. "Get the ship ready. We leave within the cycle."

Sideswipe wasn't the only one who gapped at the command. "But, Prime, we don't have everything loaded yet and Wheeljack's still installing the generators. It may take over ten more cycles until the Ark's even ready for travel."

As honest as it was, Optimus's reaction proved he hadn't wanted to hear those words from the mech. He turned and took a step closer, peering down at Sideswipe. "Then inform Wheeljack of the newly allotted time and prepare the ship." There wasn't need to say anything more and with a swift motion, Optimus pulled out his blaster from his subspace, moving out of the room and toward the lifts. Immediately Jazz and Brawn and Hound fell in line with him, all battle-ready.

Ratchet followed and was the mech responsible for the lift's delay. Holding the control lever, Ratchet almost flinched at Optimus's glare. Almost.

"Optimus, wait!"

"Ratchet, you need to be concerned about gathering your staff and departing on Unitrex-1. Launch has been unfortunately moved closer. Don't make me have to tell you again when I return." Optimus moved and placed his hand over Ratchet's. He was ready to pull him off of the control.

"Damn it, Optimus, there are wounded up there!" Ratchet pushed closer in challenge. "What are you going to do when you rescue them? Shove them all with us to patch up on our way to Delphi? You need those mecha with you on the Ark and you need me to oversee their recovery. Don't send me away, Optimus. You need me, and so do the others."

The standoff was quiet, bated, and rough. As Optimus glared in demand for submission, so too did Ratchet return the gaze, daring for physical altercation because that was going to be the only way he'd be put on any other vessel besides the Ark.

"Prime." It was Jazz. "They need us. Prowl's already reported ten more down." He nodded toward Ratchet. "Sometimes plans have to change. You know we're going to need Ratchet."

There was a shift in the Prime, one to where he pulled Ratchet's hand away from the lever. In that moment, Ratchet felt his spark swirl in discomfort, at the thought of never seeing these dear friends again.

Just as Optimus pushed the lever to pull the lift he looked to Ratchet and said, "Prepare the Ark's medbay. You and your assistants are going to have your servos full in a few moments."

As soon as Optimus and the others were out of sight and audio another shock rocked the base. Ratchet pulled himself out of his surprise and turned to call back his staff, gathering what they could from their intended vessel and moving it all onto the Ark. The golden ship was nowhere near ready when Optimus Prime and the rest of the Autobots returned dragging the wounded behind, and neither was Ratchet or his designated medical bay, but he did what he could as the Ark warmed for launch.

"Lay him down over here!" Ratchet demanded as his staff stumbled under the rumble of the Ark as its turbines reared and generators whirled. The wounded were moaning and groaning and screaming and Ratchet was lucky that the resent installation of the gravity placers on the mediberths were updated and functioning properly because performing surgery during takeoff would have been near impossible without it.

Aside from the fading sparks in Ratchet's servos there was the realization that Cybertron was now a fading distance behind them, and that he may never see his home planet again. The attached memories, both good and bad, racked Ratchet's tank and with the support from his persistent staff, he was able to push his home-sickness down and set his focus on the ones who needed it.

However, leaving a planet behind wasn't as jarring as a sieged ship being boarded. They'd been followed, even through the rain of asteroids. Ratchet and the others gasped at the shake of exploding charges and the overhelm shouts from commanders on both factions.

"Decepticons are on the Ark!" Already traumatized from the previous excursion, Ratchet watched as the mess of patients uttered in terror, in turn pulling his assistants into the hysteria.

It was easy to shake, it was easy to want to hide and cower away. What was hard was grabbing the emergency blasters stored just next to the line defibrillators and cocking the gun toward the medical ward doors where unfamiliar vocals were heard. Harder still was taking aim and firing at fellow Cybertronians who had been mistaken enough to believe the stored away medibots were defenseless.

Even as the startle died, the fear remained prevalent. Turning, Ratchet nodded to the other weapons. "Guard yourself, there's likely to be more."

Gawks and gaps were what Ratchet left behind as he ran out of the ward toward the louder course of the destruction. What he found in the cockpit was an all-out struggle for control of the Ark. Starscream and his seekers were present, Soundwave and his minicons, and even Megatron himself was there in the throes of the chaos.

The fights to the death from previous clashes were controlled in spacious fields or even sectors. Their struggle then was confined and would tear the Ark to shreds if one side didn't stamp down the other, and that didn't look like it was going to happen anytime soon.

Ratchet's decision to offer tactical assistance was instantly met with a downfall as the strong hands of Soundwave pushed him into the Ark's compute panel. The surge rattled Ratchet's interior frame from his peding to his denta. It took him more than a moment to align his sensors and once he had his frame hit the flooring again and the tight hands constricting his neck cabling belonged to none other than Thundercracker.

"There you are, medic." Thundercracker grit his denta in frustration and absolute hate. He shook Ratchet who struggled underneath his weight. "I'm going to enjoy this, and after I'm done I'll be considered a hero: the one who finally liberated our leader!"

Just as thumb digits dug into Ratchet's voice module the seeker lurched forward and let out a cry. There was absolute agony scrawled across his face plates as he slid off of him, rolling onto his scorched back plates. Ratchet's wide optics stuttered at the sight before twisting to see Megatron's canon still sizzling.

There was irritation, upset, and livid anger, but most of those emotions were directed toward the writhing seeker. "Fools! Don't waste your time with them. Get control of the ship!"

In Megatron's struggle to rein in his mecha, Optimus had maneuvered around and lunged at the silver mech, both tumbling over sensitive controls while the ship swayed and lurched. When the turbulence was prevalent that it wasn't from the skirmish onboard both Autobots and Decepticons turned their attentions away from slaughtering the other.

"What's happening?!" Optimus turned away from Megatron, finally looking over toward the monitors, toward the shifting scenery outside.

"G-force is—dragging us down!" Ratchet could have sworn he heard Prowl shout out. And from that confirmation and the sudden tip the ark made into an unknown atmosphere, it was clear the vessel was nearing to crash.

The magnetic junction of the tractor beams snapped one by one, and as soon as the last junction severed the Ark nosedived and those trapped inside jostled around. It was Optimus who managed to keep his holding, inching his way back toward the throttle. Ratchet was clinging onto the arm of the co-pilot's chair when he watched his leader take hold of the control, but even as the Prime pulled on it the quickening decline of the vessel made the grab useless.

Optimus's optics were wide. "We're out of control!"

Past swirling plumes of clouded atmosphere the terrain of the planet revealed itself. Mounds of rock littered every sector, shoots of smoke shot up from spouts. These mountains were everywhere and it was right into the belly of one that the Ark couldn't be pulled away from.

A crash was eminent and possibly the death of them all. There was no time to break for an escape pod. No time to even unlatch emergency locks.

If the war was going to end, then how fitting it would be just like that; with both sides clinging to one another, facing extinguishment together.

The moment of impact was fascinating as it was horrifying. The entire ship crunched under the weight of the built up terrain. Turbines imploded and whole sections were rippled asunder. And right there in the control deck, both Autobot and Decepticon saw and felt everything.

The impact jostled those onboard to offlinement and those lucky into stasis. Limbs vibrated right off frames and systems misaligned in the mayhem. Ratchet remembers the force knocking him back. He hit something, or likely someone because just as soon as another shake overtook the colliding ship it pushed him and the 'bot he had rammed into further away near the door.

Hearing creaks and crunches all around disrupted Ratchet's senses to the point he couldn't tell which were his wounds and which were another's. That was when he felt arms wind around him, strong ones. In the turmoil of it all, Ratchet didn't feel the suffocation he expected, instead those arms braced him, holding him as the ship lodged itself further into the mountain, folding itself in further.

The last violent rock Ratchet recalled had been so rough that he tipped over, as had the one whose arms were around him. They both rolled until they slid to the center of the room, into the mess of the dismembered others. As frightened as Ratchet was, the chassis over his held a familiarity about it, more so that spark inside that was reaching out, calming him in the surrounding atrophy. And in turn, Ratchet felt it take comfort from him.

As optics faded, Ratchet was at least glad to be content in this end, something he never thought he'd ever find again.

. . .

The first visage that Megatron onlined to was the concerned features of Skywarp.

"Megatron, my leader. We're alive again!"

It took a moment for his systems to boot correctly and his levels to balance. His stabilizers were one of the last compartments to correct itself as he stood and reformed his bearings. Skywarp was there to steady him and encourage his recovery, but aside from his enthusiastic follower, Megatron took another moment to take in the carnage around him.

The sheer trauma from the crash had jostled his sensors to the point Megatron was having a hard time understanding why he was there as well as why Autobot frames were scattered amongst Decepticon hulls. The Autobot's intelligence system seemed to pick up on this and began sounding off frequencies to align Megatron's frayed memory core.

There was a rush of an intent to follow, to chase, to capture and board. Megatron's arm twitched with the familiar weight of his ion canon. Memories skittered out of the faces he offlined. Grinding denta then felt the ghost of spat commands, of infuriation.

Lastly, Megatron recollected the fear.

The crash. Megatron remembered it all. As his arms twitched he looked at them, they bent as if to cradle. They had, hadn't they?

Scarlet optics looked over to where Skywarp had dragged him from. A familiar white and red form lay in the exact spot Megatron had rested for who-knows-how-long. Ratchet had fallen, tossed around just as every mech inside had been. When he was thrown close, Megatron instinctively reached out, winding around him to take whatever further damage the medibot would retain for himself. It was how Megatron fell into stasis; with the medibot pulled against him, chassis to chassis, spark to spark, taking comfort in knowing that if that was their end then at least they would meet it beside one another.

With his bearings stabilized, Megatron took his first steps. Each one leveled out. He came to a stop beside the place he had lain stasis for years, where Ratchet still laid.

Leaning down, Megatron pressed a hand against the medic's vertebrae cabling. There was a subtle reaction from the energon still flowing. Ratchet still functioned.

Relief phased over him and when Megatron turned his gaze to look at the other mecha around, especially the Autobots, the sense of urgency returned to his field. Standing, Megatron nodded to Skywarp and said, "Quickly, we must revive the other Decepticons."

As soon as the others were brought back online they picked up the task of piecing their brethren together again. Megatron was surprised by how many actually managed to survive the crash, however their enthusiasm over their early booted circumstance in comparison to the Autobots and how they went about said celebration did not at all surprise the Decepticon leader.

Like the aftermath of victory, the Decepticon troops raided the ship's storage, taking whatever they wanted. After their systems sung with rejuvenation they turned to disperse the extra energy surges on their unfortunate counterparts. Further decimation and desecration of the Autobot offline frames fell into the Decepticon's victory schedule and while they wasted their time enjoying such activities, Megatron moved away from it all.

No one questioned him when he took up the Autobot's medic. No one even turned an optic when Megatron vanished into the halls. Too many were caught up in their enemy mockery and drunkenness.

It was back toward the medbay where Megatron went. The doors were broken, not from the crash but a previous breech. Inside the damage was no doubt the result of the crash. There were other medibots, some offline, but many stasis like a majority of the ship's crew. However, that couldn't be said for the obvious patients scattered around. Megatron counted every single one offline, their wounds made them less durable and vulnerable in the madness of the landing, but none of that really mattered to him.

This place was quiet and would only go untouched by his rowdy mecha in the command deck. Coming over to one of the berths, Megatron shoved the empty hull off and there he laid Ratchet down. Megatron did what he could for the ligaments that hung by mere wiring, laying the medic down in such a way to attain comfort.

Taking those red hands, Megatron laid them atop Ratchet's chassis, right below that red mark. Megatron abhorred the sight of it, yet found that, in a way, it suited the doctor. Turning his gaze away from the irritable opposing sigil, Megatron laid his optics upon his familiar face. Even in emergency stasis, he looked simply booted down, almost peaceful. A beautiful sight, one Megatron assured himself he would lock into his memory logs.

While sitting there, Megatron was overcome with the urgency to wake the medic, so that he could speak to him and so that Ratchet could speak to him back. He missed his voice, he missed his touch, he missed his simple presence. And Megatron had so much to say to him, he had for some time but the opportunities never presented a feasible time to accomplish such a goal . . . just like right then.

No. It was for the best that Ratchet remained stasis. It was all easier; for the both of them.

When the sound of inner fighting echoed from down the hallway, Megatron understood the necessity to leave and round up his quarreling mecha who were now sober enough to pull their attention away from the unconscious and toward factional grudges. As he pulled away, he noticed the reluctance of his hands, the ones clasping rouge servos. Megatron looked at them accusingly, but found no will to punish them for holding onto something so precious. A little more time was allowed to detach himself and take in the memory of the comfort he felt by being so close to his conjunx.

Parting was rough, but Megatron moved that ache inside his spark chamber to focus on smacking senses into his forces. It didn't take him long to beat them into submission and order them away from the Autobots and their ship. Heading outside into the unknown territory of the planet was surreal. The very landscape held similarities to what they had first seen of it, but there were obvious changes in both growth and corrosion.

"Much time has passed," Megatron commented. It was obvious. Even the Autobot's ship computer hadn't lied when it confirmed the recorded time passage. "We are on a planet far from Cybertron, but our mission has not changed." Even after the passed millennia, their home world held the highest priority.

"How do we know Cybertron exists?" Megatron turned to look at Skywarp. His worry wasn't just his own. Megatron could see this fear in many optics around him. However, he believed that if Cybertron could survive the scourge that they and the Autobots wrought on it in their struggle over it then it could survive a few more millennia.

"It must exist," Megatron assured. "And if this land is filled with resources, we shall return home with the power to build the ultimate weapon and conquer the universe." It's what they needed to hear to keep them going from such a long distance from home. Their stamina was needed because there was a high likelihood that the collection of these raw materials could take longer time than expected, and they needed to persevere if they were ever going to be able to return home one day.

The whine of sizzling charges turned Megatron's attention away from ushering his mecha off toward his begrudging Second in Command. "Starscream!"

The aerial turned, frown still on his face and a shrug on his shoulder struts. "I'm just saying goodbye."

Megatron pressed his lips into a thin line. "Save your energy. The Autobots have taken their last flight."

This was the last time he would look at the shuttle, well, at least until it was time to return. Megatron turned his optics away, keeping his field to himself and his composure in line. His duty then was to lead, to lead his mecha away to energy sources and then to Cybertron.

Their mission would prove long and tedious but valuable in the end. Megatron assured his mecha and he assured himself. But it was also to himself that he memorized the longitude and latitude of the location where the Autobots rested because when this planet was picked dry, when Cybertron was overflowing with fountains of energon once more, then Megatron would return and he'd come for his conjunx, knowing he'd still be there where he left him as they all had been for millions of years before. This time Megatron would be strong enough to keep him beside him.

Amongst Starscream's insistent fire on the mountain range if just to bury the Autobots further into the rock, Megatron let his belief in a future reunion spur him to reach out to the one he knew couldn't hear him, much less feel him in stasis, for a final message.

Wait for me.